The Curious Case of Dr. Watson
by Lyrical Soul

Chapter Twelve

Holmes smiles a quick smile at me, and turns his attention back to Penelope. "The father of your child is…?"

"Suffice to say it is not Dr. Watson," Penelope says with a covert glance at Dr. Davies.

"Ah, Black Jim Davidson," Holmes says with a pleased look. "The Mad Doctor of Paris."

"How do you know my name?" Davies demands.

"It is my business to know," Holmes responds coolly. "You were arrested in Paris five years ago for medical malpractice, and for stealing and selling body parts when you worked in the morgue. Some of them, I've heard, weren't dead at the time. After your rather lengthy trial, you were imprisoned for six years, but were released early for good behaviour. The terms of your release included revoking of your medical license, being forbidden to practise medicine in France, and not running afoul of the law. But, two years ago, you returned to your old habits, and are now evading law enforcement. And I never forget a face."

Davies' jaw goes slack, and he turns deathly pale. "You are surely some kind of devil, Mr. Holmes. A seer or some such thing."

"Nonsense," Holmes snorts. "You are well known in certain circles, Davidson."

"Not any circles that I'm aware of," Lestrade says, shaking his head in wonderment. "What of this conspiracy to besmirch the good name of Dr. Watson serves what purpose?"

"Revenge, of course," Holmes says. "It's all apparent, Lestrade. The fake bruising, the false police reports… it's as plain as day."

I gasp, and leap up from the settee. "Fake bruising? The devil you say!" I move toward the bed, intent of examining these fake bruises for myself.

Davies steps in front of me. "Don’t you lay a hand on her, or by god, I'll beat you senseless!"

I whip off my overcoat, and roughly remove my cuff-links, slipping them into my waistcoat pocket. "As you wish, sir," I growl, holding up my fists in readiness.

"Now, now, gentlemen." Holmes puts a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Calm yourself, Watson."

Lestrade pushes Davies back with a firm hand on his chest. "I'll not have any fisticuffs."

The sight of the smaller, ferret-like Lestrade holding such a giant of a man back with a mere hand on his chest strikes me as amusing, and I chuckle softly. "My apologies." I tug my cuffs back into place, return my cuff-links to their rightful place, and pull my jacket back on.

"Good man." Holmes squeezes my shoulder briefly, then turns his attention back to Penelope. "As I was saying, the blackening around her eyes is stage-makeup, as is the appearance of bruising on her neck and face. I couldn't have done a better job myself."

Lestrade steps up to the bed and peers intently at Penelope's bruises. He touches her blackened eye, and shakes his head as his finger comes away with a faint smudging of face paint. "What have you to say for yourself, Mrs. Langstrom?"

"She has nothing to say for herself," Davies replies coldly. "Dr. Watson-"

"Jim, please!" Penelope shifts and sits up. "It is done. I will tell the truth."

"You would see me go to gaol again?" Davies asks quietly.

She ignores him, and turns to Lestrade. "I would speak to John alone," she replies. "Then you may arrest me, Inspector."

"And believe me, I shall!" Lestrade turns to Davies. "And you, sir… I place you under arrest for practising medicine without a license, and conspiracy to commit fraud."

"Penelope…?" He gives her one last, beseeching look, but she does not look at him. He breathes out heavily, then presents his wrists to Lestrade. "Then I am your prisoner."

Lestrade snaps the handcuffs on him, the click of the locks echoing in the tiny room. "This way." Lestrade leads him from the room, leaving Holmes and I to stare at Penelope in bewilderment.

"Alone, Mr. Holmes." Penelope's voice is firm.

"I have no secrets from Holmes," I tell her. "Whatever you have to say can be said in his presence or not at all."

"Of course," she says with much sarcasm. She waits, looking at Holmes, then at me. After a few moments of silence, she sighs in resignation. "I'm sure Percy and Adelaide told you all about my aunt."

"Yes. Though I do not understand why you would press me for marriage if you felt I was responsible for your aunt's misfortune."

"It is no secret that my late husband's death left me penniless. Percy promised me a tidy sum if I were to find a suitable husband. There were stipulations, of course."

"What sort of stipulations?" Holmes asks.

"There is a list of eligible bachelors; ones that Percy says will be suitable mates for me – and assist him in furthering his own quest for high social standing. John's name is on the list, as are other men of his ilk. Because of Jim's… troubles, of course he was not to be considered. If I so much as spoke to him, the offer would be rescinded. So as not to bore you with the details, I pressed you to marry me, dear John, because in the end, it would be ironic that you were married to the niece of the woman who is portrayed in your chronicles as a conniving, cold-hearted woman, and is a criminal."

I shake my head sadly. "Penelope-"

Holmes holds up a hand in warning. "There would be a certain irony, Watson."

I look heavenward, beseeching the good lord for strength. "I will take your word for it."

Penelope looks at me with a smile that is slightly unkind. "Also, I thought you malleable, and knew that with you following Mr. Holmes hither and yon, I would be free to be with Jim. I was already with child. I would marry you, and Percy would be none the wiser about my relationship with Jim, but he would be secure in the fact that you had fathered my child."

