Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson or any other wonderful characters.
Thumb II
He had torn up the city for six days.
He had lifted up every red bricked building, searching it from top to bottom, every abandoned alley way and every corner of the city.
Eleven days ago he had discovered the leading faces of a smuggling ring in London. The contraband had started small, but as the ring grew in size as did the contraband quality. It had started with robbing worthy nobleman's' homes and taking valuables. Simple enough to catch, something he had initially thought Lestrade could accomplish on his own, but the loss of an innocent life, a young woman who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, had been the catalyst, and Holmes had quickly uncovered enough information to put each one of the smugglers behind bars, and some even as far as the noose. As for the young woman, her body had never been recovered. It was then a possibility that she was still alive.
Unlikely.
Six days ago he and the accompanying Scotland Yard had accosted all but three of the contraband artists.
He had reached his flat at Baker Street that afternoon, and was welcomed by his landlady questioning the whereabouts of the good doctor.
Holmes had though him to be at home.
He wasn't, and after six days of searching, he was't in any part of London that Holmes knew.
Lestrade had all available men searching for Watson as well. No one could produce results. Holmes had used all his contacts, reputable or not. He even sent a word out to his brother, and Mycroft had people searching as well.
"That is not possible!"
"Be reasonable Holmes!"
"There was no way, with the given time frame, that they could have smuggled him out of the country."
"How can you be so sure?" Lestrade whipped his hat off, and wiped his brow. When he had fist met the doctor, he had thought that the poor man was not going to be able to last four days with the consulting detective. The man had seemed so quiet and world weary, but eight months later Lestrade had been given a new perspective on the Doctor. The man was intelligent, and not in all things medicinal. He was a crack shot, with a temper shorter than the Holmes across from him, but polite, a rare occurrence. His military training had yet to rub off, if it ever would, and the man was sharp and easily took a commanding role. Lestrade had found it easy to like the other man, and not only was he a good man himself, but he had somehow managed to create a human being out of the Sherlock Holmes Lestrade was used to working with.
"From he last moment he was seen which was six days and eight hours ago, there was no way three men could leave the country with another man, on any mode of transportation to..."
"It is very plausible that the men had had a ship ready, and six days is a very long ti...Holmes?"
The man wasn't focused on him anymore, but something behind him. Turning, Lestrade could feel the colour drain from his face. Standing, albeit leaning, on the door frame was the man that had disappeared for six days. They had spent how many hours searching for this man, how many men did Lestrade out searching and he just walks into Baker Street.
"Watson..."
Holmes started moving forwards, hands outstretched, as if the man were an aspiration.
"Doctor, where have you been?"
The man's eyes focused on Lestrade's face, then back to Holmes', who was still moving across the sitting room to reach him. From his position Lestrade could see the mann's knees were shaking, and his eyes were bright and glazed. 'Fever.'
The man shut his eyes, as if in concentration, and let out an exhausted sigh.
Then he collapsed.
Holmes darted forward, and Lestrade was close behind.
"Watson!" He grabbed the doctor as he fell, clutching him to his chest.
Lestrade leaned down, close to the comatose man, and checked his pulse. Thready and weak, but present and not fading.
"Can you call for a doctor?"
Lestrade was already moving, not wanting to leave the two men alone, but this was beyond anything that he was capable of tending to.
Holmes' eyes never strayed from the veteran in his arms, cradled in his lap.
"What have you gotten yourself into, old fellow?"
His calculating gaze swept over the man.
"Bleeding from the head; old wound. Sunken eyes and gaunt face; lack of nutrition. Radiating heat; fever, possibly from infection."
"Watson, where are you hurt?"
He gently shook the man, and Watson's gaze finally settled on him, "where did they hurt you?"
"M...m...bac...khh" He shivered violently, and Holmes cursed.
"I'll be right back old chap." Placing the man on the floor gently, Holmes scrabbled to his feet and rushed to the study, grabbing the duvet from the settee.
Rushing back, he skid to a halt beside the injured man.
"Where did they keep you?" He asked as he wrapped the man in the duvet, wiping the sweaty brow. 'Where is Lestrade with that Doctor?'
"Hou...near...he...tir..ed"
"I know you're tired, but I must ask you to stay awake."
Watson shivered and Holmes pulled the duvet closer around his flatmate then pulled his flatmate closer to him.
Watson could hear Holmes talking. He tried hard to listen to what he was saying, because Holmes said a lot of important things, but he could not concentrate.
"Watson, I need you to stay awake."
'He sounds scared', Watson thought. The black ring growing around the edges of his vision was making it harder to concentrate. He was feeling terrible. His back throbbed and his hands hurt; he just wanted to sleep.
There were more voices now. He recognized a couple of them, some of them were new. He could pick out Holmes' amongst them. Perhaps that was because he could feel the rumble through the man's chest whenever he spoke.
The ring was growing, and his will power was fading.
"Watson, I need you to stay awake."
His body was growing extraordinarily heavy, too heavy. The air was hot and thick, it was too hard to grab a breath.
"Watson, please, you need to remain awake."
His body grew lax. It felt like his bones had turned to dough. Like the dough Mrs. Hudson made when she was making homemade bread.
"John, please."
He made one last gallant effort to open his eyes. He saw Holmes looking at him. Lestrade and a man he did not know were in the background staring at him as well. He focused on Holmes' again. He looked terrified. Why would Holmes' look terrified?
"John, I need you to..."
He didn't hear all of Holmes' demand, for the ring in his vision grew, and the world started spinning. He wanted to ask Holmes what he had wanted, but found himself unable to. The darkness surrounding him was winning.
Then it won.
When he awoke, it was to darkness, and for a moment he panicked. He was back in the house, strapped to the roof, left for dead, and no one was looking for him. But this time there was a voice. Those men were back!
"Watson! Calm down!"
They never called him Watson before.
He opened his eyes to see a very concerned Holmes staring back at him.
He looked about the room. It was his room, and he was in his bed. He looked at Holmes, but the man had something in his hands and was trying to give it to Watson.
"Drink."
The cool water was a small blessing. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He finished two glasses before Holmes, grabbed a pillow to prop him up and put the glass away.
The awkward silence that followed was so Holmes' that Watson chuckled.
His head shot up, and his eyes sparkled with delight and curiosity.
"It's good to see you Holmes."
Holmes' smile was a treasure, "It is good to see you my dear."
There. Done that mini series.
I will try and keep the updates a little less sporadic, but I cannot promise anything.
Please read and review. Reviews are always wanted and appreciated.