Dr. John H. Watson, M.D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightconductor) wrote2011-10-19 08:47 pm
lightconductor) wrote2011-10-19 08:47 pm
Matchmaker, Matchmaker...
It had, for Watson, been an uncomfortable cab ride, though he was trying not to show it. Though Miss Morstan, beside him, was as charming and sweet and friendly as she ever was, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was being unforgiveably cruel, that he was encouraging her in the belief that he had some interest in her. This entire plan was foolish, mad, and doomed to failure, he was sure.
Still, it was straightforward enough. They woud go out to dinner; Holmes would accompany them, as a friend and as a chaperone (not that Watson had ever any serious need of a chaperone in the past, or that Mary was so deicate she needed her virtue protected, which was one thing he liked about her), and Lestrade would be fortuitously present for them to invite along. It might come to nothing, but it was at least worth a try.
If only Mary would lose faith in him first, Watson thought grimly as he ascended the steps to their sitting room. "After you," he said, graciously.
Mary was feeling troubled; she could not quite grasp whether or not she was wasting her time with Dr. Watson. Oh, to be certain, she enjoyed his company, and he seemed to enjoy hers, but he had yet to make any firm strides towards deepening their relationship. He had not attempted a single kiss, not a romantic embrace, nothing. And yet he seemed so warm. Was he that much of a gentleman? Did he really think her that... pristine, that virginal? She was beginning to think that, as out of place as it might have been for a young lady, she might have to be the one to force his hand.
She was, though, beginning to lose hope.
She smiled at him as she entered the sitting room, glancing around to see if Mr. Holmes was in sight. This room brought back memories, not all of them good, but she would be genuinely glad to see the detective in any case. "You haven't mentioned where we're going," Mary said, conversationally. "Or is that supposed to be a surprise?"
Still, it was straightforward enough. They woud go out to dinner; Holmes would accompany them, as a friend and as a chaperone (not that Watson had ever any serious need of a chaperone in the past, or that Mary was so deicate she needed her virtue protected, which was one thing he liked about her), and Lestrade would be fortuitously present for them to invite along. It might come to nothing, but it was at least worth a try.
If only Mary would lose faith in him first, Watson thought grimly as he ascended the steps to their sitting room. "After you," he said, graciously.
Mary was feeling troubled; she could not quite grasp whether or not she was wasting her time with Dr. Watson. Oh, to be certain, she enjoyed his company, and he seemed to enjoy hers, but he had yet to make any firm strides towards deepening their relationship. He had not attempted a single kiss, not a romantic embrace, nothing. And yet he seemed so warm. Was he that much of a gentleman? Did he really think her that... pristine, that virginal? She was beginning to think that, as out of place as it might have been for a young lady, she might have to be the one to force his hand.
She was, though, beginning to lose hope.
She smiled at him as she entered the sitting room, glancing around to see if Mr. Holmes was in sight. This room brought back memories, not all of them good, but she would be genuinely glad to see the detective in any case. "You haven't mentioned where we're going," Mary said, conversationally. "Or is that supposed to be a surprise?"
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"Oh, no! Not at all. It was a very splendid evening." Mary meant that, too. If anything, Lestrade had been the saving grace of the evening, though it felt terrible to think such a thing. She was not dense, however, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the good Doctor was not as interested in her as she was in him, no matter how polite he might be.
He seemed more interested in Mr Holmes, for that matter.
Well, no matter how much this train of thought made her feel like some unsavoury woman out on the hunt for a husband in a desperate attempt to stave off spinsterhood (which she was not, she insisted to herself), she had genuinely enjoyed the evening.
"I suppose," she asked carefully, "Mrs Lestrade shall expect you back presently?" It was a careful question, and one she hoped she wouldn't regret asking, especially in front of Dr. Watson. He seemed a straightforward enough man that taking his apparent disinterest literally seemed safe.
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"I expect she would, if she existed," Lestrade answers goodnaturedly, but he isn't an idiot. He knows what that question's fishing for, and he gives Miss Morstan a little smile, the best attempt he can muster up at flirting. So far, there's a reason there's no Mrs Lestrade, and that's that he isn't as handsome or charming as Dr. Watson.
"Probably Mrs Patmore, my housekeeper, is more than a little annoyed with me, but that's hardly a new state of affairs."
"You're in an enviable position, Miss Morstan," Holmes calls, grinning. "A lady in a roomful of bachelors."
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Watson returned Holmes's smile, pleased and secretive, before he crossed the room to give Mary and Lestrade their drinks. "For you, Miss Morstan, and for you, Lestrade. Fear not, I won't tell your employer a thing. If she asks, I shall say you've had a perfectly pleasant but perfectly respectable evening."
