Disclaimer:They may now be in the public domain but I feel it only right to say that Holmes and Watson and the wonderful concept that drives them do not belong to me. Obviously, right?
Beta'd by med_cat, however all remaining errors story wise and author note wise are entirely my own.
Ills and Bravado
Chapter Two
The evening out-of-doors was as wet as it had been in the morning with a dropping temperature that promised of a dirty London snow before the sun would rise again. Seasonal ills prevailed and after my morning rounds I saw fit to offer my services for locum work at a local surgery before lunching and taking to afternoon rounds. It was of some necessity that I did this, as I had a sneaking suspicion that by morning I may well be handing-off my own patients on others for a week or more and convalescing myself.
That would be necessary as well. My own ills I would work around, but what had started as merely cold symptoms the evening before had progressed further in my chest and now presented with something more of the overture of bronchitis. I was well aware of the contagious nature of this illness and would not put my already compromised patients at further risk.
I had given the last of my money to a young couple earlier in the evening so that they might purchase a few warmer blankets for their sick daughter. This left me with a somewhat, but not unreasonably so, long walk home. I gripped the handle of my medical bag tightly with one hand and leaned rather more heavily than I should like on the handle of my cane with the other. I found myself quite grateful that the cold drizzle had yet to begin icing the sidewalks, as I was not entirely sure I would be able to maintain my balance in such a circumstance.
Letting myself into 221B was something of a small delight. The gas lamps were bright with a cheery glow and the interior of our abode was considerably warmer and dryer than the outdoors had been. Mrs. Hudson met me in the hall with a gasp of dismay as I was stripping myself of my sodden hat and coat.
"Why Doctor Watson," exclaimed she, "you look right peaked, sir! Hurry now and get yourself dressed in some dry clothes upstairs and I'll bring you some hot tea."
I smiled warmly for our dear landlady. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that would be most kind of you."
I intended to continue further and assure her of my relative well-being, when an attack of coughing overtook me and I was forced to pull my handkerchief and press it to my mouth for a few minutes until the episode passed. Our long-suffering and much maternal landlady gave me a long look before turning me around and giving me a gentle shove toward the stairs. "Something dry then, Doctor Watson, and I'll bring you a bowl of warm soup with your tea."
I could not help smiling again at the dear woman's attentiveness to her often difficult lodgers as I braced my way up the stairs with much use of my walking stick. I found I had to stop twice to smother what were fast becoming painful coughing fits. I intended to take Mrs. Hudson's sound advice and find dry clothing and a warm dressing gown before enjoying a hot meal and retiring to bed. Preferably for several days, given the way I felt on the topic at just that moment.
I turned in the hallway of our flat toward the stairs to my own upstairs bedroom, intent on changing before greeting Holmes' bad mood in the sitting room. On this day it was not to be, however. I had taken no more than two steps toward the second flight of stairs when the sitting room door was opened and Holmes himself stepped out amid a cloud of smoke.
"Watson, I must admit I thought you had planned to dither all night in returning home. You have considerably shortened your time available to fetch my supplies before the shops close for the evening."
My response to this announcement was less than eloquent. "My time to what?"
Holmes was never a man who liked to repeat himself, this became even worse when he was already in short temper. "To purchase the goods I need, Doctor. I've written a list for expedience. Quickly, Watson, for the shops will be closing soon. Of considerably more importance, I require the sodium nitrate within the hour or my current experiment will be naught but waste!"
I sighed and gently set my Gladstone bag on the floor of our hallway. The hand freed of the bag handles I turned to gently massage at my lower ribcage and the ache there-in. "Holmes, dear chap, I really do not think that now would be the best of times for me to..."
"Watson," this came as a growl of impatience from my friend as he gripped my right arm and pressed a list and the required money into my left hand and began none too gently directing me back toward the flight of stairs to the exit, "This is not a request. The matter requires haste and if you leave now you may yet make it. Don't dawdle!"
With this final point he pushed me back to the stairs and I obediently began my trek back down them to do as he commanded. Holmes is a most masterful man when he is in the mood to give orders and I find the soldier in me responds without question nearly every time he turns the tone on my person. I am certain Holmes knows this fact and has used it to his own satisfaction on more than one occasion. Though to be fair, I am usually feeling in better health and spirits when completing such chores for the consulting detective.
All the same, if this is what Holmes wanted of me, then by all means I would fulfill it for him.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stair once more without incident, I staggered back to the coat rack and began working the sodden overcoat and hat back onto my person. I had safely pocketed the money and my list in an inner jacket pocket when Mrs. Hudson rounded the corner with a tray bearing a wonderful smelling soup and a steaming kettle.
"Doctor Watson! What on earth do you think you're doing?"
This she blurted with no little shock and dismay. I offered her a wan smile this time. "Holmes has errands for me."
