'I need help.'

There comes a time when every parent realizes this. It isn't very profound, but it is very true, and quite necessary. Mary Watson was a stubborn woman, and liked to do things herself. She nursed all of her children herself (shocking!) dressed them herself (whatever next?!) and often brought the children down to her husband's surgery so that he could see them when he took tea. He did tend to frown on that, but Mary knew he didn't really mind. He just liked to pretend to be stern and proper. A man who ran about with the likes of Sherlock Holmes was anything but proper.

That was, after all, why she married John Watson. That, and she loved him dearly.

But to the problem at hand: Mary Watson needed help. Three children, another on the way, and assisting Lord Mycroft with affairs of the government, as well as keeping house and husband, she was run off her feet!

John would balk at the suggestion, naturally. It was an expense, but they were always careful with their funds, they didn't spend extravagantly, and the fees from Mr. Holmes detective-work, coupled with Lord Mycroft's generous salary, as well as John's practice, they were very comfortable, very comfortable indeed. They had just purchased a lovely house in Berkeley Square. John was nearly choked by the cost, (Mary even admitted it was quite the tidy sum) but needs must with a growing family, and Mary was sick to death of living so close to the Thames in a stuffy walk-up, and the stink of waste from alley ways. The business of Jack the Ripper had done it for her. It took some convincing to get John to agree, but Mary got her way in the end, and baby number four was on its way soon after they were unpacked.

The months that followed the move she was obediently frugal and minded every penny and expense. She looked over the books with care, knowing it pleased him, though certain even without penny-pinching, they were still comfortably off. His practice was thriving, Lord Mycroft (who Mary knew bought their home and then sold it to them through a buyer at a disgustingly low price) was more than happy with her work, and there didn't seem to be any slowing down of the criminals and low-lives of good old England.

Still. Mary Watson was tired, and she dreaded having to convince her husband that a helping hand was very necessary. Indeed, a helping hand was on her way, only John Watson did not know it.

Breakfast was always the best time to spring news on her husband. He was still tired from gadding about all over London with Mr. Holmes, and usually wasn't very alert until his second cup of tea. She counted down the minutes until she felt he'd had enough time to digest. While she waited, she studied him. Well, what she could see of him. Only the top of his head and his hands were visible at the moment. The London Times was spread open, blocking his view of the table. She looked across to where their twin boys sat, porridge on the table and the napkins around their necks. William and Edward were all of four, and clever as the day was long. If there was any stretch of silence from the nursery, it was a guarantee the twins were coming up with some mischief. Rosamund, five, sat quietly beside her mother. She was the eldest and a more quiet, charming girl there never was. Yes, the children were lovely and bright and happy, and had plenty of their parents' wits and graces and looks in them. When, on Sundays, they took to the park, it was often said that there couldn't' have been a more pleasant household than the Watson's.

Every household has secrets, of course, and certainly no one is perfect. But Mary liked to think her children were. Or at least practically perfect.

Hearing the paper rustle, she looked again at the opened newspaper that faced her. Sometimes, from behind, there'd be a muffled cough or a 'Hmhm,' at some piece of news. Funny. Mary recalled her husband being quite a bit more handsome than the London Times.

"John."

"Hmhm."

"Will you put down your paper a moment. I'd like to talk to you before all the business of the day overtakes us."

"Hmhm,"

"John!" she poked the paper, and at last, the corner lowered.

"Did you say something?" the paper was set down over the remains of his breakfast, and he removed cotton wadding from his ears. "I've been keeping my ears blocked since Holmes got that awful concertina. Says he has to look the part of a sailor, I don't know. Sorry. I forgot about them when I got in last night."

Mary, having stood while he explained himself, had time to put the rest of the dishes on the sideboard and come to stand back at his side, hands on hips.

"John I think we ought to have a nanny."

He coughed into his tea, then looked at his lap, to be sure he had not stained his suit. "A nanny! Whatever for? They cost too much!"

"Whatever for, says the man who helped make this little circus of a family," Mary laughed, rolling her eyes heavenward. She rounded the table, picking up Rosamund from her chair. The twins sat content in their own private language that some twins possess, making a horrible mess of their porridge. "Don't do that," a light tap from their mother's hand made them cease, for the time being.

"I know what this is about," John said, suddenly recalling a passing bit of news from his wife, regarding an old friend of hers. "This is about finding that old school chum of yours a job, isn't it? What's her name, Molly Hooper! I didn't know she was in service! I thought she was a nurse or something. Wasn't she attending school when she visited?"

"How clever you are, Doctor Watson," Mary teased her husband, a twinkle in her eye. "Anyway, yes, you're right, she was attending school. Her father's death put an end to that, unfortunately. So much of what he left her was eaten up in funeral costs and old debts that she's got hardly anything to live on."

