All is Fair in Love and War

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MARY WATSON

Monday

Mary woke with a smile on her face, precisely 30 seconds before her alarm buzzed. Leaning over in bed, she woke her bleary-eyed husband with a peck on the cheek and gentle shove. She rolled off the mattress, dug through the pile of clothing on the floor for a clean pair of trousers, and headed for the bathroom.

“Save me some hot water,” John mumbled, pulling a pillow across his face.

“Hurry up, and maybe you’ll make it in time,” his wife teased.

She was in a remarkably good mood, particularly for a Monday morning. It probably had something to do with the fact that Sheryl had slept through the night for the first time all month, and was helped along by the fact that, as she surveyed herself in the mirror, she noted that some of her pregnancy weight gain was at last melting off. John had been right - signing up for karate lessons had been a good idea. Technically, she was already a black belt, but John didn’t know that, and the exercise was getting her back into shape.

At 7:05, there was nothing at all out of the ordinary in the “master” bath of the Watson household. There was a lot of white; the standard, utilitarian appliances mingled with white tile (the grout was yellowing slightly, but that too was by no means unusual), and the white walls, though in need of a fresh coat of paint, were precisely the same as they always were. The single sink sat centered in a cheap counter-top. It was altogether the picture of domestic mediocrity.

Mary’s pyjama pants hit the floor. These were quickly followed by an overlarge tee-shirt and a zebra-print bra. A moment later, the shower was turned to its highest setting, and within seconds, the small room was beginning to fill with steam. Mrs. Watson murmured a few bars of a song - something by Adele, she was reasonably sure.

When the water turned off at 7:20, and a dripping hand reached for a fluffy towel, the woman peeking her head around the opaque shower curtain observed the bathroom in its entirety for the second time that morning. Everything was precisely as she had left it, except for a single detail. Though she had not heard the door open, and the tiny, frosted window was locked from the inside, there was now pasted to the mirror a pink Post-It note.

Curious, she padded to the sink, stepping lightly on the cold floor. The note could have come from her desk - she was quite sure she had sticky notes that color. On it was written, in a clear hand, a number five. Nothing more. Mary frowned.

“John...?” she called.

She did not receive a reply. Toweling off in a hurry, and momentarily stepping back into her nightclothes, Mary slipped out of the bath and peered around their sleeping quarters. John was gone, but on the bed was another pink note.

SH texted me; gone out. Will shower tonight. I’ll get the milk. - JW

Well, that explained her husband’s absence at least. Still regarding the note with the five quizzically, Mary set the piece of paper down on the bedside table and dressed herself. It wouldn’t be long until a darling baby girl was looking for her breakfast, and in the meantime, the doctor’s wife had a new high kick to practice.

JOHN WATSON

John buried his face under his pillow, feeling his phone buzz and in no mood to answer it. The offending cellular device buzzed again, however, and grumpily, John retrieved it.

7:05 a.m.

Break-in at Astley Clarke. Come if convenient. - SH

7:06 a.m.