Jonathan Watson had always had an adequately keen eye, especially for the human nature. He may not have been what one would call adept at observation, but being a physician did call for some skill at diagnosis.

When Dr. Watson strolled lazily out of the wood one early morning to find a small village town, he was nothing but relieved. He'd been walking for about 4 days and his supplies were running rather short; it was a long walk from Salem to anywhere apparently. His feet were sore as he walked into the center of the town. He may have gotten lost, for there were no people in the streets, however, he heard the distant murmurings of a crowd which he followed. As he approached, he could see the crowd that he'd heard. It seemed to be that the whole town was in the square, all of them making a semi-circle around a wooden platform with stocks. Dr. Watson meandered through the crowd up toward the edge of the platform to see what the fuss was about only to find that said platform was empty, but for the stocks.

The constant murmuring of the people suddenly turned to a low roar at the sound of a drum being played in a slow rhythm, almost as if they were leading someone to their grave; it sent chills down the doctor's arms. Over the heads of people, Dr. Watson could faintly see a small precession emerge from a building looking like the town jailhouse. He thought he saw a woman in the middle of the group, led slowly by the jailer and a well-dressed man with an elegantly carved cane in his hand. As they came closer to the platform, the crowd Dr. Watson stood in began to part for them. The woman, yes it was a woman after all, drug her feet as she walked, head down and something in her arms.

A woman standing next to the doctor spoke with venom in her tone to a young maid next to her "Gets what she deserves! No good having a girl like her in town, is it?"

Dr. Watson held his tongue to question her as his attention was once again directed at the woman, now sent up on her own to stand on the platform. Was this some kind of punishment? What had she done?

The woman continued to stand with her eyes toward the ground, hands clenching the bundle she held to her chest. She looked miserable and embarrassed, that much was certain by the way she held herself.

"Hussy!" Dr. Watson turned to see another old woman with a sneer of pure contempt on her face as she spat words at the young woman on the platform.

As Dr. Watson directed his attention back to the shamed girl, he was taken aback. She had straightened and lifted her eyes to look directly at the woman who had spoken abuse at her. There was a fire in the young woman's eyes and ferocity in her posture that made Dr. Watson rethink his previous deduction. Whatever punishment this woman was going through, she was taking it with pride and dignity. In that moment she looked incredibly strong where she stood, chin up and eyes ablaze. If Dr. Watson was honest, she was also absolutely beautiful. She had large, doe-eyes that seared into the crowd, long, wavy brown hair that shone in the sunlight, and she was very fair, as if she rarely saw the sun. For a moment, Dr. Watson lost his breath at the sight of her, but he quickly regained his composure for the sake of being a professional.

"Silence!" the doctor picked up his head and searched around for the large voice that called for quiet, his eyes finally settling on the well-dressed man he had seen walking the girl to the platform. He now stood on the balcony of a building in the square accompanied by two other men. "Reverend Wilson will now address the sinner!"

A thin, elderly man walked forward to the edge of the balcony, his eyes cast down on the young woman. She, in turn, had her eyes directed at the platform as well, the same fire in her gaze that had appeared some minutes ago. The elderly man spoke a quick prayer to the crowd, then directed his full attention back to the woman.

"Speak, woman," he began slowly, "speak the name of your fellow sinner that he may be under ignominy as well."

The crowd was deathly silent staring at the young woman to hear her response, but she said not a single word. She stared up at the man, a faint smirk on her lips, not a syllable escaping her.

"Speak!" the old man was in a heat now, angrier than before at the young sinner's stubbornness. This was not the first time they had attempted to get it out of her.

Dr. Watson watched as the elderly man retreated on the balcony in a huff to consult his companions. The youngest of the men, looking a little younger than the doctor himself, stood silent and uninvolved until they shoved him to the edge to address the woman on his own.

