-Holmes-
As I left our rooms, commenting to Mrs. Hudson about Watson's state and his need for good food and comfort, then encountering Wiggins and having him not only send the Irregulars out in search of the men in question and any information about them, but also for at least one to watch the house with eagle eyes. Watson's safety and comfort thus ensured, I left to search for the two men.
I had not realize how…hurt was the word, for I could not bring myself to call it damaged…Watson truly was, and how much more these notes were making him. I decided to stop by and see my brother when I was done speaking to the others on my list, mostly to demand more information about Watson's status when Mycroft should've been watching over him. I asked one little thing from my brother, and that I would scare Watson so badly he could faint! Faint! My poor Watson, how I wished he had been spared this fate, and now more then ever I wished to put a stop to these notes. Truth or not, they did not change the fact that Watson was, perhaps, the only friend I should have who would understand me, stand up to me, and even be able to convince me to stop something. That he had such power over me and had no idea of it was something I should have never thought possible, as others would've used their power over me in more ways then I cared to think.
Watson never did, though, instead only exercising some when he wished me to get better, or eat…he always used it as a friend, or my physician, but never for any other reason. I had accepted that he disliked my casual use of cocaine and the dark moods that often heralded my usage of the drug, and if he had any chance, he would pull me out of Baker Street for a walk and to see about the people around. If he had a case, no matter how small, he would try to bring it to me in order to keep me busy, and I doubt he allowed me to read his stories just so he could hear me belittle them as often as I did! No, he wanted me to at least see his works, to see how he'd turned my cases into romantic works of fiction…not the best written but good for the stories in a sense.
His power was known to me by then, and I disliked having anyone having power over me, even if it was a friend, and perhaps it was because of that which I insulted some of his works and observations, hoping he would leave me alone.
I should've thanked Miss Mor—Mrs. Watson for taking him away, but I never could, for after he'd left, I found that I wanted him back. Like a child who tossed the toy into a deep trunk then dug through it and found the wanted item stuck, I wanted Watson back and did what I could to bring him back without tearing him apart, but at least once that didn't work, and he had to choose his wife over me. I regretted my treatment of him, but at the time also despised that he still held such sway over me when my own brother couldn't stop me or change my habits with a look as Watson could, or even make me change my tone with a client from just a slight expression. His expressive face was one I cared to look at when I could during an interview, and even afterwards, away from the client or while on the case, he always stated the right questions, the ones that needed to be answered, while pointing out the simplest of facts that my mind often overstepped. Mycroft couldn't do that. Mycroft doesn't seem to command my attention by his questions, innocent or not. While I worry over Mycroft's health when I do learn if he's ill (which is few times), I was ready to leave all of the East and to hell with Moran when I learned that Watson almost lost his mind at my loss, so much so he conjured my image up and had to deal with a secondary loss.
I found my string cut short, as neither of the men had been seen picking up the paper, and stopped in the Yard to ask Lestrade about the mystery that Watson had been part of shortly before his breakdown. Lestrade had seemed annoyed by the question, as if it was my fault (I was disinclined to argue with him) and explained the case. He asked about the reason for my question, and I stated that someone was threatening Watson, but he didn't wish for it to be a police matter because it was of a sensitive nature.
Lestrade nodded. "Of course, Mr. Holmes, I'm glad to know that you're helping him on this. I'd be happier to not hear that anyone would hurt the Doctor, though."
I decided that there are only so many ways I could've both thanked, apologized, and told Lestrade to mind his own business in one sentence, instead bidding him a good day and heading over to visit Mycroft.
Mycroft let out a sigh as I asked my question, having not reached the actual notes or problem I came for some help with, but instead starting with Watson and what had happened in the Wisteria Lodge case. "I understand the concern now, Sherlock, but truth be told I didn't realize how hurt he was until you mentioned it just now. I knew he was grieving, and that his wife's loss only deepened the blow, but the work with Lestrade kept him occupied enough, and sadly my own work stopped me from noticing what I should've." He glanced at me oddly. "Why did this come up? Surely nothing more has appeared to harm him."
I handed over both notes, watching as my brother read them and gave off perhaps the most disgusted look I had ever seen him give.
"And he's had others?"
"At least three or four, all stating that they knew of a probable, deep friendship with someone while in India that might or might not be mistaken for something else, and all at times that could hurt him, if not physically then mentally, and that, right now, is far worse."
Mycroft nodded, listening while I gave what I had and examining the paper before letting out a rush of air that sounded more like a growl then anything else. "You might as well state what these could mean, if proof was given."
"There is no proof," I said, amazed at how angry I became at the thought. If there was, Watson would be taken away from me, and I wouldn't have it! I would not toss him away so casually, as I had before with his wife, and again at Reichenburg Falls. I had him back and he needed time to heal, which I fully intended to give him, with cases and stories to publish, being at my side and helping me solve these crimes for commoners and kings alike.
Mycroft glanced at me, as if gauging that reaction to the notes, and added, "If, Sherlock, if, and I have few doubts that it's more then simply conjecture and fallacies on their part, and as such they wish to use it against the poor man for some slight, or perceived slight. I am worried about the warning…if they do indeed follow through with it, you or the Doctor could be in serious trouble."
"I know," I said, "but I must find them before that can come to pass."
He nodded, taking the second, less incriminating one. "I shall see what I can find through my channels, both about this Harrison fellow as well as who might have been contacted or knew about it. In the meantime, I suggest you either find another place for Watson to be, or fortify Baker Street against an assault."
"It will have to be Baker Street," I said, "and thank you, brother."
"Sherlock," the voice was quiet and I turned to look at him, waiting. "If it is true, proof or not…you would not turn him out, would you?"
I narrowed my eyes at him as he asked the question, and he smiled after I remained silent. "Of course. I don't think there will ever be proof, or at least, none that will make a court. Good day, Sherlock."
I nodded to him, happy for that one win of the many losses, before heading back to Baker Street, stopping when a carriage came up and Mrs. Hudson appeared, her frantic and disheveled nature speaking volumes before she even spoke, handing me the note that made my heart skip beats and I knew made my face turn pale.
He shall pay for his indiscretions against us.
