Disclaimer – Any copy rights in relation to the characters and cases in the Sherlock Holmes series respectively belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and any other affiliates.
…
Beneath the ash that covered the glass…
Many days after a case has been solved, my friend always inhabits a lethargic state of being that I grow in trepidation of because that is when he is most dangerous to himself and others. Although unintentional, he condones to the word "normalcy".
If his mind is not put up against a challenge of some sort, like the mystery of a case that he deems worthy of his attention or a scientific breakthrough that he conjures up from his experiments, then he resorts to other means that I can't understand why. Such as violin playing that ranges from soft melodies that even I find soothing on most nights to eerie scales, allowing me no sleep, leaving me feeling as though I am being haunted by the hopelessness of a violinist that is seeking solace. On another note, I am still surprised our dear landlady hasn't woken yet to the sounds to berate him for it, which I have done on numerous occasions. I commemorate her for being such a heavy sleeper.
With his experiments, he really only effects himself and the subjects that he works with, which I do not question anymore because most of it I can't fathom the reasons he has beyond the cogs working out in his mind. So I ignore most of whatever he does in that chemistry lab of his. However I would find bottles or instruments missing from my medical bag and I knew exactly what, rather who, the culprit was…
"Do I even want to inquire as to what you are doing with my stethoscope?" I sigh out from the settee with my elbow weighing down on the arm and my hand obscuring half my face. I glance sideways at the profile of Holmes through my fingers with a resigned defeat of the matter.
After a moment passes by with Holmes crouched down beside Gladstone, the poor dog unconscious yet again by the wall of the staircase, he presses the chest piece against Gladstone's heart and inserts the ear buds in his ears. He's concentrating on the pulse of his canine friend then he stands up with a nod and places the chest piece against his own heart. For what I am not certain when it comes to Holmes, because the obvious simply isn't good enough when it comes to that man. He's looking straight ahead, eyes focused in on the rhythm of his heart when he finally gives me an answer to my question.
"I assure to you it is nothing remotely hazardous as you are suggesting from your question old boy." Holmes' statement doesn't reassure me in the least. He's definitely up to something, that I am not sure of yet, and Gladstone is obviously a part of his newest 'break-through for man-kind' as Holmes would say. He removes the chest piece after memorizing his heart rate and his eyes finally meet mine. A sly smile passes his face after he sees the curiosity evident in my eyes, although I try hard not to show it. I need not ask for the reasons behind whatever he is doing because he is sure to answer. I take my hand away from my face, giving him my undivided attention.
"Did you know Watson that the normal heart rate of a dog is nearly twice as fast as the normal rate of a human's?" He walks towards the chair adjacent to where I sit and sprawls upon it as he recites his most recent discovery that has caught his attention. I lean forward in the settee and place my elbows on my knees, wondering where Holmes is going about with the notion. I look at him with the buds still in his ears, staring out of the corners of his eyes at me. If any person were to walk in this room and see him like that they would assume he is the doctor.
"Yes Holmes." I say jadedly. Holmes starts to roll the cord between his fingers while he looks down in contemplation.
"Why just the other day it came to my attention that the dog here had ingested a mix of chemicals that I was not aware of and–" I immediately cut off Holmes there, my eyes widening in dismay. I know where this is going and cuff my hand over my chin in frustration. That "I was not aware of" indeed.
"Just tell me that you did not kill our dog this time, Holmes." I watch him freeze and look up at me in swift astonishment at my accusation, as if he would do such a thing. I know him well enough that he would not do it on purpose. At least I hope he would not. Holmes lay further against the seat, looking more like an overgrown child, before he picks up the end of the Stethoscope and begins tapping a soft beat against it with a finger. He begins again where he left off in his recent discovery.
"–and our dog must have been on to something because I swore it wasn't just sleeping anymore, Holmes misses a beat in the rhythm he created and clears his throat, however I went to make sure that wasn't the case with dear old Gladstone and there it was. His heart rate was there, but it was extremely slow Watson. I nearly missed it." Holmes slows down each tap he makes against the chest piece until he came to a stop, to emphasize the point. Suddenly he sits up straight and turns in my direction. He's grinning like a mad man, like he's about to reveal a grand scheme. For some reason, it pikes my curiosity but I keep my face collected as Holmes starts again.
