Just A Dream, a sherlock holmes fanfic

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Just A Dream

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

The author does not in any way profit from this work. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator.

For more information: submit a review or contact the author via private message.

A/N: For KCS, because she's been feeling poorly. Hope you heal soon.

Just A Dream

The hour was somewhere about four-thirty of the morning. The doctor felt something shaking him and opened his eyes to peer up into the candle-lit face of his maid.

"Jenny?" he said hoarsely, "Is it a patient?" he tried to sit up against the protest of his weary limbs.

The maid had an odd look on her face. "Were you dreaming doctor?"

"Hm? I suppose I was. The case?" he asked, stretching and sliding his feet onto the cold floor. She looked at him strangely for a moment as he tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness forced him back to a seated position, and he allowed himself to fall back, his head hitting the thick, soft comforter and providing instant relief.

As he lay with his eyes closed, relishing the few more moments of rest, he wondered which patient would need him at this hour. He heard the maid mentioning a 'Misses' someone, but he was fast drifting off again.

"Thank you Jenny," he said with a little more terseness than he intended, but her voice was disrupting his rest. He forced his eyes open to look at her again, and she had a very queer look upon her face, but she turned and left as he closed his eyes again. He suddenly wished he had asked her to repeat what the case was, because now he might have to wake her before he went out.

He sighed moved his feet around on the floor, trying to wake himself up. The cold floorboards were a stark contrast to the warm mattress his body was molded into, and they weren't quite doing the trick. He ran his hands over the soft bed-linens, his body telling himself to crawl back into the warmth of the cocoon they provided, but his brain ordering him to obey his professional calling.

He tried to bring his mind up out of the comfort, shifting his feet on the floor again. He had to get up… He needed to get up…

Watson walked back into his bedroom at fifteen minutes to nine, hearing the familiar sound of rustling clothing and soft, feminine grunting.

"Mary?" he stepped over to look behind the folding screen and was not surprised to find the maid assisting his wife with her corset.

"Oh, Doctor Watson!" the maid exclaimed, her face reddening considerably. Mary turned to look at her husband.

"John," her eyes lit up, "You had a case this morning?"

"Yes," he nodded, taking another step forward and returning her smile as the maid moved quickly past him and out of the room. "I hope I didn't wake you when I left?"

"No," she said, her face turning a slight pink as she caught sight of her own barely-clothed reflection in the mirror. She picked up her petticoat from a nearby chair, but a hand on her wrist stopped her from putting it on. She looked up at her husband.

"I've told you not to lace this so tightly," Watson said, releasing her wrist and moving close behind her to loosen the lacings of her corset.

"But my figure—!" she protested.

"—Is beautiful. You don't need an eighteen inch waist."

"But the women at the club—"

"Do not matter. Are you married to them?" he lightly scolded.

"…No," she sighed a little as she felt her lungs expanding and the stiffened fabric pulling away from her skin. She sighed again as Watson finished re-lacing the corset. "It won't do any good if it is that loose," she stated.

"Then don't wear it." Her face took on such an expression of horror at his words that he had to suppress a laugh. "Mary..." he said reassuringly, stepping close behind her and smiling at her through the mirror. She leaned back and rested her shoulders against his chest and laid her head in the crook of his neck. They stared at each other's reflections for a moment, enjoying the closeness.

"What was the case this morning?" Mary murmured through her smile after a moment.

"Mrs. Carey."

"Oh! She had the baby?" she said, her eyes widening in interest.

"Yes. A boy," he answered, shifting his weight and placing his hands around her waist and folding them over her middle.

Mary placed her hands on top of his. "Did everything go well?" she asked, stroking the side of his thumb with her own.

"Yes. It was a nearly textbook birth."

"I'll bake her something this afternoon…" she said as Watson pulled his hands back slightly to rest on her hips. "…You see? You cannot span my waist anymore," she said sadly.

