When I look into my consulting room to see that my first patient of the day is Mrs. Harriet Clarkson, I immediately regret not staying in the comfort of Baker Street. While she is surely a very nice lady, Mrs. Clarkson is the nosiest woman in London, and has the sharpest tongue. And she is quite possibly the healthiest of my patients, though I have been unable to convince her of such. She is in my office more than I, constantly fearing she has contracted some dreaded disease.

 

I plaster a smile on my face and open the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Clarkson."

 

"Dr. Watson." Her beady eyes look me over with disdain. "My appointment was for half-past."

 

"Yes, it is." I look at the mantle clock. Five minutes late. "I do apologize, madam. I had a hard time finding a cab this morning."

 

"I'm sure you did."

 

"Well, what can I do for you this morning? It is a bit early for your scheduled check-up."

 

"My throat is quite sore."

 

Only good manners and years of training prevent me from responding that perhaps too much talking has caused her ailment. Instead, I motion her toward the exam room. "If you'll step this way, I shall take a look at your throat."

 

She does not move from her seat. "I'd much rather not. Is Dr. Jackson about?"

 

"He is not scheduled today," I respond with a frown. "It will only take a moment."

 

"Have you a nurse here?"

 

"Well, I usually do not require a nurse for a throat examination..."

 

"I am certain you do not. But..." Her eyes shift from side to side. "My son told me about your... detainment this morning, and I should feel more comfortable if someone else was present."

 

"I see. Your son is...?"

 

"A constable at the Yard."

 

"Ah." Well, that certainly explains all. "It is unfortunate that you would let idle gossip affect the rapport we've built up over the years, Mrs. Clarkson. But I will do whatever I can to make you comfortable." I ring for Ivy, my nurse. "Just a moment, please."

 

Ivy comes to the door, ready to assist. "Yes, Doctor?"

 

Mrs. Clarkson stands up. "I would like a chaperone during my examination," she huffs.

 

Ivy looks to me, and I nod. "Yes, ma'am," she says softly. "Right this way, please."

 

"Thank you, Ivy. I'll be in directly." I ring again, this time for George, the page.

 

The eager lad appears in the doorway in an instant. "Yes, Dr. Watson?"

 

"Please take this note," I hand him the hastily scribbled missive from my notepad, "around to Dr. Jackson immediately."

 

"Yes, sir." He folds the note and is gone as quickly as he came.

 

If Mrs. Clarkson knows of my detainment, it is only a matter of time before the world at large will also know. And after my adventure of this morning, I fear it is more than I can deal with at the moment. Dr. Jackson is usually willing to take my patients when I dash off to assist Holmes; I am quite certain he will do so now.

 

But first, there is the matter of Mrs. Clarkson. I square my shoulders and go into the exam room.

 

"... I am merely saying you should be careful, young lady. If you knew the details of the accusation-"

 

"Mrs. Clarkson," I cut in, "if you please?" I motion at the table. "I'll need you over here." I stand at the basin and wash my hands thoroughly. "This will only take a moment."

 

She gives Ivy a knowing look and seats herself on the examination table. "I am surprised, Dr. Watson."

 

"Indeed?" I dry my hands and move over to stand before her. "Please open your mouth." She complies, and I look at her throat. "I do not see any redness or swelling." I feel the glands at the side of her neck. "No signs of glandular abnormality. Warm broth or a toddy should take care of the problem."

 

"Thank you," she says with a disdainful sniff. "I am not one for idle gossip, Dr. Watson, but the things I have heard regarding you are quite disturbing. On many levels."

 

"You have known me for many years, Mrs. Clarkson. I cannot tell you how unfortunate it is that you would allow yourself to make a judgment regarding my character based on allegations."

 

"It pains me that such allegations were made, Dr. Watson," she says snidely. "Through conversations with my son, I am familiar enough with police procedure to know you would not have been... detained, were there not good reasons."

 

"I see. If there is nothing else I can assist you with in my capacity as a physician...?"

 

"Well!" Her exclamation echoes around the room. "I am surprised that you are unwilling to clear this matter up, if only for my mind's sake."

 

"You seem to have already made up your mind, Mrs. Clarkson," I say sternly. "And I have no time for it. Good day, madam." I smile at Ivy, and leave the room.

 

Dr. Jackson is waiting in my office as I storm in. "Ah, I didn't expect you so quickly, William."

 

"I was already up and about, John," he says with a hearty laugh. "I stay at the ready to assist you, as you well know."

 

"The knowledge doesn't prevent me from feelings of guilt, good fellow."

 

"Oh, pshaw, John. If you have pressing business, tend to it. I will see to your patients." He smiles at me. "Is this case going to be published in The Strand?"

 

"I highly doubt it, William. The details are... horrid. I don't think my readership is ready for such things." I sigh. "And it involves me personally."

 

"Indeed? Is there anything I can do to assist you or Mr. Holmes?"

 

"No, no," I say. "It will all come together, I'm sure. I do need to caution you, though."

 

"Caution me?"

 

"Yes. You may... hear things. Things that are vile."

 

"Vile things about you? Surely not!"

 

"Unfortunately, it may be so." I look at him, searching his eyes for some sign of disgust. "If you do not wish to have your reputation tarnished by association, I understand."

 

He frowns and shakes his head. "How could I not stand by you, John? If you recall, you stood by me when no other would, after I nearly killed Mr. Overstreet. Took me under you wing, and set me up in your practice without concrete knowledge as to whether I was negligent or not."

 

"Yes, of course," I say, with a small pat on his shoulder. "I am just warning you, William."

 

"I consider myself warned, John, but not warned off. You see to fixing this business, and I'll maintain our practice, all right?"