Apparently realizing that I would complete these errands no matter personal cost at this point, the good woman set down her tray on the hall table and poured a cup of steaming tea which she pressed into my cold hands. The inevitability of what was happening did not deter her from soundly berating me, however. "I should think a man of your profession would know better, Doctor than to venture back out into that mess when he is ill. And do not try to tell me you are not sir, as I could well hear you coughing all the way up the stairs. Drink the tea at least; let it warm your middle."
I could not repress a weak chuckle at the reprimand. "Indeed, Mrs. Hudson. I would remonstrate with any patient of mine attempting such a foolish deed. Holmes insists of the urgency of his cause, however. I find I have little choice in the matter."
Our landlady scowled but reached behind me to pull a scarf from the rack and wrap it tightly about my neck in a most motherly fashion. "In that case, at least bundle up," she took up my cane from where I had rested it against the wall and passed it to me with all earnestness, "Do take care, Doctor. I'll keep the soup warm for you."
I thanked her again for her kindness and set off on my way. Holmes had been most correct in the time available to reach the three shops I needed to complete his list being quite limited. The situation was not improved by the dreary wet mess of an evening turning to a wet and sloppy snow that was already beginning to accumulate on the ground beneath the light of the lit street lamps. My unsteady gate and unremitting fatigue had provided several close calls as to my near acquaintance with the cobblestones. Still I hurried as I departed the last of the shops and watched the keeper close and lock his door behind me. Holmes required his chemical to complete a reaction and I had just a quarter of an hour to get it to him.
I was sliding and staggering just a few blocks from Baker Street when a dark shadow presented itself before me on the sidewalk and just beyond the reach of the nearest gas lamp. The streets were not quite deserted, but they were not busy with this abysmal weather. Instincts born of wartime and honed by several cases spent in Holmes' company were roused to suspicion by the hulking shadow. I was further alerted to danger when the first was joined by three others straggling from the dark alley. I rearranged my balance, transferring my purchases to my sore left side and gripping my cane tightly in my right hand.
I was not wrong in my mistrust.
"And what have we here, gents? A right sorry bloke this, out in the snow without so much as a soul to keep him company."
This statement was made by the larger shadow as he progressed slowly in my direction and brought about a chorus of rough laughter from his three friends. I ignored the pain in my shoulder and leg in favor of stiffening my back and raising my chin in a confident manner.
I could just see him now as he entered to circle of light I stood beneath. The man was tall and broad with dirty blonde hair and a smile with more gaps than teeth. It seemed my assessment from earlier in the week that all of the criminals had retreated in the face of the weather had not quite been accurate. Gap-tooth grinned at me in a most greasy way as he stood with in feet of my person now. "Wot'chu say to a little companionship then, gov'nor?"
I flexed my grip on my cane handle and returned a tight smile to the villain "Very kind of you, I'm sure. However I will find more than enough companionship when I am restored to my home. If you will excuse me, I must be on my way."
Gap-tooth tisked to himself and I was aware of his friends circling me. I wondered how well I might do in warding off the four of them or at least stir up enough ruckus to attract attention from houses on the street. "That's no way to treat such an offer, gov'nor. No way at all. Why, some blokes may take offense. We just want some healthy companionship and maybe a bit of sport between mates is all. That and your wallet will do nicely I'd say."
"I'm afraid I'm not in the best of moods for sport tonight, gentlemen. And I would quite like to retain my wallet."
With this declaration I swung out hard with the butt of my walking stick and heard it crack loudly against Gap-Tooth's jaw. My best hope of removing myself from the situation was a quick attack with the benefit of surprise. The rules of the gentleman's fight be damned in this case. I pulled the stick back sharply and whipped it about me in a moment to give a smart crack across the right knee of the would-be-mugger behind me. I had just drawn it back to launch an attack on the third man of the group when the man on my left reached out with more strength than I expected and stopped my thrust where it was. The man on the right made short work of gripping my right arm and the leader of the group with an ugly swelling already beginning on his jaw delivered a meaty fist to my unprotected middle.
The air left my abused lungs in a mighty whoosh and the resulting inhalation set about a coughing fit that I was unable to do anything to stop. My attacker had no found pity for my suffering. With a look of utter rage on his features, he continued to deliver blow after blow to my abdomen, heedless of the street lamp or of anyone who might view these proceedings. The raining blows only came to a halt when I heard and felt even above my coughing a most audible snap and crunch of bone breaking. I knew it to be the lower two of my left ribs even as I gagged and gasped for air. It quickly became apparent that it was also several of my assailant's knuckles that had given on impacting said ribs.
Gap-tooth had pulled back from his attack with an uttered oath and cradled his right hand to his chest. "My bleedin' hand! That's enough with this bloke anyhow. One of you grab his wallet and bags. I'll take that nice walking stick for me own. Dump him back in the alley gents. It's time we went for a drink."
