"I have not yet begun to fight!" - John Paul Jones, Naval captain during the American Revolution, as he faced overwhelming odds which he later defeated.

Chapter 36 "I Have Not Yet Begun to Fight"

Holmes

"Don't act impetuously!" Lachlan growled at me as I tugged on my jacket with shaking hands.

I glared at him but said nothing; his harsh words were excusable, for he was suffering from a portion of the stress I myself was feeling.

"I am quite in control!" I snapped back, trying to straighten my clothing as best as I could; for I had not had time to change and I would not waste more precious time doing so.

"I don't see how," Lachlan said unhappily. "You ate nothing yesterday, and you haven't slept for over a day. And after last night…"

I silenced him with a look, for I did not want to be reminded of last night. The second such night, in which my dearest friend lay in the bouts of a fever, lapsing again and again into a delirious state, and then painfully lucid when he was not.

Smith's germ had taken a stronger hold and the symptoms themselves were becoming more evident - between the chills, the hot flashes, and the cramps Watson had not had a moment of respite all night, and the fluids he had so laboriously taken in the previous day were more than sweated out, leaving him exhausted and dehydrated.

And I had stood by, almost entirely helpless, unable to do anything but hold cold cloths to his head and chest in an attempt to keep him comfortable, listening as he pleaded and wept and cursed angrily at me. Until finally at dawn Lachlan had come to relieve me so I was free to pursue Smith's lackey.

I looked to where Watson lay on the bed now, pale and drawn as I had ever seen him, too dry to sweat, too tired to sleep, struggling for each and every breath of air that rasped in and out of his too-thin throat.

I swallowed but the painful lump in my throat would not leave it. He looked like a dying man…indeed he was, slowly dying by degrees.

I crossed over to the bunk and touched his hand which lay limply on the coverlet, twitching occasionally.

"Watson."

A shaky intake of breath was the only noise to indicate he heard me and his eyes flickered.

"Watson, old fellow."

As though they bore the burden of Atlas himself, his eyelids slowly opened to reveal the familiar hazel orbs, I was shaken by how dim they were, bereft of the energy and spark they usually held, glazed and dull and inestimably weary.

The eyes of a dead man.

"Watson." I said softly, for if I spoke any louder I knew my voice would crack.

His eyes fixed on my face and I felt my heart rise a little when they shone with a light of recognition. His cracked lips formed my name but no sound emerged.

"I'm going Watson,"

A measure of life filled his face and his hand clenched round my wrist, his brows creased.

"Lachlan is here," I said quickly, "I am going to find Smith's associate. I will be back."

He glanced at Lachlan, who gave him a reassuring smile, and then his gaze settled back on my face.

"Promise?" His voice was a mere whisper, hoarse and thin.

"I promise." I said, gripping his hand tightly, feeling the back of my eyes burn. "You've had a bad night of it, Watson. But you'll feel better after a few hours rest, and Lachlan will help you to drink something."

He moaned at the thought of drinking again, but I pressed him and after a moment he nodded.

"Be careful."

I smiled for his benefit, for I felt no reason to be so joyful. "I will, and I'll be back to check on you. Hold on for a while longer, Watson."

The corners of his mouth twitched and he closed his eyes again. "Always."

I gave his hand one final squeeze and slipped my hand from his grasp, turning to Lachlan ready to argue.

To my surprise the obstinate glare had faded from the sailor's eyes, which had become rather over-bright, and not with his usual twinkle.

He handed me the keys to the brig, "I'll watch him."

Some semblance of comfort settled over me, for I knew that simple statement was worth another man's oath. I touched his shoulder briefly then strode from the room before the fear of leaving Watson settled over me.

I set my mind on the task before me, trying to sweep my emotions aside. It was a fruitless task.

I made my way swiftly to the brig, ignoring the masses of humanity about me and spoke quietly to the young man, Renie, that Lachlan had arranged to be on guard.

He unlocked the door for me, unaware that I had my own set of keys in my pocket.

"You sure you'll be all right, sir?" he asked. "You don't want me to come in with you?"

I shook my head. "Follow the Midshipman's orders - you remember them?"

He nodded eagerly and I was glad that the lad was either too young or too good-natured to question said orders.

"You won't be disturbed, sir."

I nodded my thanks and entered the dim room, only to be faced with the leering smile of Culverton Smith as he leaned against the bars of his cell door.

I had underestimated my own reaction, for I was assaulted by a surge of disgust and anger so strong that I barely restrained myself from undoing the lock and strangling him with my own hands.

"I thought I might see you here again, Mr. Holmes." he said. "Pray tell me, how is Doctor Watson?"

My control snapped and quicker than I have ever moved before I was at the bars of his cell and had a hold of his collar, pulling him sharply against the iron, his face quite satisfyingly startled.

I brought my face close to his and spoke in a voice calm and intense enough to send chills down my own spine.

