"When the unthinkable happens, the lighthouse is hope. Once we choose hope, everything is possible." ~Christopher Reeve
"Now, now. No tears, my darling," Holmes said, lifting Mary into his arms and kissing each cheek. "I promise I will be back in time to kiss you goodnight. I may even be enticed to play you a lullaby, hmm? How about that?"
Mary nodded emphatically before wrapping her arms around his neck.
"You be a good girl for Nanny, alright? There's our princess." He bopped her nose and set her back on her feet. He then turned to Mrs. Hudson. The older woman gave him a small smile.
"We'll be fine. It's not the first time I've looked after our dear Mary, you know. She's a sight easier to care for than you are, I don't mind saying."
"Touchy, touchy," Holmes smirked, adjusting his disguise one last time. In truth, he was loathe to leave their Baker Street home, but the lead he had found was too strong to ignore and too important to send Lestrade to chase down. He'd been informed by his Irregulars of the whereabouts of the man who had sold Watson the sinister tobacco. He hoped, with the right amount of bribery, the man might be enticed to disclose Moriarty's most recent location.
Holmes knelt and took Mary's hand in his, still not quite able to tear himself away. "I'll see you tonight, dear one. And, if you are asleep when I return, I will come in and give you a kiss. I promise."
She nodded and he kissed her hand to seal his vow. And then, the great detective took his leave.
~*~*~
Having brought a tray of breakfast for Watson, Simza returned to find the doctor standing over his bedside table, carving into the sausage and egg as though performing surgery. She stood watching in alarmed fascination before he caught sight of her. Wild was the only word that came to mind when she saw his eyes. "Nurse," he snapped, "clear the area please. I cannot work with these incompetent imbeciles breathing down my neck and watching my every move."
He didn't wait for her reply before he began shouting toward the ceiling and corners of the room where the imagined surveyors looked on. "Is this not good enough for you? Have I been found lacking before the great masters of medicine? This is absurd! Why am I wasting my time being your trained monkey in here while there are men on the front dying each minute that I fool around in here?"
Simza watched as he paced the room and shouted to the rafters like a madman. She was glad Mrs. Hudson had taken Mary down the stairs to her own rooms so the little girl wouldn't risk bearing witness to this truly heartbreaking scene. The poor thing had seen enough already.
In his fit of rage, Watson over turned the breakfast table, the dissected but uneaten food splattering along the wall and the plate and teacup shattering on the floor. "Get out!" he screamed at her. She didn't move except to duck when a rather large book came hurtling toward her. "Get out! Leave me be!"
It was only when he picked up the porcelain pitcher from the washbasin that she ducked out of the room, slamming the door shut just in time for the pitcher to crash into a hundred pieces against the wood. She stayed there, her ear pressed to the door as the fit continued. There were loud thuds, more shattering, and a continuous stream of curses over it all.
When things at last went still, she dared to open the door. She went slowly so as not to frighten him further. The scene she was met with made her heart ache. The doctor sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest and his head buried in the crook of his arms. The room was its own realm of chaos, but Simza looked past it all and strode over to the broken man, kneeling before him and ever so gently taking his arms away. When he looked up at her this time, his stormy blue eyes were filled with tears. She tenderly cupped her hand against his cheek, wiping the few tears away as they fell. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead, letting them linger. A trembling sigh fell from Watson's own lips.
Pulling away, she did her best to give him a smile, taking his hand and helping him up and to bed. But he kept her hand held fast in his, tugging her onto the bed with him. She sat against the headboard with his head in her lap, running her fingers through his hair. He did not sleep, but for the moment, the tension left his body and his mind was finally still.
~*~*~
Holmes pretended to peruse the shop stand of Parisian hats claiming to be the latest fashion, though due to his wife's superior knowledge of such things, he knew such adornments to be three years old at the very least. From the corner of his eye behind low hanging spectacles, he watched the comings and goings of the imported tobacco stand two stalls down from him. It was not a usual location for the stand, according to his Irregulars. This particular one only joined the bustling market every Thursday. It was run by a man named Elijah Hollingsworth. Holmes could see him interacting with customers and rearranging his jars of tobacco blends. Weaving through the crowd, Holmes made his way to the stand.
"Yes, sir," Hollingsworth said with a wide grin, "how may I assist you today?"
Holmes searched the assortment of jars and hanging, dried tobacco leaves before him. "I am looking for a very specific blend. Something from the vast fields of Virginia perhaps. Or," he said, pulling a photograph from his coat pocket, "you could advise me as to which one in particular this man sold to you?"
The man frowned, holding the likeness of Sebastian Moran out at arm's length. "Can't say I can help you there, sir. Only seen that man once and it was on my way out one day. The Mrs. and I were going on holiday, see? I left my apprentice in charge. Don't reckon he bought anything from that bloke though. We only use reputable sellers, you know."
Before Holmes could ask to speak to said apprentice, the boy came down the market street and set the two boxes he'd been carrying down in the stall. "Oi, Tommy," Hollingsworth snapped, holding up Moran's photograph, "you buy a blend from this chap?"
Tommy's eyes widened, looking from the photograph, then to Hollingsworth, and at last, to Holmes. Then, he turned on his heel and ran.
