I wanted them to just go away. Why couldn't they leave me alone? I tried to turn away, but Harry grabbed my shoulder and whirled me back around to face him. I was tired of asking. He and his friends had bullied and tormented me enough. I was in no mood to have another go with them.
He was supposed to be my brother, instead he was turning out to be one of the worst enemies I had. Sometimes, the horrors I read about in my novels were imagined to be happening to him. I would paint myself the hero, and he the villain so when the book would get to the part of my triumph I would envision us in their places. In my mind, he would often get an even worse fate. However, I never had any real intentions of harming him. I couldn't, I still wanted us to be brothers, not in a constant struggle for dominance.
"Stop tormenting me!" I cried, lashing out violently. I threw out my arm, feeling some satisfaction as it made impact with him.
But when I turned around there was only darkness. What happened to them? Where were they?
"Wake up John!" A voice ordered me, but it was not my brother's voice. It was a voice that I recognized, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.
My eyes opened and I was staring at the silhouette of Holmes. I tried to sit up, alarmed that I was feeling so sluggish and confused. I started to ask him what was going on when a cough interrupted me. I felt the air rushing out of me as I wheezed, trying to fill my lungs again. Holmes didn't waste any time in pulling me up to a sitting position, having me supported against his chest to try to help me breathe. I had to cough several times in a row. The back of my throat felt like it was burning.
After the series of coughs passed, I struggled to take a full breath again. I gripped Holmes' arm firmly, as if it was the one thing that could save me from any more suffering. This wasn't the sickest I had been in my life, Peshawar still had been worse, but it was bloody inconvenient and unpleasant. I felt him tense and slide his arm back to offer me a hand to hold instead. I was able to slowly draw a breath and then immediately began hacking again. This time when I tried to breathe though, I didn't struggle quite so much. I rolled towards Holmes, ending up with my head curled against his left shoulder and my legs at an angle on the bed.
I spent several minutes just trying to breathe normally again, even though I still sounded hoarse and ragged. I trembled as a few chills ran through me. He shifted, but then I realized he was reaching for the water glass I had used earlier. He didn't bother handing it to me, but raised it gently to my lips. Very slowly he let me sip the liquid, which brought cool relief to my throat.
I finished the water and declined his offer for more. I felt like my energy had been completely wiped out and was leaning against him totally for support.
"Watson?" He called softly, a deeper question behind the name.
"I'm sorry…" I said, shivering. I felt his hand on my brow again. It was a moment before he offered me the thermometer again, but I accepted it without protest.
"You have nothing to apologize for," He insisted. "I just want to see you safe and well again." He waited a few minutes before relieving me of the instrument, then paused to read it.
"I thought I hit you," I said, trying to make sense of the broken images and sounds of my nightmare.
"Nothing of the sort," Holmes assured me.
"How…" I coughed again and paused, wondering if it would be followed up with more, but none were forthcoming. "How bad?" I asked , shivering.
Holmes grabbed the blanket and covered me the best he could since we were sitting at an awkward position. "I should fetch a doctor," he advised, "I don't want you getting worse."
"How bad?" I asked again.
"One-hundred four degrees," he finally answered, sounding reluctant to say.
"Please don't." I heard myself begging. I didn't want to have to be apart from him. I realized I was still clinging to his hand and I didn't plan on letting it go.
"We don't want this getting worse." Holmes replied.
"One more degree Holmes. If it goes up by one more degree then." I murmured, my sentence trailing off.
"If places were reversed?" He asked. "Would you let me refuse a doctor?"
"If I was there you wouldn't be refusing a doctor." I replied.
He growled. "That was not the point I was trying to make."
I curled closer against him. "Please, Holmes, I don't want anyone else here."
I meant to say I wanted him around. But it was still strange for me to admit how much I needed him. I didn't need anyone. I should not need anyone. I hadn't needed anyone since I had left my family and struck out on my own. Having to rely on anyone bothered me. Even when I was recovering in Peshawar I had snapped at any nurse or orderly who had assumed I couldn't do for myself. I dared not let myself become reliant on anyone to be there for me.
I thought back to the nightmare that Holmes had roused me out of. I thought I had long since beat away those ghosts, but it seemed they still chased me. My brother had befriended a pack of boys a little older than him, and they had loved nothing more than to torment me. I would slip away and hide wherever I could find solitude. My father never seemed to believe my stories, and told me to stop being so sensitive. He wanted us to grow into strong lads, but I knew I was never going to be the sort of man he wanted. He liked that Harry had gotten tougher, even if he got that way by giving me grief every chance he got. My father seemed to believe the only man worth his salt was the one who could demand the respect of his family and friends.
