September 1, 1891
Holmes,
Do you remember that day when you came into my consulting-room before Reichenbach? You said you were using yourself up a bit too freely and I'm beginning to see what you meant. It's been a little over two weeks since my letter and I have my reasons for not writing. It's been one continuous pull since the middle of August.
It all started one morning while I was holding Mary's hair back so she could vomit her sick into the sink. She had been up since four with nausea, but I had not rolled out of bed until a little after five thirty after hearing her repeatedly gasping for air. She seemed so frail with the dark circles under her eyes that only stood out more with her pale complexion.
Seeing me half-awake and full of concern, she had tried to tell me that it was alright and to go back to bed, but she broke down sobbing in the middle of her sentence and clung to me weeping.
She's so afraid, Holmes. After managing to calm her down somewhat, she told me in broken words of how her mother died soon after she was born. She's been raised without a female figure and concepts such as motherhood are strange to her.
She's afraid of losing the child. She says something doesn't seem right. These words struck me more than anything. I know she will be an excellent mother. Of that I have no doubt. But it's her intuition that frightens me. I've seen some strange and remarkable things as my career as a doctor, but something I've always learned to trust is a woman's instinct. If she suspects something is amiss, she is most likely correct. I can think of many cases where a mother could tell me what was wrong with her child before I even had time to take out my stethoscope.
To make matters worse, I was in the middle of consoling Mary when a frantic knocking came from the door downstairs. Making my way down the stairs, I heard several other voices chiming in and pounding on the wood. "Doctor Watson! Doctor Watson it's an emergency!"
I opened the door to see several of the Baker Street Irregulars clamoring their way to be in front. A lanky boy with a shock of blonde hair succeeded in pushing past his comrades and announced with a bellow, "Doctor Watson! It's Wiggins it is! We was climbing the wall behind ol' Mrs. Smith's 'ouse and Wiggins done fell off and broke 'is arm!" The other voices chimed in and began shouting. "It's right bad, sir, right bad. Done broke bad we tell ye."
I heard the step creak behind me and saw Mary's red and tearstained face as she came to see what all the commotion was about. "Who is it, John?"
"Mrs. Watson!" the Irregulars cut in before I could speak. "It's Wiggins, he's hurt bad he is and we need Doctor Watson!"
Mary gave the ragtag group the first smile I'd seen in days and then turned to me. "John, you must go. I'll be all right." She said quickly as she saw me frown.
The Irregulars began pulling me toward the door and I barely had time to grab my hat and bag before the door was closed behind me.
~oo0oo~
To be continued….