Never forget that it is not a pneumonia, but a pneumonic man who is your patient. -William Withey Gull
Watson
Before Holmes could launch into another fit of self-deprecation, I headed the reaction off with a hastily interjected comment of concern over Ives's condition, asking him to allow me to return the favour he had just tended to me.
"I seriously doubt that you would be able to do so," he replied dryly, "seeing as your eyes have obviously not yet returned to normal."
"I can see well enough…" I started to rise, albeit rather unsteadily as the movement caused the throbbing inside my head to drastically increase.
No sooner had I attempted the feat than two different but equally strong hands upon my shoulders shoved me unceremoniously back into the chair. While I did not at all appreciate being manhandled, I realised from the wave of nausea that threatened my control that I should remain seated for a bit longer yet.
"Watson, sit down!"
"Need I remind you again to stay still?"
"I will do so, but only if you take care of that shoulder," I responded, ignoring both glares bestowed upon me at the moment. I was grateful that my voice was beginning to lose its slur at least.
"Doctor, if you will allow me –"
"Mr. Holmes, I assure you I am far more familiar with bandaging bullet wounds than you are, and I am perfectly capable of managing on my own," the older man interrupted with some asperity, shaking off Holmes's hand once more and removing his jacket with a slight struggle.
My vision was slowly returning to normal clarity, though some lingering blurriness was still in evidence. But I could see the red stain on my colleague's sleeve well enough regardless of the fact. Holmes swore under his breath, digging through the drawer for more linen as Ives gingerly removed his arm from its sleeve.
"Also a superficial graze," he said calmly for my benefit, though I wished I could see for certain the veracity of his words.
"If I'd been faster slamming that door…if I hadn't ducked when I did…"
"If you hadn't, you in all probability would be dead right now," Ives shot back at me, beginning to bandage the graze upon his shoulder, somewhat awkwardly with only one hand. "He was a deucedly good shot, even with Holmes tackling him."
The detective winced visibly at the reminder of what he no doubt regarded as a failure on his part but said nothing. He stepped hesitantly closer and, after shooting a wary glance at the old army doctor, reached out to hold the bandaging in place over the wound while Ives continued to wrap it snugly, scowling at my friend all the while.
"I should never have allowed Lestrade to pick his own men," Holmes muttered through clenched teeth. "A very serious oversight on my part, not approving the men and their levels of experience myself."
Ives raised one bushy eyebrow. "You didn't personally ensure that the best men possible were on the job, when your closest friend's very life was at stake?"
Perhaps it was the lingering unpleasant effects of the concussion, but it seemed to me that the air had just become charged with a crackling electric tension.
"If you will remember, Dr. Ives, this entire plan was not my idea but rather a result of your and Watson's conniving behind my back," the detective snapped, stepping back from the other as the bandage was fastened securely in place. "I expressed my disapproval at the time in the most strenuous possible terms, and I had no part in planning this save to set in place precautions against getting you both killed!"
I debated whether to attempt to neutralize the dark clouds gathering in this room but decided that now was as good a time for the storm to break as any. Besides, I really had not the energy to spend in braving a cross-fire to call a truce. I closed my eyes against the brightness of the light and rested my head very gingerly in my hand, listening to the dialogue growing rapidly taut with tension.
"I was not saying I blamed you for the accident tonight, Holmes."
"But you were implying it."
"I was doing nothing of the kind. I was pointing out that in retrospect, the wiser course might have been to hand-pick the men yourself for such a job, perhaps someone who is more familiar with snipers and their unanticipated movements."
"Someone like you, is that it? Namely, that you would have done a better job in choosing the men, since you are so familiar with the entire affair from the beginning? In fact, you seem to be far more familiar with all things concerning Watson's private life in general, dating back to your army days."
Had I been able to think or see clearly, I should thoroughly have enjoyed the fact that Holmes was no longer even attempting to disguise the rampant jealousy in his tone over a part of my life that he had heard little about and seen even less of.
But as it was, the vocalization of his annoyance merely increased the pounding behind my eyes and I slumped down in my seat, resting my throbbing head on the cool tabletop, completely unnoticed by the two verbal combatants now sizing each other up somewhere above me.
"Do you always make a habit of twisting a man's words into what you wish them to mean?" Ives's voice had become sharp and chilled as ice, a definitive contrast to the increasing pitch of the strained detective's.
"Do you always make a habit of becoming so intimately involved in someone else's affairs?" Holmes retorted. "I was perfectly in control of the matter until – Watson, wake up!"
This last was accompanied by a hand slapping down upon the desk just beside me, quite effectively jarring any momentary relief I might have gained from resting in that position. I jerked upright as pain shot through my skull in a bright flash.
"Don't do that!" I snapped, my well of long-suffering patience with him having nearly run dry by this point in a very trying case.
"You cannot fall asleep, Watson," he said anxiously, a deep worry for a moment running swiftly through his eyes before they again darkened with antagonism directed at my colleague.
"I can hardly be expected to sleep with you two bickering," I retorted irritably, wishing I could fully focus my vision, "and you need hardly tell me what I can and cannot do under the effects of a concussion!"
"Actually, since you never fully lost consciousness, you probably could sleep with no dangerous after-effects, as long as I keep you under observation as a precaution," Ives remarked calmly. I was also aware of that fact, but I did not bother to voice my irritation.
"We will keep him under observation," Holmes growled through his teeth.
"There is no need for both of us to stay with him, Holmes. Of course, I am not familiar with such proceedings myself but undoubtedly you have formalities to complete with the police. We each have our own responsibilities to attend to and this is, after all, your case." The tone was polite, frigidly so, but I saw Holmes stiffen as the barb hit home.
I was quite rapidly growing weary of being discussed once again as if I were not even present, and I was more than slightly frustrated by the two of them glowering at each other over my head, like two wolves about to fight for possession of a fresh kill. I shuddered at the horribly fitting simile my muddled mind had just conjured up.
"I am not going anywhere while Watson is sitting here injured, Doctor," Holmes said with a deathly calm.
"And I am not going anywhere until I have satisfied myself as to his well-being," Ives retorted, equally implacable. "As the attending physician, I am going to keep him under observation for the next twenty-four hours at least. You may cooperate with me or fight me every step. It will make no difference to me personally or to the outcome of the matter."
My vision was clear enough by this time to see a dark red flush spread over Holmes's pale face, his steely eyes contracting in a seething anger. Whether it was this sight or that of Ives, standing much more calmly with his arms folded and glaring icily at my friend over my head, that snapped the last taut nerve I retained after tonight I do not know.
I do know that somehow I made my feet before my two surprised companions could prevent me from the movement.
"That is enough, from both of you," I snapped, surprising myself with both my vehemence and the clarity with which my voice was imbued, considering the condition of my abused head.
I believe I surprised Ives and Holmes as well, for the latter at least took a step backward at my furious outburst. I had no doubt that I looked less than imposing, with a wide bandage round my temples and still-drying blood completely covering my face, neck, collar, and shirt; but I had had entirely enough for one night.
"I am thoroughly disgusted with your petty jealousies and childish antagonism," I snapped at both of them, leaning a hand unobtrusively on the table to steady myself as anger pumped a rush of blood through my still-throbbing head. "I need no one to keep me under observation, and until you can both at least call a cease-fire on your foolishness I refuse to submit myself to either of your cares. Is that clear, gentlemen?"
And without waiting for an answer from either of my stunned companions, I spun on my heel, choking down a wave of dizziness for appearance's sake, and left the room, shutting the front door firmly and definitively behind me.
Then and only then did I lean against it for a long minute to steady my spinning head.