Dr. Watson observed the young man carefully as he stood stiff and pale at the rail. His eyes were a deep blue that the doctor could see even from the distance, his hair a loose mess of dark curls, and his garb confessing that he was a clergyman as well though it hung on his frame as though he were only bones; he was fiercely emaciated. The man stood still with an almost blank expression but for the subtle hint of worry and pain that Dr. Watson was sure only he saw. The young reverend clamped his hands down on the rail and stared into the young woman's eyes, mouth tremulous as he tried to find words.

"Ms. Hooper," his voice was a deep baritone, soothing and rich, "speak the name of your partner in sin. Speak his name so that he can be free of his burden and share your open ignominy."

Again the woman was silent as she stared, though the smirk has disappeared from her face. She shifted the bundle in her arms; Dr. Watson could now see that it was a newborn babe. It was beginning to make sense now.

"Please," the young minister spoke again, more urgently this time, "speak his name that he may not have to carry the shame and guilt in secrecy! It weighs on his heart like death! Don't be silent for mistaken feelings of pity for him!" The emotion in the young man's voice touched Dr. Watson. The minister obviously felt deeply for his parishioners.

"I cannot," the young woman finally spoke, her voice as beautiful as she was, Dr. Watson noticed, "I would rather bare his pain and mine than speak his name and make him suffer as I do."

At this the young minister was speechless. His brow knit together and his lips pursed into a tight frown. He backed away from the rail of the balcony and turned his face away from the crowd with his fingers grasping at the cloth of his clerical.

The well-dressed man returned to the balcony. "This shameful sinner will face punishment for her doings and her partner will suffer doubly from hidden guilt."

Dr. Watson couldn't tear his eyes from the woman now, for streaks began to appear on her cheeks, though her pride stayed.

"She will forever carry a sign of her sin with her," at this the young minister returned his gaze to the crowed with puzzlement and worry slightly evident in his expression. "From now on, Molly Hooper shall wear a symbol of her ignominy on her heart for all to see." When he had finished, the man gestured for the young woman to show her symbol.

With a stern face, she lowered the baby from her chest. A bright, blood-red letter 'A' was embroidered, rather beautifully, into her dress. The thread was gold and the workmanship was impeccable. It seemed to Dr. Watson to be more of a decoration than a punishment, but obviously the crowd approved of it for they shouted scornful cheers at her, calling her cruel names.

The young minister stared at her sullenly, white knuckles clutching at his clothes, obvious pain shared with the poor woman. The punishment had apparently surprised him. He closed his eyes as if to silently pray to himself.

The jeers and shouts continued for some minutes as the woman continued to stand with the scarlet letter glaring on her bosom. Eventually the crowd began to disperse, but Dr. Watson stayed near the edge of the platform. After some time the jailer came to return the woman to her proper place in the jailhouse.

The doctor stayed where he was, watching the young woman walk away with the child in her arms. He silently considered all he had just witnessed when a lilting voice came from behind him.

"New to town as well?"

Dr. Watson turned to see a man a little older than he approaching him. The man had a scowl on his face that almost seemed like a smirk. "How did you know?" the doctor asked.

"You're still here," he gestured to the platform, "so am I."

"What does that prove?"

"Well, it was quite a sight just now, wasn't it? Quite an ordeal for the young woman. Of course we would stay, we're… intrigued."

The man's tone made Dr. Watson somewhat uncomfortable, but, ever polite and professional, he extended his hand.

"Jonathan Watson, Dr. Jonathan Watson," the other man extended his hand with a crooked smile and shook with Dr. Watson, "you are?"

"James. James Moriarty. We have something in common my friend," James said.

"Oh? What would that be," said Dr. Watson, breaking the handshake.

"We're both men of medicine, in a way. I'm a Professor in medicine from the old country. People ask me to… fix things." The man's crooked smile grew as he spoke.

"Then I'm sure we shall get along." John forced a smile and walked away from the man with a quick wave over his shoulder. That man had definitely made him uneasy.

"Yes," Professor Moriarty said quietly to himself, "I'm sure we will." He smirked to himself as he walked the opposite direction of Dr. Watson.