Holmes groaned. "Why must they always run?"
He took off after the boy, dodging pedestrians and carts as they made their way down the street. Two blocks down, Tommy ducked into an alleyway and Holmes arrived just in time to see him leap over the gate separating the rest of the alley. Holmes huffed, shedding his coat and false beard. With a running start, he hurdled over the gate as well. He landed with a grunt and rolled to his feet, continuing to run. Jumping over a split case of oranges, he finally began to gain on Tommy. As soon as he was able, he leapt on top of him and they both crashed to the ground. Holmes pinned him down and drew his pistol. "Tell me what you know. Quickly."
Tommy looked from the gun to Holmes who scowled at him and cocked the pistol. The boy licked his lips. "He- He said to make sure Dr. Watson got the specific blend, no matter what he bought, that I was to mix it in and put it together in the tin. He paid me extra not to ask questions. That's all I know, honest."
Holmes' heart was pounding and his mind reeled back to eight months ago when Watson was displeased by a small fire at his preferred tobacco parlor that had temporarily put them out of business. It was exactly that, no longer seemingly accidental, event that drove Watson right into Moriarty's trap.
Holmes groaned aloud and let the boy up, pocketing his pistol. "You come straight to me if you hear anything else from that man, is that understood?"
Tommy nodded. Looking at him now, Holmes realized he could not have been more than fourteen. Surely, he could not be held responsible as a partner in Moriarty's scheme. "Get on back then," he sighed. "I don't envy you the time you'll have explaining your hasty departure."
But Tommy hung back a moment. "Mr. Holmes, the man said... He said if you came around, I should leave word behind the loose brick on King and Bedford Street."
Holmes watched the boy with interest. He had not mentioned his name, and yet, Tommy had identified him. He may be more useful than he originally thought. He gave him a proud smirk. "Then that is exactly what you shall do. Welcome to the Irregulars, Tommy."
~*~*~
That night, Holmes had yet to return, and Mary was inconsolable. Mrs. Hudson, for all her gentle ways and as much as she loved the child, was having a terrible time trying to get her to go to sleep. From the room next door, Watson and Simza could hear her pitiful cries. Watson was near frantic. "Sim, please go. Please. See what you can do for her."
She hushed him softly. "I'll go. I'll go. You rest."
Simza entered Holmes' room to find the little girl crying softly in her small bed while Mrs. Hudson stroked her hair. "Hush now, love," Mrs. Hudson told her. "Your uncle will be home soon enough to give you your kiss goodnight, just as he promised he would."
Simza watched for a moment, before remembering something she had noticed in her short time here. "Mary," she said, kneeling before her, "would you like for me to sing to you, like your Papa did?"
Mary nodded eagerly and Mrs. Hudson gratefully moved aside so Simza could lift the child into her arms and head into the parlor. "We can wait for Uncle Holmes here, yes?"
Mary nodded again, her head buried in Simza's shoulder. She stuck her thumb in her mouth as the last of her tears began to dry. With Mary curled on her lap, Simza sat on the sofa and began humming a Bohemian lullaby from her own childhood. "Halí, díetê, kolébu tê. Až mi usneš, odejdu tê do zahrâdky, do doliny. Na maliny."
The second time through, Mary's eyes grew heavy. Simza began rocking her back and forth. By the third time, her eyes slipped closed and her dark eyelashes fanned out against her pink cheeks. Simza stood after she'd finished, cradling the little girl in her arms as she lowered her onto the plush cushions and tucked a blanket around her and all the way up to her little chin. She couldn't resist pressing a soft kiss to her blonde curls.
When she stood up straight, she saw the shadow of Watson leaning against the door frame of his bedroom. She held her hand out to him, a silent request, one he could easily refuse if he chose to. But after a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room, cautiously taking her petite hand in his. They sat down together before the fire, watching Mary sleep, their fingers still entwined. Simza could feel his hands were not as strong as they once were. Already, a little less than two weeks since her arrival, he had lost weight. "You should eat something."
With his eyes still on Mary, he shook his head. "Everything turns my stomach now."
She nodded and they fell into silence again. Mary sighed and settled into a deeper sleep.
"Thank you, for taking care of her tonight. I must express my gratitude to Mrs. Hudson as well." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "If something should happen to me..."
She silenced him with a dark glare. "Do not think such things."
He shook his head. "I'm afraid, Sim. I'm afraid of what I might do. What I may say. This morning was..." but he could not bring himself to finish the thought and shook his head. "I can't control it. What if I hurt her? Or you? Or Holmes and Irene? What will I become if I can't... If Holmes can't find a cure?"
Simza brought both hands to either side of his face and looked him in the eye. "You are John Watson. Brave. Kind. Loyal. You are a good man. Nothing changes that."
Neither could be sure who leaned in toward who first, but when their lips met, it didn't matter. In that brief moment, everything else faded away. All Watson knew was the surprising softness of her lips, and the warm peace that settled over him.
~*~*~
At long last, just past ten that night, a figure shed the remaining elements of his disguise and stepped past where Simza was still awake, watching over Mary as she slept. He gave the woman's shoulder a squeeze, then Holmes knelt before the sofa, placing a kiss on his niece's cheek. "Goodnight to you, my angel."