"You wished to cuckold Watson?" Holmes barks out a laugh. "Dear lady, you are mad. And you have underestimated him."

"Indeed, I did," she sighs. "I knew, John, that were I to inform you that I carried your child, you would marry me without haste. You are too much a gentleman to let a bit of uncertainty prevent you from following society's mores. I do not mean you any-"

"So," Holmes interrupts, "in addition to cuckolding Watson, you were of a mind to deceive him into believing that he was responsible for your condition? That you could convince him that the eaglet in his nest was a pigeon, despite all signs to the contrary?"

"In so many words, yes." She sits back, arms folded across her chest, looking rather pleased with herself.

"Even with the French letters?" I ask. "How would you explain that?"

"Nothing is one hundred per-cent effective, John," she says. "And it would be no great feat for me to render them useless. Or to convince you that they were not needed. Men such as you believe what you are told." She gives me a smug smile. "It is not often that a woman is able to wield such power. You are a true gentleman, John. You would have had no choice than to believe me."

"The fair sex, indeed," Holmes says drolly. "Mrs. Langstrom, perhaps the self-effacing manner in which Watson portrays himself in his writings has misled you into thinking he is a man who is easily deceived. I can assure that years of exposure to my methods have honed his detecting skills, and he would have seen through your flimsy lies instantly."

I fight not to blush at such high praise from Holmes, though it shames me to realize he has such faith in me. Faith in me, even though I fear I would have certainly fallen into her web of deceit with nary a blink. I clear my throat, determined to continue the bluff. "I would not have blindly entered into marriage with you, Penelope. And I am disheartened that you think me so gullible that I would follow your plans without question."

"I did not realize that until yesterday evening," she responds. "I thought you to be more chivalrous, John."

"Penelope," I say with much emotion, "I treated you with the utmost respect and care, yet you created lies to damage my reputation. If you did not blame me for your aunt's insanity, and wished to marry me – even though your motives were impure- why would you do so?"

She draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Because of him." She points at Holmes.

"Your allegations are of a heinous nature, madam. That alone would guarantee that even if Watson was exonerated through the courts, he would never be able to hold his head up in society again. And you say I am to blame?" Holmes asks.

She ignores him and favours me with a smile. "The original plan was not to besmirch your reputation. I simply wanted your name for my child, and whatever money you had. Percy was very angry that you rebuffed his offers of friendship, and when I informed him you refused to marry me, he got quite angry, and decided to add assault and perversion to the game."

"But what made the game escalate for you, Penelope?" I ask. "Why would you go so far?"

"I did not consider that your loyalty and love for Mr. Holmes would thwart me. You do love him, do you not, John?"

My eyes shift to Holmes, then back to her. "He is my dearest friend."

"Merely friendship?" Her blue eyes are piercing in their intensity as she looks from him to me. "You would follow him to Hell's Gate and beyond for the sake of friendship? I think not."

"Your thoughts on the subject are of no consequence, madam," Holmes says coldly.

"I beg to differ," she returns. "Though I was indeed wrong in seeking to cuckold you, John, the sin you committed was far worse."

"I admit I am confused." I come to my feet and stand near her bed. "I did not know your aunt was involved in the matter of Mr. Oldacre. That she is now in Bedlam will cause me many sleepless nights, Penelope, but it is the path she chose."

"She is not the sole reason." She sighs. "It was, as I said earlier, because of Mr. Holmes. Your claims of deep, abiding friendship are a lie, John."

"I do love him, Penelope. Just as Jonathan loved David, and swore undying friendship and brotherly love to him, I give the same to Holmes. That our relationship is such is no secret from anyone."

"Are you certain you wish Mr. Holmes to hear such things?"

"Please go on," I insist.

"John… you are a magnificent lover. Your tenderness and stamina are amazing. I felt as though I were the Queen herself when you…" Her face reddens slightly, and she clears her throat. "For hours, you made me feel as though I meant something to you, as you focused all your energy and considerable… talents on my pleasure. But, in the end, it seems that you were not thinking of me at all. And it hurt me. It angered me. And it made me realize that my plans were for naught."

I frown. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You profess deep, abiding friendship for Sherlock Holmes, but I highly doubt that mere friendship made you call out for him during our intimacy."

I draw in a sharp breath, and for the second time today, feel the blood rushing from my face. Dear lord, the consequences! I look helplessly to Holmes, but his face is as stony as I've ever seen it. "Penelope, I fear you may have the wrong-"

"Oh, no, John," she cuts in, "please. I have lied to you much in the past few weeks, so there is no reason that you should believe me now, but I am speaking the truth." She casts her head down. "It was a mere whisper, rather tender, and heartfelt. I would have cast it off as a trifle, but there was something… your manner, your tone… it spoke of true love. Even though you had not been calling on me long, I had begun to feel something for you, even though it wasn't love. And even if I didn't love you, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you came to love me, especially after our shared pleasure. It angered me that my plans would fail because of such… I do not even know what to call it. But even then, I did not give up hope. Not until you saw me back home, and refused my offer to stay the night. You said 'I must get back to Baker Street; Holmes and I have papers to go over.' Had you stayed with me, you would not have landed in the hands of the police."

