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The Murder of Mary Morstan	By : varenoea Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes Views: 1534 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter List
- 1-The Murder of Mary Morstan
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AN: This was fun to write, even though that "I got a stick up my arse" type of language was difficult. I'm not a native speaker, so if I use words wrong, please point me to it!
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My poor, grief-stricken friend Watson probably never told you the story of his unfortunate Mary’s death. I think it is a matter that needs to be illuminated here, dear reader.

Mary Watson, née Morstan, died at London’s zoological gardens while making a visit to the polar bear enclosure. She had always harboured an intense liking for these animals, and would regularly come to visit them with her husband.

On this particular day, she stood in the middle of a crowd around the enclosure, and leaned forward over the railing to see the bears better, as she would (she was very short-sighted, but too worried about her looks to wear glasses). Suddenly she shrieked, and toppled over the low wall with the metal railing on it, and fell head first down into the pit where the white beasts were waiting to be fed. When faced with her terrified cries, one big male was startled, got up, decapitated her with one powerful bite and proceeded to eat her head. Afterwards, it started to consume the rest of her, starting at the shoulders. It only got as far as her breasts before the attendants came with long metal poles and shooed it away to retrieve the corpse.

Everybody agreed that her death had been a most unfortunate accident. And yet, as I will tell you, it was murder.

Shortly after the incident, I just had to let Watson know that I was alive. It would have been cruel to leave him in the dark about it any longer, and I thought he might be in need of a friend. Watson, however, preferred not to talk about his deceased wife at all, and least of all about her death, and I was wise enough not to push him to it. He moved back into our old flat with me, and we restored the close friendship we had once had.

I must admit, I never really liked Mary – other than as a lady with an interesting story. She never seemed very warm or likeable to me. Moreover, it was her fault that I lost my social life three years ago, when Watson moved out of Baker Street. I felt cheated on by Watson – robbed by her – and disgusted with myself for being so childishly jealous.

Knowing that I did, of course, not own my friend; and knowing that he had any right to do the most natural thing in the world and live with a spouse; knowing all that, I still sat in my now-silent flat and brooded for weeks. Could he have intelligent conversations with her? Of course not. Was living with her interesting? No, it would most likely be filled with dull routine. But then, did I have a bust? No, of course not.

For months, Watson would only come for a short visit occasionally, and I started to feel myself developing some weird ways and habits. Living alone was not good for me. So I decided to try a change of scenery; it was only a vague plan when the Reichenbach events occurred, but even as I crawled out of the water my mind was starting to form a plan. I was going to use these events to disappear. Watson would not ask where I was, and I did not intend to let him know, although I made some arrangements to let others know.

The change of scenery I had after this was precisely the thing I had needed. I won’t give a detailed account of where I spent these years, only that they did me good; but when I returned to England, I decided to go back to London, which I had missed. Our old flat in Baker Street was unoccupied. Now all that I was lacking was my old flatmate.

This was the time when his unfortunate wife fell victim to a most sophisticated and insidious murder. Watson never found out that it was murder; and I kept it to myself.

How was this crime conducted?

The culprit was someone who knew the couple’s habits very well, and had been watching them on many of their zoo visits. Mary Watson would always stand at a specific spot from which one could overlook nearly the whole enclosure, a pit about ten foot deep. In it, there was a long and deep ditch filled with water for the bears to swim in; but next to the railing the bottom of the pit was solid ground.

Our man also had to know that on this particular day, the bears had not been fed yet by 11 a.m. (when our couple would usually reach the enclosure). The reason why they had not been fed was that the keeper who would feed them (a moderately intelligent man by the name of Pearson) had been found sound asleep and reeking of alcohol in a corner of the house where the keepers used to spend their lunch breaks. He could not be revived until the early afternoon, and later swore he had not drunk all that much at all, not enough to fall asleep, in any case.

Since Pearson had neglected his duty (which he should have fulfilled in the early morning), the bears were very hungry. The zoo staff did not think much of it; this kind of thing happened now and then, and as long as nobody got too close to these predators, they were no danger. Little did they know that someone was going to get tragically close to them

Pearson had, of course, been drugged with his own little flask of alcohol which he kept in the lunch break rooms; since he had been staying alone for a late shift, nobody saw him lying there until the next morning.

But there was another important factor to keep in mind. Mary Watson had, of course, been pushed over the railing. But there is a significant difference in the way a falling person shrieks when they’re pushed, as opposed to when they lose balance – namely, the pushed person will shriek only when they’re falling already. The victim who loses their balance will show signs of dismay before they actually fall.

It was important for our malefactor, then, to startle the lady even before the fall. To achieve this, he had cunningly disguised himself as an elderly washerwoman, and paid some money to a corset-maker who had just repaired one of Mary Watson’s corsets (which, for some reason or other, had suddenly been damaged after hanging on a line in the back yard). The old lady only asked to be allowed to bring the corset back to the Watsons’ household; and the corset-maker agreed only too gladly, seeing that he was being offered more money than a corset actually cost.

The washerwoman brought the corset to the house; but meanwhile, the corset had been spiked with two rose thorns down the middle of the front seam – so cunningly that the thorns could only be felt when the lady in it leaned forward very much. Furthermore, when the Watsons’ maid took the corset from the old woman, the old woman insisted that the corset must be worn tomorrow, just to see if everything fitted, so that any possible complaints could be taken care of the day after.

Thus, everything was prepared for the foul deed. Mary Watson was in the zoo at the right time, the bears were hungry, and when she leaned over the railing, the rose thorns pricked her. She cried out and struggled to keep her balance; but by this time, our villain in disguise stood in the crowd that had previously formed behind and around her, and gave her the one little push that was necessary to fulfil his intention.

A very sophisticated and clever strategy, I think you can’t help but agree. Even to the victim – had she survived – it would not have looked like anything more than a mere accident of plant leftovers in a piece of underwear, and an unfortunate movement from an innocent bystander.

Who would think of such a complicated, cunning, depraved and insidious way to murder an innocent woman? And who would have the means to fulfil all the parts of this plan, and leave the pieces to look like a loose pattern of coincidences, none of which looked suspicious by themselves? (Except, if I may say so, to me?)

Only I, obviously.

But let me dispel your misgivings - I do not intend to make a habit out of it.
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The Murder of Mary Morstan