As they awaited definite news that all was ready for Helena to return to America, she and Holmes discussed his detective profession in ever greater detail, perhaps because she wished to know all his secrets before she had to depart. He hesitantly ventured that he would correspond with her and her brother if only they would promise to occasionally come visit him, that their intimacy might sometimes be in person, instead of on paper. She smilingly said that she would include this proposal in her next letter to her brother.
Unexpectedly, a letter from Tobias Gregson intervened first. The Scotland Yard detective wished to have Holmes's assistance concerning a mysterious murder in Brixton Road. Helena thrilled at the idea of a case in which Holmes would have to actually leave Baker Street, and regretted that she could not go along. Holmes pondered that idea for a moment, then suddenly dragged her by the arm back to his bedroom. "You shall go," he said, "in disguise."
"What?"
He explained that the only way to really make her understand his profession and his methods would be to bring her along on a case. Gregson perhaps would allow the presence of a doctor, if Holmes claimed him as a professional associate of his, but he would most certainly disapprove of a female doctor, out of sheer chauvinism and a belief that a woman could not handle the sight of a corpse. Therefore, Holmes needed to disguise her as a man.
Helena was astounded by his audacity, but she could not argue Holmes out of his resolve as he quickly withdrew from a trunk some clothes, a wig, and various other disguise paraphernalia that she did not know he possessed. She changed her clothes behind a screen, but his hands travelled indiscriminately all over her anyway in adjusting her costume, her hair, and her false mustache. If she became flustered, he protested that she was a doctor, who surely did not blush during her anatomy classes at the college.
"Come, now," he said when he had finished applying her makeup. "No one shall detect you at all, especially with a corpse to distract all attention. Just don't speak, unless you can mimic your brother's voice."
With that, they departed and soon were on their way in a hansom cab to Brixton Road. Holmes was indeed correct; hardly anyone acknowledged her presence at all, and when anyone did ask who she was, Holmes simply replied truthfully, "This is Dr. Watson."
Thus she had an intimate view of the entire case, and the murder mystery captured her imagination vividly and powerfully, so much that she missed work to accompany Holmes. From the first day, she also started to write down the details of the case in a letter to her brother, especially as Holmes's many quirks started to come to light with the case. However, when Holmes actually suggested at one point that she arm herself with James's service revolver, she wondered if her brother might not be upset by such a detail and insist that she cease spending time with Holmes. When she also considered James's probable reaction to hearing that she was dressing as a man in public, she realised that her brother had his limits, and she would need to alter the tale that she sent to him.
Thus, once the case concluded, she rewrote the entire letter and claimed instead that she had learned many firsthand details of the case from a certain young man named John Herbert, who was an associate of Holmes in his more active cases.
James wrote back in response that he was most amused by this Darwin-quoting, German-reading, violin-playing, dog-poisoning detective who seemed to exceed every expectation one might have of him. However, James also reported that the prospects for their practice had become considerably less rosy. The benefactor who was to grant them a loan had learned of the terrible debts and alcoholism of Harry Watson, and he feared that James and Helena might be prone to follow in their brother's footsteps. James needed to prove his character and his financial responsibility before the benefactor would grant the loan. After some negotiation, it was agreed that James would work for a time as a consulting doctor at the Infirmary, and that the family of Mary, one of Helena's friends, would gladly house him for the duration. James wrote that he would let Helena know when she could come over, and he apologised for making her wait longer.
She was peeved by the setback, but continued to work diligently and put aside her wages to show that she too was possessed of sound finances. In the meantime, Dr. Helena Watson was also repeatedly making appearances as Dr. John Watson at the side of Sherlock Holmes. The eccentric sleuth's cases continued to interest her immensely, and she found great freedom and independence in her male persona.
In James's continued letters to her, he began lamenting that working at the Infirmary was difficult and sometimes depressing, as many of the patients were destitute women and children whose cases broke his heart over and over. He did not wish to dwell on it, especially as Helena had already experienced all this misery herself when she had studied there. In any case, he felt that he ought to be more hardened after having been through war, but somehow death in the middle of civilization instead of on a battlefield touched him deeply. James became more vague on such distressing details and began instead to write more of pleasant evenings at Mary's home. How glad he was that Helena had made such good friends as these.
Weeks passed, then months. Hearing James's letters read aloud to him, Holmes began to suspect that James was in fact falling in love with this Mary, and that his thoughts were tending toward marriage and establishing a home just for himself and his bride. His sister would be but an afterthought in this. Holmes remained torn over whether he ought to reveal this particular deduction to Helena, as it would be greatly disappointing and hurtful. However, one can only be blind so long, and when James's correspondence became more vague and more tinged with guilt each time that he said he would continue to work at the Infirmary "a little longer", the truth did not need to be spoken.