I remember once telling my mother just what I thought of his attitude. I had ranted about his behavior as she sat quietly by. After I had calmed down she had quietly said I should learn to respect him more, that he wasn't a bad man, just firm. That his hard life was why he was so aggressive.
I had left her, thinking no more of the conversation, until my father flew into my room in a rage. He gave me the last beating I had taken as a child, hissing that I should have been a girl because of how weak I was.
Shortly thereafter, I drove head-first into my studies. I took long holidays from home, leaving my family behind. I remember once returning home from school to find my father engaging in a dispute with a neighbor. They were arranging a duel and I dared to challenge him.
It was made clear to me that from that point on I was not welcome at home. My father had later lost his life to a duel, which I had heard about with a surprising lack of compassion, and my brother inherited the holdings. I had not asked him for anything of it. I wanted nothing of them.
"Watson you need a doctor." Holmes said at long last, after the silence had stretched on for several long minutes.
"One more degree Holmes. If my temperature - " I felt another coughing fit seizing me and I quickly pressed a fist to my mouth. My body continued to force air sharply through my windpipe, making me dizzy. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes as my coughing continued to plague me.
I felt Holmes shift to help me sit up again. One of his arms wrapped around my shoulders, so I was sitting upright, but not slumping forward. My throat burned and my chest hurt so much. I was so tired, and just wanted rest now. I gasped weakly for air, my feeble attempts for a breath causing Holmes to grip my shoulder with his hand. I heard the high-pitched whimper as I tried to draw more air into my lungs, and it was alarming. It was as if my body was refusing to take in the air it needed to survive.
"Watson?" He called, his voice sounding strange. Was that a note of fear? I was only just beginning to learn to read Holmes' eyes and his tones for the buried emotions that lurked there. He was human after all, he was just remarkably talented at hiding the feelings that others might betray. He had begun to slowly draw back the veil around me when we were alone, revealing the presence of affection in his tone and touch. It was a welcome change.
I coughed again, my chest heaving, but this time when I tried to gasp for breath I found it exceedingly difficult. Some of what I was trying to cough up was suddenly caught in my throat. My own heart began to race a little as I momentarily gave into panic. The world seemed to slow down, every breath seeming to take hours. My head was whirling as I realized the amount of air I was hardly enough. I gripped the hand that was curled around my waist, as if trying to draw strength from him. My head dropped to one side as I tried to fight the darkness. My body began to tremble, reacting to the lack of oxygen. My vision blurred, adding to the dizziness I was already feeling. I rolled away from him, instinctively wanting to be facing downwards, but not wanting to be coughing all over him either.
Holmes shifted with surprising alacrity, shifting to allow me to move how I intended. He ended up kneeling on the bed, but bending over close to me. One of his strong hands rested on my shoulder that was tucked under me and the other in my hand. My airway was opened a little more and took several quick, gulping breaths as I curled my fingers tightly about his hand. I coughed a couple more times, clearing my throat even more. I was totally spent, barely even able to process anything. All I knew was I wanted him there, holding me and comforting me. My shoulder - the injured one had ended up under me - was protesting the pressure exerted on it with mild discomfort. I had grown so used to the pain it did not bother me as bad as it once did, but I rolled back over to my back anyway. Holmes gently raised my head and tucked the pillow under it so I was centered on it.
"Holmes…" My voice was hardly even a whispered breath, and he put a hand on my forehead again. I meant to thank him for his care, but then his long fingers brushed my cheek. I found myself staring into his eyes and lost all recollection of what I was trying to say. I felt a flash of heat run through me, and I moaned with annoyance at the discomfort.
"Watson, are you certain you don't need a doctor?" He asked, once again grabbing the cloth to gently pat my forehead with. I knew it wasn't fair of me to argue with him. I had no right to ask him to try to look after me.
I meant to answer but it came out a whimper as another smaller cough forced it's way out. I tried to hold on to his hand, but I knew I was losing the battle with sleep, and it was coming to claim me.
"I need you." I argued feebly. I did not mean to plead with him, but that was probably how it sounded. I didn't like to make myself a burden to anyone, but truly now that the feelings were awakened in me I did not think I could imagine it any other way. I could not feign indifference when my heart longed so much for him. For his smile, for his gaze, for his touch, and for his kisses. What had sprung up between us I could not pause to analyze, I just knew I wanted it to last forever.
The cooling effect of the dampened towel sent another shudder down my spine, and my half-lidded eyes closed. I trusted Holmes to do what he needed to, and let myself succumb to the need for rest.