He turned back to the side table to pour out two more glasses, for himself and for Holmes.
"Thank you," Mary said to Watson, sipping her drink. She turned a warm smile on Lestrade, recognising the attempt at flirtation for what it was. That was what had been missing during her vists with Dr. Watson, to be sure. She found herself drawn to it now. Oh, she hoped she wasn't making a mess of this. Three bachelors, indeed. She highly doubted Mr Holmes had any interest in her, was no longer certain about Watson, and hoped for Lestrade. This was a potential mess, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless.
"I admit," she said, laughing, "this was not how I expected to be spending my evening."
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Get your head together, G. All she's done is smile at you.
"You and me both," he says, chuckling warmly along with her. "Holmes, what was it that you summoned me over here for?" he asks, twisting around in his seat. At least talking to Holmes doesn't make him feel shy. "I'm assuming it wasn't that urgent."
Holmes waves his hand dismissively, not entirely eager to be drawn into the conversation when he's been enjoying watching the exchange of signals between Lestrade and Mary.
"One of your fellow inspectors got something wrong, but it's not important. The person who was arrested committed a crime, just not the one he was arrested for." He shrugs a shoulder and shoots Lestrade a teasingly smug look. "It's nothing that unusual."
Lestrade rolls his eyes and turns around, deciding not to be upset with Holmes, at least not in front of Miss Morstan. "I don't know how you put up with him, Watson. He must have the patience of a saint." He says the latter to Miss Morstan and then takes a sip of his drink because he really shouldn't be talking up the man that's maybe caught Miss Morstan's eye already.
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Her teasing was good-natured, and perhaps slightly giddy. She sipped her drink, her eyes on Lestrade. Watson was hardly on her mind, and perhaps that was a bad thing. Wouldn't his feelings be hurt? She hated the idea of hurting him.
Watson settled himself down with his drink, casting Holmes a secret sort of smile. This was going quite well, he thought. So it seemed to him. "You do me far too much credit, Lestrade," he said dismissively. "Honestly, you make Holmes out to be some sort of ogre. He's hardly that." He could also hardly so aloud, but he was privy to more than a few perks for putting up with Holmes. It was more than worth it.
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"No, he's not an ogre. More a rock in my shoe." Lestrade grins teasingly at Holmes, admittedly feeling a bit bolstered from Miss Morstan's compliment and that warm laugh of hers. She's rather pretty when she laughs, he thinks.
"Our entire relationship is based around him mocking my colleagues," he says, smiling at Miss Morstan. He leaves out the part where he mocks Lestrade a fair amount, too. "But I give as good as I get." He realizes the rakish smile he gives over his glass is fairly shamelessly posturing, but she's the one who's smiling at him like that, so. Oh well. Maybe Holmes will tease him for this, too, but he's seen Holmes and Watson half undone, and Lestrade's finally feeling daring enough to bring it up again. So he can just look out.
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He cast Holmes a slightly cheeky grin.
Mary shook her head, still amused. "That is possibly the only time I will ever hear Sherlock Holmes described as a rock. I don't think anyone would believe me even if I were to repeat it." Her smile was still for Lestrade, and she was beginning to wonder if the alcohol was going to her head. Oh, this was terrible, and she was feeling quite licentious, quite wanton, but he was so very charming.
And after so long waiting for Watson to make some advance that she was beginning to wonder if there was some terrible thing wrong with her (she was, after all, twenty-seven and still unmarried!), it was almost a relief to have a man smile at her like that.
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Holmes raises a challenging eyebrow at Lestrade and sips from his drink, more amused than anything at Lestrade's jibe. He realizes that he and Lestrade are friends, and he shouldn't find that so strange, except when does he have friends?
"I'm sure you'll find someone who agrees, Miss Morstan," he answers smoothly, turning his somewhat lazy expression on her. "A mutual acquaintance of ours comes to mind. It really is a shame that Lestrade couldn't have helped us out on that case, rather than Athelney Jones."
Lestrade snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, though he watches Miss Morstan to make sure she shares Holmes's opinion of Jones. Though really, who couldn't.
"Oh, him. I wanted that case, you know. Aside from it sounding interesting, it's not often you hear about pursuits down the Thames." He flicks his eyes to Miss Morstan, wondering at himself and how bold he's being, but well, how often does he get to do this kind of thing anyway? "And I could've made your acquaintance sooner."
