So, realized the OC, also the person narating this oh-so uplifting tail, hadn't actually been introduced yet, haha. This lack of proper introduction tends to be a reoccuring trait of my narators, I've come to realize. So, though I've only received one (much appreciated) review, another chapter for you!
An Artist Appreciates Only the Details
What I Am
The darkness was blissfully empty. No horrors. No pain. I wanted to stay there. To forget about the horrors I would have to deal with upon waking. But there was something I needed to do. Something important. The women! I had to free the women!
With a gasp, I shot up, instantly sending white-hot pain tearing through my abdomen making me cry out and double over. At nearly the same time, a man beside me startled into consciousness; seeming ready for a fight. My fingers were still locked around his shirt. Immediately, I snatched my arm away.
"I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get my shirt back." He said lightly. Already, my heart was racing. "And here I thought we were past all this distrust." Dizzy. There was an almost imperceptible hint of sadness in his voice. Those eyes. Clinging to the world's wonder even while aware of its most terrible horrors. The fear began to subside as the heaviness of my limbs became more noticeable, but footsteps sounded in the neighboring room. The door swung open. And the panic set in. I tried to run, but all my body could manage was a few inches, subtly leaning behind the man I vaguely remember to be Holmes. Understanding my terror, Holmes sat up and angled himself more directly between myself and Watson.
"And a wonderful morning to you, Watson." He said, overly joyous. Watson nodded to him before resting his gaze on me. Part of me analyzed him again, noting the military training; the weakness of his left leg. But I couldn't move. "I wonder if you might give us a moment, old friend." Though the worlds were a request, he left no room for objection. Watson's jaw tightened, but, with a sigh, he left. For a moment, Holmes was silent, and only the frantic racing of my heart filled my ears as the room began to spin.
"What's your name?" he asked softly; back still turned to me. I couldn't find my voice. My name. When last was I called by my name? He swallowed hard and studied the sheets a moment before meeting my gaze. "I find it mildly inappropriate to have shared a bed with someone without knowing their name." Something important. The reason I left the safety the sleep.
"The women." I managed to gasp, fighting to keep the world from blurring.
"All freed and safe." He assured me quickly. "You already know my name, and Watson's."
"But the Kingpin," I started, but he interrupted me.
"Also taken care of." He dismissed before returning to a topic of greater interest to him. "It seems rude to give ones name to someone and not be told theirs in exchange."
"But the clients were policemen."
"Insulting, even."
"Damn it, they're still in danger!" I shouted suddenly as body began to tremble. The teasing light left his eyes.
"The names and addresses of all of the 'clients'" he said the word with disgust, "were cataloged by the Kingpin. Upon arresting him, we uncovered these documents and the culprits have, since, been apprehended and appropriately dealt with." He waited a moment to let this sink in before, in the same serious tone as before, as though it were of the utmost importance, "Now," and with a slightly more carefree tone, "your name?"
My mind swam a moment. It was over? It was really over? Something warm slid from my burning eyes. Uncertain, I touched my shaking fingertips to my cheek and looked at the liquid. I was crying. How queer. I couldn't meet his eyes as these facts overwhelmed me. The bed seemed to undulated beneath me.
"You're certain?" I barely whispered, unable to tear my gaze from the blankets.
"Absolutely," he promised. "I am quite certain I would like to know your name." I couldn't help but laugh, if only to relieve some of the emotion storming through me. His gaze softened and a smirk pulled at his lips.
"Allia." I told him. "Allia Alansry." His smirk turned into a smile.
"There, now that wasn't so hard." He mocked. "And, as you already know, I am Sherlock Holmes and the man whom you have twice now knocked down, is my dear friend John Watson." Sherlock Holmes. Finally recognition crashing into me. Detective Sherlock Holmes. London's self-proclaimed most brilliant mind.
"Holmes." I muttered, more to myself than to him. The room was spinning more violently now.
"Indeed." He confirmed absently. "Now, Watson has been adamant about checking your wounds frequently to prevent the infection from spreading." Dr. John Watson. A decorated war hero. And twice I had taken advantage of his weakness. I would need to apologize to him. A chill ran down my spine and I couldn't help but shudder. I thought nothing more of it, but Holmes drew attention to it at once.
"Are you alright?" He asked almost absently, paying little attention to my reply. Before I could say anything, he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. The instant his hand touched me, my body flinched violently back and my heart began to race. Vaguely I acknowledged the hurt that passed across his face, but couldn't think more of it as panic spread through me.
"Ms. Alansry, I'm not going to hurt you." He whispered meeting my terrified eyes. Slower, he touched his hand to my forehead. My muscles tensed, but I didn't move from his cool touch. Was I trembling from panic or from the chill that seemed to creep into my very bones?
"Watson," Holmes called over his shoulder before returning his attention to me. "I'm afraid it seems as though your fever has returned." He explained. The door opened. Without saying a word, the man took in the scene; the shaking of my body, Holmes' hand on my head and how his expression hardened, and he understood. Moving slowly, he made his way to the bed. I couldn't help but lean back slightly from his proximity.
"Madam," he started slowly, "I fear we may have gotten off at a bad start, but I assure you I mean you no harm." I swallowed hard. My eyes automatically shot briefly to Holmes who gave me a tiny, reassuring smirk. I was supposed to do something. Why couldn't I remember? "I'm going to check your temperature now, alright?" He tried to add some softness to his precise words, but he couldn't suppress the directness of his aim. I was distracted for a moment by how the colors twirled before my eyes and didn't see his hand reach for me. When his cool skin touched me, I startled. The room dipped suddenly beneath me, and I was falling. Something caught me and guided my near limp body against something warm. I struggled vainly to clear my mind enough to understand what was happening, but to no avail.
"Lie her down." The world gently moved around me and the warmth started to retreat. In a panic, my hand shot out and latched around it. A wrist? I didn't know. I didn't understand. My body was freezing and the only reprieve was leaving.
"Cold." It came out as a barely audible whimper. Something touched my forehead. With a gasp, my hold tightened and I shoved myself into the bed, desperate for any distance I could gain between myself and the thing that might cause hurt. Easy. I wasn't sure if I had actually heard anything, but the word whispered through my mind and eased my body, if only a little. Someone sighed.
"Isn't... can… do." Broken words. "Lost…blood… infection… keep… clean." I struggled to understand, but everything was muted by the deafening pounding in my head. A voice in the back of my mind whispered that it was my racing heart, but even that I couldn't fully comprehend. The thing in my hand, the warmth that I mustn't release, rested absently on my shoulder. My body automatically leaned into the touch. Someone scoffed quietly in disbelief. "Going to… clean… might sting…" Something cold touched the skin near the wound on my abdomen. Instantly, I tried vainly to evade it, but a hot hand pressed gently on the stomach, pinning me to the bed. Trapped. My panic redoubled. Hyperventilating. I couldn't breathe.
"It's alright." Clearly, I heard him. "It'll hurt a little, but it'll help." Why couldn't I ignore those words? Why did I believe him? I couldn't fathom it, but my body responded with complete trust. And the darkness returned to my vision. Ah. That made more sense. It wasn't that I trusted him; I merely could hold on to consciousness no longer. Lies; that wasn't true. Even as I slipped away, I knew that wasn't true.