In fact, Holmes found Helena breaking ties in a very physical way. In the middle of the night, he found her sitting in her dressing-gown in front of James's mirror, in his long-empty room. Newspapers covered the dressing-table, and her long hair spilled down upon her shoulders as she methodically and mercilessly hacked off her tresses with a large pair of scissors.
Holmes came in and approached her softly. "Watson?" he ventured. He had grown accustomed to calling her only Dr. Watson or Watson, in the absence of her brother.
She did not turn around, and merely glanced at him in the mirror. "Yes?" Her voice was hard and cold, as it had been when she had challenged Holmes to examine Harry's watch. A grieving, then. A letting go of the past.
"You're serious about this?" He stood just behind her chair.
She nodded, sacrificing another lock to the blades. "No use in holding on to useless things. If I cut it now, I can start going to barber shops instead of always pinning it up under one of your wigs."
Holmes knelt down beside her, studying her eyes closely with his own. "You do want to stay with me?"
She paused in her cutting and turned to him resolutely. "If you're kicking me out, Holmes, you'd better tell me before I'm finished."
Rising wordlessly, he simply took the scissors from her hand and began cutting her hair himself. He hovered quite near, brushing off snippets of hair from her skin with his slender fingers, and she watched in silence in the mirror as he trimmed her locks down to bare necessity, transforming her from Helena to John. In her own mind, the change seemed irreversible.
Henceforth, she began living as Dr. John H. Watson exclusively, moving down one floor and purchasing a full male wardrobe for herself, with Holmes's help. He came to her room every morning to help reapply her makeup and adjust her costume, and Holmes complied in always speaking to her and treating her as a man. This practice greatly disturbed Mrs. Hudson, but Watson sat her down and insisted rationally enough, "Isn't it better for appearances' sake that you have two men rooming together, rather than a man and a woman who are unmarried and unrelated? You know and trust us, don't you, Mrs. Hudson?"
While their landlady reluctantly adjusted to the new arrangements, Holmes gave Watson voice lessons and handwriting lessons to imbue her with flawless masculinity. Watson got a very respectable position as a doctor that she never would have had if she had remained female. She joked sometimes that one of these days she would stop playing detective with Holmes and go back to her female self, as soon as she earned enough money to establish herself in a nice, reputable practice of her own, one that would be the envy of any man, especially her brother, should he ever decide to show up again.
Yet Watson's heart no longer exclusively belonged to medicine. It was caught up now in Holmes and his exciting world. Watson began writing chronicles of his cases, starting with another rewrite of the Jefferson Hope case titled A Study in Scarlet, in which she blended her brother James's history with her own to create the charming narrator of this tale. Thus Watson sent the story around as 'fictionalised', and found a Dr. Conan Doyle to be her adviser and advocate for what he termed a very promising tale.
Quite belatedly and unexpectedly, James Watson wrote to say that yes, the loan was granted, and yes, Helena should now come and claim her practice with him. Pondering this for several days, she found it difficult to refuse her brother's offer and was finally forced to type her reply to James, that he would not see the change in her handwriting. She responded lamely that she had grown too fond of and accustomed to England again. She wished instead, if James were fond of America, or at least of one certain American lady, that he ought to take the practice himself and be happy. As an afterthought, to sound more convincing, she added, "For myself, there is also a romance with a certain English gentleman."
"Not Holmes?" came a telegram directly from New York.
She replied, "No, he is my chaperone."
James then responded more fully to her in a subsequent letter in which he expressed his surprise that he had been found out. "Was I as patently readable as I was when I grew too fond of Afghanistan and India?" He apologised for his shameful treatment of his sister and poured out immense relief and gratitude that she had chosen to forgive him so graciously and to wish him happiness so generously. "Are you certain you do not wish to come?" he asked. "Mary and I, wanting to be sure that we are not simply being swept away by fleeting, heady romance, have decided to make our engagement long, so that we can watch our love ripen with time. You could certainly come and have a well established practice before I would ever leave to be on my own with Mary."
She refused him again, and asked him to detail his romance with Mary, to make up for the vagueness in his letters during that time period. James responded happily, glad to not have to feel guilty that he had fallen in love with such a wondrous creature. He waxed poetic about her for page after page.