For all of his taunting of me earlier, the leader made no further attempt at conversation. His two upright ruffians took him literally and dragged me some fifty yards down a particularly rank alley for this side of town. I made an attempt to struggle but merely roused my coughing again. I was dropped in a pile of filth and left bereft but for the clothing I wore as the group marched off, one of them helping the fellow with his injured knee as they went.
The scent of rotting filth and animal feces wafted up from the unfortunate bundle I had landed on and assured I had no chance to master the coughing fit that had overtaken me again. My broken ribs and much abused abdomen protested this action loudly and I found myself curling into a ball of agony and coughing until I choked.
It was in this position I must have passed out for I was roused some undetermined time later by the sensation of small yet sharp claws of a rat skittering up and over my legs. I uncurled far enough to flick the little beast off and to consider my position. While the alley was narrow, the roof tops above me were not so close together as to prevent the snowfall from drifting down about me. I realized I was unimaginably cold but still shivering, which the medical man in me described as a good sign so far, assuming I was able to fetch myself some kind of help in a timely manner.
Pressing a thinly gloved hand to the filthy ground beneath me, I made the effort to push myself into a sitting position. Snow that had begun to stick to the coolest places of my coat flaked off with the movement. The action, however, was more painful than I anticipated, as my bruised stomach muscles were not pleased to be set to work in holding my person upright and my ribs were not thrilled at moving at all. My groan was low and heartfelt.
Like the effect of dominoes on a board this series of actions lead to one inevitable conclusion; I was set upon by another round of coughing. The sound was wet to my ears but the agony this brought from both deep within my lungs and from jostling the broken ribs was indescribable. This stretched on for some minutes, although it certainly felt like hours. The fruit of this labor was the sensation of having coughed up something with the texture of thick phlegm and the light coppery tang of blood. I shivered again as I wiped this sticky substance from my lips. It was far too dark in the alley to determine the color of the stuff. My medical instincts prevented me from instantly fearing the worst in tasting blood. It was far more likely that my persistent coughing had broken a blood vessel than that a mobile rib had punctured a lung or that consumption had set upon me overnight .
All the same, my situation was fast declining and I well knew it. I needed help and medical attention and to achieve those things I needed to remove myself from that horrid little alley. I made a Herculean struggle to get to my feet and managed to stagger some several steps toward the street beyond. I held myself in a pitiable hunched state with one arm wrapped around my aching belly and the other pressed hard to my equally pained chest.
The cold had other effects on my person than dropping body temperature and irritating already troubled bronchi. My old war wounds have never agreed with the cold and as such I had no right to be as surprised as I was when the never-well-healed Achilles tendon of my right leg spasmed uncontrollably mid-step and sent me toppling forward. My chilled and pained body was not capable of usual reaction times and as such I landed without grace full on my face and all ready broken ribs. Blackness rushed in to steal my consciousness nearly instantly.
I recall being roused again somewhere during the course of that long night by cold, rough, and small hands dragging me over onto my back. I had not the ability to come back fully to my senses, but I made a weak struggle of it when the old vagabond those hands belonged to began stripping me of my overcoat and scarf. The old woman swatted away my feeble attempts with a wicked gleam in her eyes and laughed at me in a nearly unrecognizable accent. "Here now Gov, by look o' yous you wont be needin' this here coat much longer anyway. Leave over already!"
I must have slipped again into unconsciousness after this, as the next thing I recall there was early daylight in the air and a grubby little face looking down on me. I could not seem to recall where I was and felt warm all over. Unreasonably warm, considering that I realized I was coated in a light dusting of snow. Somewhere in the back of my clogged mind,my medical knowledge was flying red flags of warning and pointing out loudly that not only was I no longer shivering but that I should not begin divesting myself of clothing right here in the out-of-doors, no matter how warm I thought I was.
That small grubby face was still there, dark locks tucked under threadbare hat and brown eyes wide with fright. "Cor, Doctor, you alive?"
Sluggishly, my mind made the connection between what I was seeing and memory on the topic. One of our Irregulars, this. "Charlie."
It came out as more of a breathy gasp than a word. More medical red flags were going up though I was struggling through processing them. The gurgling in my throat and the rapid, labored breathing issuing from my lungs were not good signs. Even as I made that connection, I also realized that this labored breathing hurt immensely.
The little irregular heaved a little sigh of relief. "Yeah Doctor. You don' look so good. There's a couple o' Bobbies just up the way. I'm gonna go get 'em."
With that the child offered what was likely intended to be a comforting pat to my shoulder and darted away. I remember thinking hazily as I looked up at a cloudy sky brightening with daylight that I had never gotten the shopping to Holmes. His experiment had been wasted on account of myself. I hoped dearly he might eventually forgive me the lapse.
A/N: Part 2 of 3. I guess we just need a conclusion then? :)
