SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH
Watson stretched, wincing as his muscles pulled. Dozing in an armchair, however comfortable, does that to a man.
Rubbing his sore neck, he stood up. His eyes drifted over to Holmes, taking in the unhealthy paleness and sweat drenched features of his best friend. A slight frown marred Holmes face but otherwise he looked to be resting as peacefully as can be expected.
Making up his mind that leaving Holmes alone for a few minutes wouldn't kill him, he walked to the loo. After finishing his business, he washed his hands and looked into his bed room to collect some things that could be of use while tending to Holmes and piled them into a suitable bag.
Their dear old landlady had left a pitcher of tea and a plate of cookies. Smiling to himself, Watson picked it up and closed the door behind him.
Making his way toward Holmes' bedroom he
dropped the bag near the doorway and proceeded to place the tray on the bedside table quietly so as not to disturb Holmes.
Only . . . the bed was empty. Holmes, who had been sleeping on the bed not a few minutes back, was not there.
SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH
Something had changed. He could feel it. The warmth had left. Now it was all cold and dark.
Holmes opened his eyes slowly and stared at the slowly spinning ceiling. Turning his head, he could see that Watson was no longer there.
He tried calling him. But he got no further than "Wat ... " when his throat clenched. He attempted to clear his throat, only succeeding in sending tendrils of pain shooting through it.
He needed Watson. He didn't know why. But he did. There was something important. But he couldn't remember it.
Holmes tried to push himself up on shaky arms. Shaky ? Was he ill ? Before he could contemplate further a fiery pain in his stomach interrupted his thoughts.
Gasping, he looked down to see a row of neat stitches apparently holding together what must have been a gaping hole. He relaxed slightly knowing that it was his beloved doctor who must have patched him up.
But then where was he ? What if he had gone to capture Holmes' assailant ? What if he had left Holmes to take care of himself ? What if he was injured and trying to stitch himself up ? What if he was already d ...
No. No, he couldn't be. No, Watson was safe. Wasn't he ? He had to ... to see Watson. To assure himself that his best friend was indeed safe.
Making up his mind, Holmes swung his feet to the ground and attempted to get up. This resulted in a flash of colours that swirled and twisted around him giving him a spectacular headache. Forcing down bile Holmes stood up and swayed alarmingly, barely managing to catch himself on the side table.
One foot in front of the other, Holmes said to himself.
One foot in front of the other.
It was slow going, but the determined detective managed to stumble the distance from the bed to the door in under five minutes.
Keeping one hand on the wall for balance and the other curled around his stomach, which was starting to burn painfully, he stumbled to the living room.
His blurred vision slowly took in the room and searched for Watson. Now starting to panic, Holmes called out again to Watson hoarsely. Or at least tried to.
His protesting throat led him to a coughing fit which further agonized his pain.
Just as he was contemplating if he should perhaps sit down and take shelter as the room was swaying too much and if he could make it to the basin to vomit or whether he would end up making a mess here in the carpet, that beloved voice sounded behind him.
"Holmes"
SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH ... JW ... SH
Watson had panicked initially upon coming across the empty bed. Forcing himself to calm down, he figured that Holmes wouldn't ... couldn't have gone far in the past ten minutes.
Cursing himself for leaving his friend alone in his present state he rushed out of the bed room and into the living room, hoping that Holmes would be there.
He was.
Only ... he shouldn't be. Swaying on the carpet with an arm curled around his stomach, the detective looked absolutely pasty and sweaty in the meagre light.
"Holmes" Watson called out.
Holmes spun around and his momentum would have sent him to the ground if it hadn't been for Watson rushing to catch Holmes.
With one hand around Holmes' waist and the other holding his arm which was thrown around Watson's shoulder, Watson did all he could to keep both Holmes and himself standing. Forced to take nearly all of the weak man's weight Watson stumbled to the couch in an attempt to get the other man to lay down.
But Holmes didn't want to let go. "Are you going to leave me, Watson?" Holmes mumbled, eyes already half closed.
"Never, old cock" Watson said. With a sigh he gave up trying to remove himself from Holmes' grasp. And adjusted them into a more comfortable position.
And when Mrs.Hudson came upstairs with two bowls of soup and plates of dinner an hour later, she smiled softly to see Watson sleeping with his cheek on Holmes' head which was resting on the doctor's chest, their hands and legs tangled together.
Softly placing the plate on the table beside the sofa, she covered the two friends with a blanket and placing a kiss on their foreheads, left as quietly as she had come.