"If he dies, Smith," I whispered, "then you shall not live to enjoy the remainder of this voyage. You will suffer as slowly and as painfully as he has, and I will stand by and watch you die."

I released him without another word and my words were enough to startle him into silence. He staggered back and I could feel his eyes on my back as I passed on to the cell that held his paid help.

"Mr. Gilchrist." I said, in the same calm voice.

The smaller man looked up, his eyes wide and terrified in the dim light.

"I have another question for you."

The fellow swallowed and, ignoring the disgusted look of his companion, spoke. "What?"

I took the keys from my pocket and held them aloft, his face turned white.

"Who is the man who hired you for Mr. Smith…and where can I find him?"

Gilchrist shot a look towards Smith's cell even though he could not see it from the angle of his prison.

"There was no one else. Mr. Smith hired us 'imself."

I sighed and let a reasoning tone creep into my voice.

"I am a busy man, Mr. Gilchrist. And I am very swiftly running out of time. Lies will only rob me of that valuable time. You would not lie to me, would you?"

The fellow opened his mouth hesitantly and was cut off by a shout coming from Smith's cell.

"Help him and you are a dead man, Gilchrist!"

I was strongly tempted to cross to the cell and teach Smith to keep his mouth shut, but I thought better of it. The other sailor remained on his bunk, seemingly indifferent to the whole proceedings.

I unlocked the cell and stepped inside. Gilchrist leapt back, shaking.

"I dunno…I dunno anything!"

I closed the door behind me and placed the key back in my pocket.

"You do, Mr. Gilchrist, and it is information that I intend to discover one way or another."

For a few hours I worked with the man, relentlessly cross-examining him rather than using actual violence, growling in his face - and after a long while he cracked, as so many others have done under the same pressure in the cells of Scotland Yard.

"Mr. John Brown he called himself. I dunno if it was 'is real name."

"What did he look like?"

"Tall cove, dressed nice like you, was a mite taller than Mr. Smith."

"Age?"

"Dunno, young, more a lad than anything else."

"Hair?"

"Brown, longish, like a student."

"Color of his eyes?"

"Didn't see."

"Is he armed?"

"He has a revolver."

"What is his cabin number?"

"224…a deck below yours."

I continued to scrutinize his face but I was confident that the answers were truthful for my questions had been rapid.

"Very good, Mr. Gilchrist…I shall talk with the captain and have you moved to another location, and if it turns out you are not lying then I will speak at your trial."

The man nodded, his face still white and scared, for throughout most of the episode Smith had screamed threats at the small man.

I turned away and strode back past the cell that held Smith.

I could not tell if he had heard us or not, but he glared like the devil himself, his baleful eyes seething his rage.

I turned my back on him and left the brig. I had to get back to Watson, just to check. Then I would find Mr. Brown and bring this shoddy business to an end.

Watson

"Thank you, Lachlan," I said, my throat by now so tight that I could only whisper hoarsely.

I could not ever recall in my life feeling so weak and so ill – my mind although sluggish was still screaming a warning to me that I was too dehydrated and that I was going to die if something did not happen…but I was too tired, too absolutely exhausted to care. How I wished for Holmes to come back!

The seaman set the water glass down on the tray on the table with a nod and glanced at his watch.

"What – what time do you have to – get back to your shift?" I asked, coughing a little and bracing myself for the pain sure to follow.

"Got 'bout a half-hour yet, Doctor. And don't you worry, I'm not leavin' ye here until Holmes comes back, shift or no shift," the man reassured me, tucking the blankets round me, for I was still shivering uncontrollably.

I closed my eyes tightly and curled up under the blankets as the muscle spasms hit once again, gripping two fistfuls of the covers in an effort to not vocalize the pain.

"Doctor, are you –"

Lachlan's voice was interrupted by the slamming of the stateroom door, and my eyes flew open to see Holmes's jubilant face.

"I've got him! Name and location of his stateroom!" he shouted, his haggard face nearly glowing with sudden excitement.

"Gilchrist talked then?" Lachlan asked eagerly.

Holmes nodded, fairly dancing about in his excitement as he crossed the room to kneel beside my bunk, looking at me worriedly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like - like the devil," I whispered hoarsely, trying to manage a faint smile at the hope I could read in his pale face.

"Mr. Holmes, I have to be gettin' back to my shift," Lachlan said slowly.

Holmes's brow wrinkled as he looked up at the seaman, and he glanced back at me.

"I know that poses a problem if you are going to locate this JB chap," the sailor added, "but I cannot miss another shift – I'm on my last warning as it is."

Holmes glanced back at me, and I nodded weakly.

His black brows knitted in a bushy line, but there was no other option. I knew he would not leave me alone – in fact it would be dangerous to do so – and so we would simply have to wait until Lachlan were able to come back to stay with me.

"Very well," Holmes said quietly, getting up from the floor.