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She gave a sudden glance in Watson's direction, wondering if her friendliness toward Lestrade would cause some sort of jealousy, some discomfort; seeing nothing but warm encouragement in his face, though, Mary turned back to Lestrade. She was trying to puzzle this out; either Watson was completely oblivious to her friendliness, which she doubted, or... he didn't mind. Which meant that he really didn't have any romantic inclinations toward her.
Which was perhaps a little wounding, but having a police inspector seem so interested in her, one who was rather handsome and charming, did a lot to soothe that.
"I think I would have liked to have had you involved then, too."
Watson exhaled, a sigh born of relief and pleasure. He was romantic to his very core, and he was feeling so pleased about the way this was turning out that he thought it was rather a shame that he couldn't sit with Holmes for this. He wanted to do ridiculous things, like lie his head down in Holmes's lap for the evening, or kiss every inch of him, or something similar. Perhaps later.
"I think you would have appreciated a pursuit down the Thames far more than Jones did," he offered.
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Only problem he can see is, it's a bit awkward being too flirty when he's sitting with two of his friends in their sitting room, and increasingly he's getting the distinct impression that they're monitoring how he and Miss Morstan are getting along.
Holmes hides his smirk behind his glass and gives a suffering sigh, glancing at the clock although he knows perfectly well what time it is, and he doesn't really care either way because whatever the clock says won't change what he's about to say.
"It is getting late, Miss Morstan. I fear Mrs. Forrester may be organizing a search party for you shortly."
Lestrade gives Holmes a very small, very hopeful smile, which Holmes does manage to return.
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Unless, of course, Mrs. Forrester (who was admittedly not so very much older than Mary herself) was waiting up in hopes of hearing whether or not Dr. Watson had at last made some sort of proposal or romantic advance. Mary wouldn't put it past her, bless her.
"You're quite right, Mr. Holmes. I can't imagine how I let the time get so far away from me, but I must be heading back now." She drained her glass, and set it to one side. "Thank you so much for dinner, and the drink. It's been a lovely evening." Mary looked at Watson, rather curiously, rather expectantly; she had departed the Forresters' home in his company after all.
Watson hummed. He felt he was taking a very great risk in saying anything of the kind, but it seemed safe enough. If he was wrong, Mary would be offended and have every right to be. "Begging your pardon, Miss Morstan, but... Lestrade, I do hate to impose, but I believe your route home does not go far from Miss Morstan's destination. Would you be willing to share a hansom with the young lady and escort her home?"
Mary smiled, turning to Lestrade again. She was fully aware by now that this was a matchmaking effort, that while perhaps Watson did not and could not feel the sort of affection for her she might have wanted, he felt kindly enough to introduce her to a bachelor friend. She was too excited, too pleased, too attracted and charmed to feel insulted or hurt by it, luckily. "You wouldn't mind, Mr. Lestrade?" she asked, earnestly. "I would appreciate it a great deal."
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He needs to get out of Baker street.
"I wouldn't mind in the slightest," he returns, his excitement and flattery over her excitement showing in his face. Oh, this is promising indeed. "Thank you for the invitation, sudden as it was," he says as he gets to his feet, maybe a little too quickly. "I'll see you gentlemen soon enough."
"Yes, you do always have a habit of turning up," Holmes teases, feeling only warmth and affection for Lestrade and Mary, surprisingly. Without the fear that she'd be whisking Watson away into domestic bliss, he can appreciate what he liked about her from the beginning. This romance stuff rather color his opinion, but no matter.
"Good evening," he says, getting to his feet to nod them both a goodbye. "Thank you for dinner."
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"We do hope to see you both again," Watson smiled. He rose as well, retrieving Mary's coat for her. "The four of us ought to get together again, perhaps."
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Holmes suppresses the urge to groan. "Naturally," he says instead with a small, polite smile. "Until then."
He waits for Lestrade and Mary to start down the stairs, and the door to shut behind them, before he turns a warm smile on Watson. "My dear, I think we're matchmakers now."
Lestrade's only a little nervously excited when they reach the landing and step outside. He catches a hansom for them and helps her in, and he settles himself beside her, quite unable to stop grinning. This is probably inappropriate, or something, but Lestrade has no complaints about squeezing in beside her.
"So, Miss Morstan, you are a governess? How old is your charge?" He asks, eager to know more about her.
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Mary favoured Lestrade with another smile as she settled herself into the cab. Finally, an opportunity to speak with him alone, to try to determine if her first impressions were reliable. In general, she trusted her intuition, but not to the exclusion of all else.