"I don't want to. It's unattractive." She gasped at his words. "Besides, you will permanently injure yourself if you continue wearing it so tightly."

"I can breathe easier…" she admitted.

"You see? An abnormally thin waist is not worth the internal damage…" he said practically, leaning his head into hers. As he did so he felt a soft dampness against his cheek, and the faint hint of honeysuckle shampoo wafted into his nostrils.

"I suppose…" she answered, a sudden look of worry crossing her delicate features. "John…"

"Mm…?" he answered without opening his eyes and burying his nose deeper into her hair.

"Do you know if Mrs. Carey wore a corset?"

Watson stiffened a bit and his face clouded ever so slightly. "I had quite the argument with her about it. But I convinced her to stop wearing one as soon as she knew she was pregnant." He opened his eyes, and looked at her seriously through the mirror. "Do you have any idea how many miscarriages and stillbirths I deal with? And from healthy women…" he frowned, "I am positive it is because of the corsets."

"Hmm…" her eyes darkened in thoughtful sadness.

Watson looked at her face for a long moment, finally relaxing a bit and closed his eyes again. "That's another reason not to wear one. If we have children I don't want there to be any problems," he said with a sober sigh.

Mary flushed slightly. "…Do you want children? We've never talked about it…"

He opened his eyes again. "Do you?"

"I'm not sure…" she answered honestly.

Watson shrugged slightly. "I want whatever you want," he smiled, closing his eyes and pressing his face into her hair.

Mary smiled, watching him with amusement. "And I want whatever you want."

"Then we're agreed. We have no idea what we want."

She giggled and he laughed silently, shifting his weight and putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him. She leaned into him as tightly as she could and held one of his hands, while his other hand felt along the whalebone structure of the waist-cincher, finally sliding upward toward her chest.

"John!"

"What?" he said playfully, lifting his hand to her chin and tilting it far back to kiss her softly.

The hour was somewhere about four-thirty of the morning. The doctor felt something shaking him and opened his eyes to peer up into the candle-lit face of his maid.

"Jenny?" he said hoarsely, "Is it a patient?" he tried to sit up against the protest of his weary limbs.

The maid had an odd look on her face. "Were you dreaming doctor?"

"Hm?" he thought for a moment, and in an instant the scene came back. The conversation, the kiss, the softness of her skin… He turned slightly, moving his hand across the covers to the vacant spot on the double-bed, which had been his wife's. "Yes…yes I was."

"Oh…" she said, looking a tad worried.

She continued to look at him strangely for a moment as he tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness forced him back to a seated position, and he allowed himself to fall back, his head hitting the thick, soft comforter and providing instant relief.

"Wait…say that again?" he said as he forced himself upright.

"A telegram from Paddington was just delivered sir. Mrs. Towne has gone into labor."

"Oh…call me a cab, please," he said, rubbing at his bleary eyes.

"Yes sir," she said. He looked up after a moment of silence and found her looking at him queerly.

"Thank you Jenny," he said with a little more terseness than he intended, and she turned and left. He sighed, pulling his hands into his lap as he sat ensconced in the warm bed. His eyelids were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to fall back into the depths of the bed, but the pleasant memories of the dream had now grown as dark as the night on a new moon.

He rose from the deep bed, shivering against the sudden cold and went to collect his clothes from the day before which were lying on a nearby chair. Thankfully the maid had yet to take them for the laundry and he dressed tiredly and methodically, following the long-practiced routine.

In the past, he would tiptoe through the room, taking the utmost care not to wake his wife. Or when she did wake, they would share a kiss and she'd wish him good luck on his nighttime ventures, be they maternity cases or the flu, or even on an escapade with Sherlock Holmes.

But not only were the adventures with his friend long gone, so was the one person in his life that made it worth living.

Author's notes: Just in case it wasn't clear, Watson was dreaming the beginning part too... I've had this in my head for over a year, and after sketching it out for Kai, I decided it was worth publishing XD So...what do you think?