I'm rather liking these little 3 pieces. So here is part two of yesterday's installment.
It was with some apprehension that I climbed the stairs to my darkened bedroom and called softly from the doorway. "Mary,"
This probably wasn't my finest moment, I thought humbly. My spouse was likely never to speak to me again and here I was crawling up to her for help.
But it was a justified cause, I reasoned. Holmes had barely stumbled across the threshold before collapsing on the living room floor. I had managed to move him to the settee where he was sleeping peacefully in a slumber induced by pain and whiskey mixed with morphine. I would have to return with a lamp to further examine the wound.
"Mary, please." I whispered.
The form moved under the bedclothes and turned to give me a hurtful glare. If the room had been lighter, I suspect I would have seen tears mixed in with such a look. But thankfully, the moon's shadows hid the worst of the gaze.
"What is it John?"As expected the voice was tight and controlled. Biting in its remarks and obviously failing at holding compassion. I felt undeniably guilty at being the one to cause it.
"It's Holmes.." I hated to say it. I sounded so selfish. "Will you help me?"
Her eyes held mine, flashing resentment as she rose, "Anything for your friend." She said bitterly.