"I shall be off later tonight, Holmes – and I will be tryin' to work out a schedule with some o' the men so that I can be off-duty until this business has been seen through," the sailor replied, opening the stateroom door. "Oh, and I brought up an early luncheon for you, Holmes. And do a chap a favour, don't throw it out of the porthole again, eh?"

Holmes stared after the man as the door shut after him, and I would have smiled had the pain not started up once more, causing me to double over under the covers and clench my jaw to keep from crying out as the muscles in my body started to cramp up again.

My almost inaudible whimper had been heard, however, for Holmes was in an instant sitting on the edge of the bunk, gently patting my shoulder a little awkwardly.

"Easy, old fellow – just ride it out, that's it," I heard his soothing voice as I closed my eyes to wait until the spasms passed, feeling myself shake over and over violently as the pain ran its course.

Finally the convulsive pain abated for the moment, and I kept my eyes closed, going limp against the pillows, too weak to even move, almost too exhausted to breathe. I was still shivering, the movement restricting my breathing and making it rattle in my closed throat.

"Watson."

Much as I was so glad to have him here, I wanted nothing more at that moment than for him to go away and leave me in peace, I was just too tired.

"Watson, come on, you have to drink some more," his voice was soft but insistent.

When I refused to acknowledge him, his grasped me by the shoulders and turned me over, raising me to a sitting position despite my very weakened protests. I tried to turn away as he held the glass up to my lips but he caught hold of me and held me still with his free arm.

"Watson, you have to. I – I cannot let you become dehydrated," he said slowly, making sure the words registered in my disoriented mind, "Please do not make me watch that, Watson?"

The shaking of his voice brought my mind out of that horrible lethargy and I nodded weakly, realizing that I did indeed have to, for his sake if not my own. I took a breath and then tried to choke down a sip.

It felt wonderfully cool and soothing to my parched lips, but my throat rebelled and tried to close up, sending me clutching at the blankets as I choked and coughed, my throat now raw from the repeated torture it was going through. I tried to restrain a moan but was unsuccessful.

"Please, Holmes," I gasped as I tried to take a breath, "please – don't – "

I saw his eyes fill with pain as he shook his head regretfully.

"I am sorry, dear chap," he said softly, "but I cannot watch you die of dehydration – we are so close, Watson. You can't give up now, old fellow."

I did not even care anymore, all I wanted to do was sleep, for only then could I get any release from the pain.

"I – I can't," I whispered, trying to lie back on the pillows.

Holmes tightened his grip and pulled me upright again, and I moaned as the pain shot through my body once more.

"I am not going to let you die, Watson!" I heard him say fiercely. "Don't do this to me!"

The desperation in his voice somehow motivated me to obey, and I tried to concentrate as he held the glass determinedly up to my lips again. It was a very long fifteen minutes in which I finally managed to get it down before collapsing, limp with my efforts.

"S-sorry, Holmes…" I whispered weakly, trying to apologise, but he shushed me as soon as I had started.

"Shh, it's all right, my dear fellow. Rest now," he said gently, setting my shaking frame back down on the bunk and covering me warmly with the blankets.

"Holmes – you – you must eat – something," I whispered.

"I will sometime," he replied, tucking the blankets round me.

"No," I gasped, grasping at his hand weakly, "now – please – Holmes?"

He gripped my hand in a rather unsteady grasp.

"I – I can't rest – knowing – you're killing yourself," I managed to get the words out before the spasms started again

I clutched Holmes's hand convulsively, clenching my teeth and closing my eyes, a strangled cry of pain escaping me. I felt him sit beside me, putting his other strong arm round my shoulders and letting me cling to his other hand as the pain ran its course.

"I'm here, Watson. Concentrate, old fellow – easy now," he murmured shakily as I twisted, trying to relieve the spasms.

I took a long shuddering breath, holding onto him and his quiet strength, and I heard him talking to me, slowly and soothingly, something about some case we were on a few years back – trying to distract my attention from the pain. I could not move to answer, and I do not think he expected me to.

Finally the spasm passed and I took a breath slowly, feeling it strain in my throat, and looked up at him, noticing his absolutely ghastly face and the black circles under his eyes.

I coughed again, feeling his grip tighten as I did so, and then leant back, completely spent, wishing only for sleep.

"All right, Watson?" he asked quietly as I settled back beside him.

"Promise me – promise me something, Holmes," I whispered, feeling my eyelids growing heavy.

"Anything, old fellow," he replied without hesitation.

"Promise me – " I had to break off to gasp for a breath as it hitched in my throat.

His arm tightened again. "Yes?"

"Promise me – you'll eat – after I fall – asleep," I gasped, gripping his hand tightly for emphasis.

He looked at me for a moment and then the pain-filled grey gaze softened.

"Very well, if it will make you rest easier I shall, I promise," he said softly.

"Good," I whispered.

And as I finally felt myself drifting toward unconsciousness, I felt his strong arm tighten round me and trusted him to be there watching to make sure I did not suffocate in my sleep.

I was safe for the time being.