Watson began to think about romance more and more, herself. Dr. Doyle had written in his commentary on the Study in Scarlet manuscript, "Need more romance! Holmes is too much a cold fish. What about writing J. Hope's history with Lucy?" Watson had heeded the suggestion, cobbling something together and finally getting the book sold and published as "cheap fiction." Doyle promised to get Watson a better deal the next time.
So in her next novel, Watson invented a romance between Dr. John H. Watson and Mary Morstan, an imaginary creature based upon James's Mary. Their true client of the Sign of the Four case needed to be protected by a veil of discretion, and the fiction of this angelic Mary Morstan did no one harm, in Watson's opinion.
Holmes, however, was clearly disturbed when he read Watson's next foray into publication. "Will you do this to every case of ours?" he frowned.
"Romance sells." With that statement, Watson had a discomforting notion that she had lost a bit of Holmes's respect, though he did not say so.
In time, Holmes taught Watson how to shoot and box and fence, the fencing being Watson's request out of pure curiosity. If Holmes were to rely on Watson so completely, even in dangerous moments, then he must be fully prepared.
One day, Holmes took Watson down to a rough sort of establishment that turned out to be home to a boxing ring. To Watson's surprise, the prize-fighters there all seemed to recognise Holmes and have tales to tell about remarkable bouts in which he had fought. Holmes disappointed them with a dismissive wave of his hand, "No, I've not come to fight."
Watson's curiosity was piqued, despite his finding the whole idea of boxing uncivilised. The sight of the various boxers practicing and sparring drew only disgusted complaints from him. "As a medical man, Holmes, I protest this savagery, and I am surprised that you ever engaged in such a sport..."
"Hush, Watson!" Holmes turned back and continued conferring with an older man who seemed to be in charge of the place.
Watson stood impatiently by the ring and stared at the photographs upon the wall, hoping to see one of Holmes somewhere.
Holmes finally returned to Watson's side and drew him away. "Come, Watson, our seats are over here."
"Seats?" Watson kept glancing back at the wall curiously. "You mean we must remain and watch a fight?"
"Yes, Watson." Holmes sat him down well out of view of the wall of photos. "My teaching you at home does not seem to be effective, as you regard the whole affair as an adventurous game of some sort." He sat in the chair next to Watson's and folded his arms. "Now you must see the brutal reality."
Watson squirmed and grimaced as an ugly and already well-beaten pair of fighters entered the ring and began their fight. "Ugh! Horrible!"
"Horrible indeed, Watson. But the kind of unsavoury assailants that you might run across in the course of one of our cases will certainly be more vicious and merciless. There are no gentlemanly rules when it's no longer a sport. And," Holmes hesitated, glancing around them to be sure no one was listening to his low whisper, "they shall not know you are a woman." He laid his right hand upon her left knee for a moment.
She, for she suddenly felt like a she again, frowned with outrage at how he could violate their tacit agreement to treat her entirely as a man. Some part of Helena Watson could only believe in herself as John Watson if Holmes consistently supported her in the endeavour. Constantly carrying herself in this artificial way required a tremendous effort of will.
Holmes knew the meaning of her scowling silence and whispered further, "I am only showing my concern for your welfare, Watson. Surely you can forgive me for this, if I can forgive your repeated discouraging lectures against my cocaine use?"
She took his point and grudgingy watched the fight, but remained distracted by trying to picture Holmes engaged in such fierce combat. At the end of a round, Watson remarked, almost resentfully, "You never mentioned such experiences to me before."
"There are many experiences I have had which I have never mentioned to you."
Holmes's voice was strangely quiet and suggestive of something, but he kept his eyes firmly focused upon the ring while Watson tried to fathom his meaning. Then the bell rang, and the next round began.
When all was over, they rose from their chairs and Holmes walked over to the older man once more to bid him farewell. "Thank you for your indulgence."
"Anytime! You know you're always welcome here. And your little fellow, too." He nodded toward Watson.
"Little fellow!"
Holmes smiled. "You have offended his manly dignity, and must meet him for pistols at twenty paces tomorrow morning!"
The other man chuckled heartily.
Watson remained un-amused. "Holmes, I won't suffer this ridicule a moment longer. You can find your own cab home." He stormed out.
Holmes stayed behind a little longer. "You must excuse him," he murmured. "He tends to be wilful."
The older man winked at him confidentially. "But I'd watch out if I were you. I think she likes you."
Holmes blinked disconcertedly and had no possible response to that. He turned and walked out of the establishment, hailing a cab for home.
Fortunately, her cover remained intact on all other occasions.