"I think it may be about time we called on Scotland Yard for their inferior, though unavoidably required assistance, would you agree?"
"A bit late for that, Holmes! Should you not have sent for them before you got yourself into this mess?"
"Ah, you see, Inspector Cartwright is none too pleased with me at the moment."
"I am aware of that."
He cast me a sideways glance.
"Cartwright was here earlier," I explained. "Whatever you have done this time, I doubt he will be very forgiving. The man's really got a flea in his ear."
"Eh! Let him go scratch it. His bungling nearly cost me the case. Really, Watson, I must retract my earlier assessment of his brains, and group him with the worst of that lot. Simply because one very slightly stretches the boundaries of a few minor laws…"
"Would it be too much to suppose you will ever fill me in on the details?"
Holmes' reticence is legendary, so in truth I was not expecting anything but a cold shrug in response. He was always eager enough to include me in a handful of his more singular cases, where my presence could somehow be of assistance, yet in those early days he never spoke to me of any current cases he had not specifically requested I join him on.
"If you shall be so kind as to assist me back to my bedroom, doctor, I would be happy to go over the details of the case with you. This was the work a clever criminal organization, and I think you shall find it as intriguing as I have. And Watson," he added as I helped him to his feet, taking the full brunt of his weight upon my good shoulder, "I may require your assistance in tying up a few loose ends whilst I am incapacitated."
"I would be proud to, Holmes."
I will never fathom how he ever made it out of bed, let alone found strength enough to walk unaided all the way to the landing, for as I led him to his bedroom, every step induced a shock of pain that made him cry out, clutch the stick so tightly it cracked, and dug his fingers into my arm so deeply that I wore a substantial bruise for nearly a fortnight.
By the time I laid Holmes back under the covers, he was quivering all over, his breathing once again ragged from the exertions. I offered him a glass of water, which he had a difficult time accepting, for all his hands were shaking. Steadying his hands with one of my own, I supported his head with my other and helped him bring the glass to his lips. Thankfully, he was at least able to get down half its contents before going limp in my arms. I covered him to the chin in the bedclothes and sat vigil by his bed, laying upon his brow cloths soaked in ice water to keep the fever at bay.
Mrs Hudson, bless her, displayed nothing short of saintly patience throughout. As to be expected, she was somewhat nettled when she discovered the body of the dead assailant slumped on her stairs before I had the chance to call in the Yard to come remove the ruffian. Of course, she did warm some once she learnt of her insufferable lodger's pathetic state. I was convinced any other landlord in London would not have been so understanding, would have given us our notice to vacate her premises instead of the way she cooed "Poor, Mr. Holmes! Who'd want to hurt him so?"
Inspector Cartwright, however, was not so accommodating. When the Yard was called in to remove the body and make their preliminary investigation into the matter, our friend, the disgruntled Inspector arrived first on the scene (as I had suspected he would). He burst through Holmes' bedroom door with such sheer force that the uppermost hinge came loose and the knob left quite the dent in the wallpaper.
The arteries in his neck practically pulsated in his fury as he carried on about fanciful theories, unfounded claims, slipshod methods that brought disgrace upon the Yard, and personal ruination to him - or some such rot. I cannot rightly say I was paying much heed to his words, for his outburst had disturbed Holmes' rest.
My friend had just settled into his pillow, his breathing evening out as the renewed pain from his exertions died down (without the aid of morphine, thank heavens!) His eyes were just fluttering closed at the moment of the rude interruption, and when Holmes bolted subsequently upright, trembling, his sudden movements causing him to groan in renewed pain… that was about when my quick Scottish temper was roused. But it exploded when I saw that the Inspector was headed towards my companion's bedside with his arm raised as if to strike. I rose from the chair I had pulled over to Holmes' bedside, nearly knocking it over in my haste. With one swift movement, I blocked Cartwright's attempted strike with my bad arm, but it was worth it to have saved Holmes from suffering the blow. The man scowled at me, clearly still intent on seeing that Holmes was on the receiving end of that thrashing he promised earlier.
"Cartwright, stay away from him! Can you not see the man is injured?"
"Serves him right for sticking his nose where it don't belong. Maybe that'll be a lesson to him. Now, if you would just step outside for a moment, Doctor, Mr Holmes and myself have some unsettled business to sort out."
"The devil I will!" I shouted, blocking his path to Holmes, situating myself between his bed and the irate Inspector.
Cartwright's cheeks flushed a shade darker, and I clenched my fists, entirely unwilling to back down. So help me, the last thing I wanted to do was take a swing at a Scotland Yard official, but I would do it without a second's hesitation, if he took another step nearer. I think the Inspector realized this as well, for he stood a cautious distance from me, eyeing me the same way he would a temerarious suspect.