"Remember the Blackwood case, my good doctor?" Holmes waves the chest piece at me, smirking all the while. I frown. Oh yes, as if I could ever forget. The only mistake I made as a doctor of medicine. The whole charade could have been disastrous to my career and thank god that crazy man was put away. For good.
"Let's say that I made a solution similar to what Lord Blackwood had used to fake his own death and fool even a doctor like yourself." Holmes pauses in moving the chest piece around in the air and glances at my face. The reminder from Holmes strikes a cord. The man on the table was dead. I heard no heart beat. No breaths of air. He was presumably dead–wait. The first part of what Holmes said just came to mind and I couldn't believe it. Of all the idiotic ideas Holmes could come up with–
"Holmes, you didn't." Dread is seeped in my voice. Holmes disregards me with a wave of his hand. As if there's nothing wrong with what he's doing.
"Yes Watson, I have. And its effects in the human body are actually quite astounding you know. I can't say for certain when the heart stops, because I was 'dead to the world' as Mrs. Hudson said the other day. The old bat actually thought I was dead Watson. But I believe she was using sarcasm in that remark. Though from a medical stand point it would seem very much so that I was 'dead'. If I had to hypothesize a time of death and a 'revival' time based on–" I heard enough.
"You tested it on yourself? Have you gone mad Holmes? Whatever you mixed together and put in your bloodstream could have irreversible damage on your heart and bodily functions. It is bad enough that you injected our dog with it, Gladstone's probably immune by now to most of the chemical compounds you give him anyway."
I couldn't sit any longer. I pace lamely towards Gladstone and stop to look down at him. Poor boy. Then I turn around, seething at Holmes. I'm not done yet.
"What if you hadn't woken up? What then Holmes? Did you even think for a second about the consequences of your actions? I would have come home yesterday to see my friend's cold body on the ground and I would be the one performing his post-mortem examination! I'd owe one of the greatest minds I've ever known that much at least."
I give Holmes a dismal smile. Does he not understand there are others that worry for his self-being? I can't help but fear for the man. Holmes is surprised by my sudden outburst but he regains his composure. He swings the stethoscope back and forth in the air as he speaks.
"In order to gain results, one must conduct test for their theories so I did. I do believe I am a bit of a mad scientist but I am not crazy enough to try something that would kill me, a pause with the scope in the air, well permanently. So I knew I would wake up sooner or later and draw conclusions on my newest theory, which I also did. I thought of what the results could be based on scientific fact and reasoning Watson, so I had the experiment under control." Holmes answers each one of my questions logically. He thinks there is no error in his judgment. That is where he is wrong.
"That is not the point Holmes! You could have died! You would be dead and gone and I wouldn't be able to do a thing about it besides arrange for a funeral and mourn for my lost friend!" I yell into my stethoscope that Holmes is waving around in his eagerness, enraged at his lack of self-preservation. Holmes cringes from the boom of my voice caused by the ear buds then looks down at his lap. His face is impassive. He's waiting for whatever I have to say next, bearing himself. Enough scolding. I've had it for today. I relinquish my stethoscope from his ears and hand, Holmes barely flinches, and I tuck it inside my coat pocket. Holmes' voice is repentant and sincere when he says,
"It's all in the name of science Watson, you know I would never accidently or otherwise fatally harm myself or Gladstone, so I regret all the grief I have been causing you at the moment." He pulls off little pieces of cotton methodically off the chair's arm, eyes locked on the aimless task, not even one glance in my direction.
I can not even stay angry for long. I sigh and absentmindedly massage my wounded leg. I suppose that is the closest I will ever hear of a direct apology from the man. I will admit, Holmes may be right about his previous statement but he doesn't realize the hurt it causes to me. Not physically, but the hopelessness I feel whenever he feels the need for a stimulus from boredom.