"I'm in charge of a little girl, seven years old." Her smile turned a little fond; she was more than a little attached to the children under care. "As well as a boy, age five. Alice and David. The Forresters are expecting a third, between you and me," she added, conspiratorily, "though you wouldn't know to see Mrs. Forrester, not yet."
Mary looked away, rather bashful. "I think it's rather exciting," she said, by way of excusing herself.
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As much as he'd rather not bring up how he doesn't have a lot of time for romance, hence why he's still unmarried and childless, something his brother gets after him for often enough, he figures it's only fair to point it out. No sense in her getting her hopes up about something only to be disappointed because he has to run off in the middle of dinner.
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She approved of people who did their duty, after all.
"Do you find it very lonely, being so busy?" she asked, curiously.
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"Never when I'm in the thick of it. It helps, too, when I'm pretty thoroughly worn out, so I just about have time to eat and read the paper before I'm nodding off. On a slower day -- and there's a good number of those -- especially after I spend all day filling out paperwork..." He sighs and presses his lips together, slowly nodding. "It's a bit lonely, yeah. There's not much to fill in the spaces, days like that."
He gives her a self-conscious smile. "I don't suppose you have much time to be lonely."
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She sighed a little, though she tried not to be too morose. "I have no family of my own, you know. My mother died when I was very young, and my father died ten years ago. He was an officer in India, so I saw very little of him. The Forresters have been very kind to me, but their children won't remain small forever." She shrugged. "I suppose I'm used to it, but you're very lucky to have any family, even if you don't see them enough.
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"I suppose they're rather like your Forresters. We're friendly, but it's all about work. That's why this evening has been particularly pleasant." He smiles, shy and flirtatious all at once. "Your company's been a welcome relief."
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She was feeling almost lightheaded. Her flirtation, if it could even be called that, with Dr. watson had had no such effect on her. After an evening with this inspector, she was rather smitten.
"Perhaps," she suggested, hoping she wasn't going too far, "we could enjoy one another's company again?"
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"You know, I think Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson would like that too," he adds, chuckling harder now. "
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Shyly, she offered him her hand. She hadn't really realised just how starved for this sort of company she had been, how much she was starting to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood.
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"I might have to thank them," he says, bashful suddenly.
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"But perhaps it might not be wise to overestimate our luck?" she suggested. The last thing she wanted to do was assume anything and ruin this. She had thought she liked Dr. Watson, but she had a new perspective on that now.
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"Of course. Chickens and eggs, and all that. Maybe after another dinner, you'll decide I have a horrible sense of humor, and you can't abide that. Which would be completely fair." He smiles, a little playfully. "Can't live with someone who you can't laugh with."
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"Is that an invitation for dinner again?" Mary asked, sweetly teasing. "If it is, I think I might accept. You ought to be careful, Mr. Lestrade. You don't want to give me the wrong idea."
She giggled a little, unable to help it, feeling positively light-headed.
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"What will your employers think of all this? You go out with one bachelor and come home with another," he teases. Though Watson isn't quite a bachelor. That's still a bizarre thought.
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She tossed her head. "Let them disapprove. I know and you know that nothing untoward has happened. That's good enough for me." In a slightly softer voice, she added, "But I do accept the offer of dinner, gladly."
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"Good because I suspect even if you hadn't, you wouldn't be seeing the last of me."
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"Before I forget to ask," she said, speaking softly, "I don't believe I heard what your Christian name is. I think I'd like to know, before we end up going to dinner together again?"
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She told herself, firmly, to get herself under control. One evening did not mean true love. It didn't even mean general compatibility. It was, at least, a good start.
She sighed a little, peering to look down the street as the cab pulled up to a familiar house. "Well," she said, "Mr. Guy Lestrade, I believe this is my destination."
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"Ah, very well." He squeezes her hand lightly before he slips out of the cab, reaching up to help her out. "I thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Morstan. One of the loveliest I've had in a long time."
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She gave a small laugh. Oh, she hoped he would call on her soon. "Escort me to the door, Mr. Lestrade?"
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"You'll see me again soon enough," he says, half a warning. "To be honest... I'm not sure I could stay away for very long." He stops at her door, feeling the pleasant tingle of infatuation. It'll be good to get away from her, to screw his head back on right, but he doesn't think that much of this feeling will dissipate once he steps back in that cab.
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She tried the door, and was relieved to find that it was open, that she was not locked out and would not have to wake the household up. Bless Mrs. Forrester for that. Still, she was reluctant to go inside, not now, not so soon.
"Good night, Mr. Lestrade."
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Oh, dear. He's really falling over his heels on this one.