"There's no need to go and get yourself tangled in this. It's between me and Mr Holmes, here," said he with a suavity that made my skin crawl.
"No, you are mistaken in that. If you mean to harm him, then you indeed have issue with me as well."
"Stay out of this, man! I've got a score to settle with Holmes, that does not involve you in the least. If you've a brain in your head, then get out of this room while you still can!"
"I must be awfully dense, then," I mused. "Not only have I no intentions of moving a whit, as I see it, you have absolutely nothing to settle with him. You may not appreciate his methods, but he has brought about justice while taking no glory for himself at every possible opportunity. Scotland Yard - you - are indebted to Sherlock Holmes, yet he never has and likely never will ask for a thing in return. I say that is reason enough for you to simply walk away, Inspector, before someone does get hurt. And I can assure you, as I stand here with breath in me, it will not be Holmes." At this last remark, I stole a glance at the revolver lying at the bedside, quite within my reach.
Cartwright turned an impossible shade of purple. He took another, albeit cautious, step towards me, so that we were quite literally nose to nose. His foetid breath slithered up my nostrils as he spoke, softly, yet with a tangible rage.
"You've a dead man in your hall, Doctor. This cannot be so easily explained away."
"Then I shall gladly take the full blame for it. After all, I did fire the shot that killed him, though I dare say that shooting an intruder in self defense still qualifies as a legal action, does it not?"
"Not if I have my say. Do you honestly believe you or your friend here can cross me with no repercussions? Surely, Dr Watson, not even you are that obtuse?"
It was all I could do to keep my composure when the Inspector gave a contrived smile, took a step nearer, and patted my cheek in a mock slap.
Behind me, the click of a revolver reverberated loud as any scream in the ungodly silence. We both turned at the same moment to see Holmes propping himself up on the mattress with a trembling arm, for all appearances only semi conscious and as pale as if Death itself was grasping his wrists. "One feature of these rooms I have always found favourable is that our cellar is quite accommodating to ensconcing a body, would you not agree, Watson?"
"What is this, Mr Holmes? Resorting to petty threats, are we?"
"Oh, no, Inspector. Threats are a nasty little habit to fall into. By their very nature they reek of a bluff. Rather, I make promises, sir. Now, I shall kindly ask you to step as far away from the Doctor as you possibly can in the span of time it takes me to aim and fire this confounded thing or I shall -"
Holmes had barely finished his sentence before Inspector Cartwright turned on his heels and fled from the room like the coward he was. I was under no impression he had let the matter lie with the conclusion such as it was, although for the time being, I was all too relieved to see him go, as there were more pressing undertakings to concern myself with than the vanity of one overzealous young upstart.
"Ah, I fear we have made ourselves an enemy of some caliber, Watson. A pity that their most capable man should be such a lout."
"Yes, well, some things are wholly worth the risk. I should never be able to hold my head up if I allowed him to…" Hurt you.
Try as I might, the words would not fall from my mouth, the implications of what he might have done to my friend too horrid to even think on. As usual, I need not have uttered a word for Holmes to read my thoughts.
"No need to explain, Watson."
It was here that, despite going about the task as gingerly as possible, my friend once more groaned in pain as he lowered himself back down onto the bed. If it was at all conceivable, he blanched substantially, so that the color was drained even from his lips. That he had not succumbed to shock was a testament to his seemingly preternatural constitution.
"Here, this might help," said I, taking the revolver from him, laying it back on the table before assisting Holmes with situating himself into a comfortable position. Whilst my uncooperative patient mumbled something abut me ceasing this infernal fussing at once, I nevertheless tucked him under the bedclothes and informed him that this fussing, as he put it, would only get worse from here.
He was on the edge of either sleep or unconsciousness when he began speaking almost inaudibly.
"Do you… do you still wish for me to give you the details of that case… the one I bested Cartwright on?"
"I am always interested in your cases, but the telling of this one can wait until you're well," said I, settling into a chair to continue with my vigil.
"Very well then." Holmes peered at me through drooping lids. "You need not have tangled yourself in this mess with Cartwright for my sake, you know."
"Nonsense," I replied. "Anyhow, I was not the one who pulled a pistol on the fellow and threatened to secret his body in the cellar."
"No one calls my Watson obtuse."
"Except you, eh, my dear fellow?"
"Naturally." His lips parted in the faintest of smiles as he sank back into the pillow and his fevered dreams.