"What you are suggesting...while well-meaning-" John began, but that was all, for his wife, interrupted:

"She loves children, she's an absolute natural with them. I've already suggested it to her, and she loves the idea of it. She's so wanted to come up and visit since the boys were born. I can easily vouch for her character, so you needn't have Lord Mycroft go snooping about for references. Besides all this," Mary gently settled Rosamund into John's lap, and standing beside him, rested her hand over her ever-so-slightly protruding belly. "We need a nanny. I can't do this on my own."

Holding their daughter with one arm, he placed his palm over her rounded stomach. Soon enough, she'd be back to tea-gowns throughout the day, and the awful bouts of morning sickness. He looked at his marvelous, not so little family, and sighed, nodding. "You're right of course. It wouldn't be fair to you, nor to the cook, or to the housemaid."

"The thing is…"

"Mary…" John sank into his chair, and Rosie sank lower too, chin almost level with the table.

"The thing is," Mary continued, "I really like her to live with us, as a family member, not just a nanny."

"Then whatever-"

"Oh listen for two moments, would you!" Mary interrupted him. "She's a good friend, John, a beloved friend. You could even call her a sister to me."

John pulled himself upright, quite surprised at the fervor in his wife's voice.

"You remember I told you, before we were married, I used to work for Lord Mycroft overseas?"

John nodded. They didn't speak of those dark times. Mary had helped prevent a war, and had taken part in plots that she was not proud of. She'd saved the country, no doubt, but John did wonder at times at what cost.

"Yes I do," he answered at last.

"Well…she…helped me. When I was in Rome. She was there too. She gave up…well she gave up a good deal, and I've always promised her that if ever she were in need, if she needed anything, that I'd like to help."

"So it's to pay a debt?"

"Not exactly," Mary answered. "It is, yes, but more than that, she's family to me. I never knew mine, but…she sort of filled in." She sank down into her chair, hands folded on her lap, she looked at the pattern of her dress, lost in thought for a moment. It wasn't often she was brought to tears, (she did quite a bit more crying when she was pregnant). When she blinked, she felt tears fill her eyes, and when she blinked again to clear her vision, felt them slip down her cheeks.

"Mary…" John was alarmed, he reached for her, thumbing away her tears.

"I'm afraid you'll have to let me have my way this time," she murmured. "I've quite got my heart set on it you see."

"Yes I do see," John smiled gently. "Well then. I suppose you've already written to her?"

"Yes," Mary smiled sheepishly. "But it wasn't I who suggested she be a nanny, really, Molly had first said she'd rather work for us, and I told her I'd be hanged if I let her go into service under anyone's roof…I said I'd rather have her on as a sister, who's good enough to help with the little ones."

"Hmm," John looked at Rosie, and she looked at him. She popped her thumb in her mouth, and John reached across the table, nudging it out of her mouth, he put a piece of fruit in her hand instead, and she chewed on that. "Well if your mind is made up, then I expect all that's left is what allowance she'll have, and what room she'll be in."

"Oh I'll let you sort the allowance," Mary answered, and standing, kissed him warmly. "Anything I suggest, you'll say is too generous."

"Well what if I decide on something too skimpy?"

"Oh then I'll increase it," Mary shrugged. "Don't want any sister of mine looking like she's from the poorhouse, do we? Not on Berkley Square."

"Yes I'll sort it out. I might as well match her allowance with yours, do you think that's fair enough?"

"Yes I should think so," Mary was beaming now, quite happy. John did admit he liked so see her so rosy and aglow. Standing, he helped her wipe the twins hands and faces.

"Is that why you were so quiet all week?" He asked suddenly. "You were wondering how to tell me?"

"Hmm," Mary nodded, smiling, cheeks a little flushed. Mary didn't often balk at speaking her mind to anyone. Only her beloved John seemed to put her nerves in a bundle, and she worried constantly about pleasing him. Theirs was certainly no marriage of convenience, and it pleased them greatly to give the other their way, as often as they could, even if it meant some discomfort. Still, taking on a new inmate in their new house would mean another expense, it would take getting used to, and John was not one who relished change. Children, he could easily get used to because it took nine months for them to come along. By the time she gave birth he was quite prepared for them. Molly Hooper would be arriving in less than a fortnight. Mary had been fretting how to tell her husband for the longest time.

"Funnily enough," John broke though her thoughts, "I'm not the one you really need to fret over," he chuckled and pressed a kiss to Rosie's sticky cheek. "Whatever is Uncle Sherlock going to say when he finds out that some stranger is coming to look after his beloved god-children?"