Author's Note : My mouse has been smoking and the end result is Chapter Four!!!! I hope you enjoy it !!! :)
Chapter Four
Watson was running towards the eternal thundering sound of the Falls. He heard Holmes calling out his name as he fell backwards into the Abyss with arms stretched out reaching towards Watson, his eyes wide open full of fear. Watson cried out Holmes's name and crumpled as he saw Holmes disappear into the swirling mists of the Falls. He screamed Holmes's name and tears ran down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands. Holmes was dead. And then he heard a mocking laugh. Watson looked up to see Moriarty stand tall over him with red glowing eyes, his hawk like feature resembling that of a vulture. Watson screamed as he felt Moriarty's hand grip his throat and began to squeeze the air out of him. Watson lashed out with his arms, choking.
Strong arms held down Watson as he began thrashing out wildly with his arms, calling out for Holmes in a hauntingly desperate plea. A cool compress was placed on Watson's head and chest. Watson responded a half hearted groan and relaxed sinking back into the pillows behind him. Holmes looked down at his sick Boswell. He spoke softly to him and brushed back the damp hair that rebelliously drooped down into Watson's eyes.
"Watson it's alright, it's me Holmes, I am here, do not worry yourself. Just concentrate on getting well again old chap" whispered Holmes softly.
With a shaking hand Holmes rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes. He had spent the past few hours battling the fever that raged in Watson, applying cold compresses and whispering words of encouragement, telling his biographer and friend to fight, to stay with him. Holmes would not let Watson give up. He would see Watson through the night. Holmes felt his jaw tighten as he remembered how the two thieves had treated Watson only three days ago. He would see to it that they both receive long sentences by personally giving evidence in court. No one hurts my Watson and gets away with it mused Holmes angrily. His thoughts were interrupted by Watson who was beginning to stir once more. He looked up at Watson and found Watson struggling, twisting and turning, Watson's head move from side to side, his face etched in pain, beads of sweat trickling down his temple and his eyes squeezed tightly as if to shut out the visions that were plaguing him. Watson's hands were gripping his blankets tightly jumbling them up into knots. Watson's suddenly opened, staring at Holmes unrecognising, unfocused and he called out for Holmes distressed and disorientated.
Holmes choked back the lump in his throat and blinked furiously as he fought back the tears. He leaned forward and gently held Watson's shoulders shaking him softly.
"Watson, look at me, it's Holmes, I'm here...focus Watson, focus." Commanded Holmes with a ring of authority in his voice that could not be ignored.
Holmes repeated this over and over determined to get Watson out of this delirious state. He was left in no doubt that the fever had been partly caused by the cold air and trip home to Baker Street. Blast the man for his stubbornness, I should never have agreed to the plan in the first place. Holmes angrily replaced the compress on Watson's head and pressed it down firmly, and looked into Watson's eyes for any signs of recognition, any spark that would signal hope that Watson would break this fever.
The next few hours witnessed Holmes battling to break Watson's fever. Watson cried out repeatedly calling out for Holmes, repeating his name over and over, in hauntingly painful pleas. Holmes replaced compress after compress, holding Watson down and keeping Watson secure in his blankets, which Watson continuously tried to push away from him. Holmes came close to breaking down on more than one occasion as he could do nothing to reassure his friend that he was alright. All he could do was keep applying the cold compresses and fight with Watson to see the fever through.
Watson felt something pressing down on him in the darkness. Why can't I see anything? He reached out for something solid and stumbled in the dark. He cried out collapsing, the darkness threatening to devour him once more. And then he heard his name being called over and over again. Watson stumbled towards it. He knew this voice; he struggled to focus on it, trying to remember, trying to push back the darkness. The voice grew stronger and louder, his beacon through the darkness. And then he recognised the familiar voice. Holmes! It sounded tired. I'm coming Holmes, don't leave me I'm coming. Watson was walking and then sprinting towards the voice pushing back the darkness which began to lift, the black turned to several shades of grey until eventually the mist disappeared and he saw a familiar face bending over him, slowly coming into focus. He had found his beacon, he had reached his harbour. He was home.
"Holmes" croaked Watson weakly.
It was all that Watson could manage at this point, but it served its purpose as Holmes face lighted up with joy.
"Watson, thank God, you are back, I thought I'd lost you". Holmes sat back in his chair his voice breaking as he did so.
Watson looked at Holmes with concern. He really should get some sleep. Watson lifted his hand and touched Holmes's hand that was still placed on Watson's bed. He squeezed it with as much strength as he could muster, and that was not much as it was.
"Holmes, get some sleep, I'm alright…" Watson stopped short as his rib jarred him and he caught his breath.
Holmes looked at Watson smiling with affection.
"Not until you are well Watson, enough talking you need to sleep now, you have been ill for much of the night and now you are exhausted".
Watson did indeed feel tired and he felt his eyes grow heavier and heavier. Holmes watched as Watson slowly drifted to sleep. He removed the last compress from Watson's forehead and gently placed his hand on Watson. Good the fever has broken, thank God. Holmes got up to leave, turning down the gas lamp, wanting Watson to rest. He would be alright now. A weak tired voice stopped him in mid stride as made for the door.
"Don't go….stay…don't want to be….on my own".
Holmes turned round and saw a pair of frightened hazel eyes stare out at him, pleading him not to leave. Holmes sat down back in the chair and placed Watson's hand in his.
"I won't leave you Watson, if you don't want me to. I will be right here". Holmes said quietly.
"Thank you Holmes" croaked Watson who closed his eyes once more.
It was not long before the steady rise and fall of Watson's chest indicated to Holmes that Watson had finally fallen asleep at last. Holmes never let go of Watson's hand. He would keep his promise not to leave Watson and sit next to him until he awoke once more. Holmes looked at Watson and let out a breath he did not realise he was holding, afraid to acknowledge the simplest of deductions.
His brave Boswell was afraid.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! Watson is over his fever but how will he cope with the aftermath of the attempted robbery? And how will Holmes feel ? More comming soon, probably over the weekend when i am not working ! Hope you are enjoying the story so far. As always all reviews and comments welcomed ! :)