 

"All right." I shake the hand he's holding out. "You are a good man, Dr. Jackson."

 

"As are you, John Watson. No one can sway me to think otherwise."

 

I leave my office with my spirits slightly buoyed.

 

***

Unfortunately, my feeling of elation does not last long, as bad news does indeed travel fast.

 

In the span of two hours, I am refused entry to my club, to the Turkish baths, and am snubbed at the apothecary and the confectioner's. All with the utmost civility, but the message is clear: until this unfortunate circumstance is straightened out, it would be best if I kept away. Nothing personal, of course, but there are reputations at stake.

 

Of course my reputation is at stake also, but that seems to be of no matter. My sincerest desire is to take a cab to Penelope's home and try to make some sense of all this. Holmes' objections aside, it does not sit well with me that a woman with whom I have kept company for five months would make up such things out of nothing. Perhaps I did offend her in some way that I'm not aware of. I can be rather cavalier in my interactions with others – no doubt a remnant of spending so much of my free time with Holmes - maybe there was some Bohemian action on my part which led to her becoming vengeful.  

 

I cannot, for the life of me, think of what could cause her to turn on me in such a spiteful manner. The very nature of her accusation marks me as a man given to deviance, and to evil notions. It is distressing to me that soon all of society will think me capable of such things. And what of my readership? What action will my editor be forced to take? My livelihood comes from selling the accounts of Holmes' cases, and from my practice. What will I do if Holmes cannot find evidence to refute what Penelope was said? I will be arrested, tried, and surely will be sent to prison, forced to pick coir, branded for life as a sexual deviant. Will he continue on as though nothing happened? Though I have not asked, it not impossible that he should believe I've committed the acts of which I've been accused... or at least fancied notions of doing such things. Though not a man of convention, he does enjoy his reputation, and takes great pains to make sure it does not become sullied by folly. It would be in his best interest to distance himself from me, perhaps even replace me. The thought of that causes my stomach to clench in agony. Dear god, I shall certainly go insane if I am forced from his side.

 

I stop walking, and lean heavily against a nearby building. My breathing has become rather shallow and rapid, and I feel the beginnings of a headache pressing behind my eyes. I have officially worked myself into a nervous state.

 

It most certainly will not help my cause were I to collapse in the middle of town, so I force myself to take a series of deep, calming breaths. In and out I breathe, reassuring myself that all will be well in time, and that Holmes will not rest until he finds justice for me. I do this for a full ten minutes, ignoring the curious stares of passersby, until I begin to feel some semblance of normalcy .  

 

Once I am calm, I hail a cab and head back to Baker Street. I certainly hope Holmes has made some progress.

 

Mrs. Hudson greets me at the door with a shrewd look. "You look as though you've seen a ghost, Doctor. You haven't caught something from one of your patients, I hope."

 

"Not at all, Mrs. Hudson. Has Holmes returned?"

 

"Yes, he has," she says, taking my hat, coat, and stick. "Have you eaten?"

 

"No..." I sigh. "Perhaps later."

 

Her eyebrows go up in surprise. "Then something is amiss, if you're not eating."

 

"All is well, Mrs. Hudson," I say rather shortly, then catch myself. "I apologize. It has been a trying morning."

 

"Don't worry yourself, Doctor. Go on up, and I'll see to getting you something to eat after I come from the market."

 

If she is going to market, she will soon know what I've been accused of. That is if she doesn't know already. "Mrs. Hudson, there is something... " I cannot continue. Our good landlady would surely not be swayed by idle gossip. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Never mind. We will talk on your return."

 

"As you wish, Dr. Watson." She hangs up my things and goes back to the kitchen.

 

I climb the stairs to the sitting room.

 

***

 

The sitting room is clouded with smoke, littered with newspapers, and Holmes is nowhere in sight. I toss the afternoon papers on the side board and shrug with indifference when they slide to the floor. I am desperately in need of brandy or some form of ardent spirits to calm my nerves.

 

"You've returned early, Watson."

 

Startled, I turn to see Holmes lying on the settee. "Oh, hello old fellow. I didn't see you there."

 

"That much is certain." He stretches and sits up. "What has happened to cause you to return so early? And in such a nervous state?"

 

"Well... I fear you may have to help the Earl of Fulworth find his hound for the money, as I may be unable to pay my share of the expenses for a bit."

 

"What the devil are you talking about?" He frowns and focuses intently on my face. "What has happened?"

 

"I believe I may lose my practice because of these accusations. I've had Jackson take my patients until the matter is settled, as there seems to be a sentiment of discomfort among my patients." I do not dare let him know that I am only speaking of Mrs. Clarkson; he would brush it off as the ravings of a madwoman. "I'm also unwelcome at my club, and I am not welcome to partake of the healing wonders of the Turkish baths. There is also the matter of being denied humbugs, and jars for my leeches."

 

"Leeches? Watson, this is quite unlike you... you're bordering on hysteria." He leaps from the settee, takes a hold of my arms, and shakes me gently. "Oh, my dear fellow... you cannot allow yourself to be worked into such a state. The truth shall prevail." His eyes bore into mine as if he can calm me by sheer force. "Believe that, Watson."

 

"I am trying, Holmes," I say wearily. "It is hard to be optimistic in the face of the disapproval of society. I know such things are trifles to you, but I am a doctor, and a well respected one at that.  It pains me to think that people with whom I've interacted for years will now turn their backs on me as I attempt to buy sweets!" Extricating myself from his tight grip, I give what I pray is a reassuring smile. I know I cannot fool a man with such great powers of deduction, but I care not at this point. "I have a headache and my neck is still aching from my early morning thrashing, so I am going up to my room to rest a bit. We'll talk more on it later." I leave the room before he can reply.