"But there were papers," I defend. "And if you knew Percy's maid had given me a sleeping draught, you were under obligation to tell me."

"I would have," she returns, "but the night's events had made my heart an ice block. I wanted you to suffer and to hurt, as I had."

"And so I have," I say, my tone filled with resignation. "My reputation is shreds, and-"

"Nonsense," Holmes interjects. "She will retract her statement with due haste."

She looks at him with haughty contempt. "I shall do no such thing. I will leave that to you, sir."

"You do your sex an injustice, madam." Holmes turns his back on her to face me, his disdain for her quite evident."I fail to see what you saw in this lady, Watson."

"Holmes…" I look at him, beseeching him to behave.

"He is entitled to feel contempt for me, John," Penelope says. "My husband did not deserve his fate. He was a hard man, but he cared for me in his own way."

Holmes turns back to her. "Perhaps he should have chosen a different path." Holmes' tone is hard and cutting, and I fear he may go too far.

But it seems Penelope can hold her own. "Have a care, good sir. Those in glass houses should not throw stones."

"Indeed, madam." He favours her with a slight, mocking bow. "Perhaps your condition will see to it that you are not punished severely."

"Jim has already retained a solicitor for me. I am to meet with him on the morrow." She looks at me. "And you need not worry, John. Percy has no idea what drove me to such a low, other than that you refused to marry me. He is truly an evil man, and I do regret going along with his schemes!"

"Oh, come along now, Penelope!" I am growing rather weary of this line of discussion. "At the first, you were clear that it was all in fun. I did not refuse to marry you, since I was merely following the example you set."

"You most certainly did!" Her tone is heated. "I told you I'd changed my mind, and all but asked for your hand in marriage, but you were adamant that you were quite content to keep me as your… fancy piece in the sheets, while silently lusting after another man!"

I avoid looking at Holmes as the last thing I want to see right now is his 'I-told-you-so' face. "I… well, I…"

"I understand your reasoning, though-" She pauses and looks at Holmes. "I fail to see the appeal."

I shrug, striving to appear as nonchalant as Holmes. "He is, as I've stated, the best friend a man could have. Anything you may choose to believe beyond that is your own affair."

"Had I not first-hand evidence to the contrary, I would truly believe you," she laughs. "As I've stated, your feelings for him will remain a secret."

"I fail to understand why you chose to say Watson harmed you when you had other, much more deadly ammunition with which to destroy him," Holmes says, studying her intently. "Surely a rumour of that nature would have been more destructive. Especially given your 'firsthand' evidence."

"It occurred to me, but I did not want to ruin John, only to punish him for not being what I thought him to be. Poor Mr. Wilde's plight could not be John's, no matter how hurt I was. And to be honest, I thought it would be easier to prove that he violated me than that he was in love with you." She laughs again. "It is a pity that such a great heart should belong to an unlovable man such as you, Mr. Holmes. I will never understand how you earned such a love, but you have it. I do hope you appreciate it."

How had I managed to miss such a character flaw? That this cold, calculating woman could hide behind a façade of beauty and graciousness… it is not new to me, given the cases that Holmes and I have been involved in, but I have never witnessed such things first hand. Dear me…

Holmes looks to me, then back at her. "I believe we're done here, Watson. Good day to you, Mrs. Langstrom." He touches a finger to his head and stalks from the room.

"Penelope," I say, "I wish things could have been different between us."

"It is kind of you to say, John, but I know the truth. I'm deeply sorry to have caused you such pain. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me."

"I…" I cannot find the words. Though I am certain things could have been far worse, the events of the day have hardened my heart toward her. "Good day, Mrs. Langstrom." I square my shoulders, and follow Holmes from the room.

"Well, Inspector," Holmes says rather cheerily, "it seems you are going to need another police cab for your cache of criminals."

"Indeed I shall," Lestrade says, blushing slightly. "You will come to headquarters and make your report?"

"I'm certain the facts will keep for a day or two." Holmes takes my arm and tugs at me slightly, pulling me toward the door. "Dr. Watson has had a trying day, and I'm sure he wants nothing more than a hot bath, and a soft bed to lie in."

"I understand." Lestrade pats me on the back. "Again, I sincerely apologise, Dr. Watson, both for myself, and for the criminal behaviour of my men."

"All is well, Lestrade." I clap him on the shoulder. "We will discuss it over port and cigars at the regular time next week."

"You haven't seen the last of me," Percy spits.

"I beg to differ," Holmes says. "Although you may not be hanged for your crimes, I do foresee a bit of toiling in your future. I'm certain the testimony of your… fiancée will see to that." He smiles briefly, and we take our leave.

 
Chapter Thirteen