15. From Domina Temporis: an encounter with the supernatural.

A/N: This story is a continuation of Ch. 14, set in a field hospital during WWI.

When I awoke the next morning, I had some faint hope that Holmes' visit was simply the product of lingering fever, and that even now he was safely back in London. Yet I knew in my heart that this was not the case. Still, there was little time to grieve. I was soon returned to duty, as there were no hospital beds to waste on a man nearly recovered and too many injuries for the doctors to spurn the extra help.

Wearily, I worked day in and day out, driving myself as hard as I dared. There were too many in desperate need, yet in my quiet moments, my thoughts continued turning back to Holmes and the danger he no doubt faced.

"You must be very worried for Mr. Holmes."

I paused, startled from a half-remembered prayer. A soldier stood nearby, not one familiar to me, though I could hardly hope to be personally acquainted with so many. I could see no obvious injury, however, so no doubt he was one of the few soldiers dispatched to guard the hospital.

"Excuse me?" I felt a surge of terror; if this simple soldier knew of Holmes' identity, was it possible for him to avoid those who would do him harm? I prayed I had misunderstood, that Holmes was safe.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson, but I overheard you speaking with him when he visited two days ago," the soldier said. "I didn't mean to alarm you; I have not spoken of him to anyone else."

My racing heart calmed a little. "Who are you?"

"Still, he does face great danger. He will require all his intellect and powers of disguise to come home safely."

"He will do so," I said, far more confidently than I felt. "And you, soldier, have not answered my question. Who are you?"

"A friend, Dr. Watson," the soldier said. "To you and to Mr. Holmes." Before I could speak, he added. "What if I could guarantee Mr. Holmes' safe return? Whole and healthy, untouched by his enemies?"

"Do not taunt me," I said brusquely. "You are no friend to speak in riddles, and there are no guarantees in war."

The soldier took a small step closer. "But there are, Dr. Watson. There are forces beyond your comprehension, forces that transcend man and his petty wars. I could bring your friend home safe. His mission accomplished, even, his mind at ease. A small matter, for one like me."

There was no hint of uncertainty in his voice, no hint of jest. I could not help but believe his words, though my reason cried out that such a thing was impossible. No man could deliver what he promised. Unless…

The creature smiled. "Think of it, Dr. Watson," he said. "Is that not a miracle worth bargaining for?"

I swallowed; my throat felt suddenly dry. "And what," I said, "would such a miracle cost?"

"Nothing you need now," he said, tilting his head. "Not your mind, your memories, your health. A simple thing. A small thing."

"Your soul," a third voice said quietly behind me. I whirled around. Another figure stood there, dressed identically to the first, though something in his face hinted at a nobility that the first one lacked. Sad and sorrowful, he looked, though not afraid. "The miracle would cost your soul."

"You are not to interfere," the first man snarled. "This is not your business."

The stranger ignored him, turning to me. "Do not let the demon deceive you, doctor. The thing you would save would not be worth what you paid for it."

The demon scoffed. "A soul? What is a soul anyway? You have a chance to save your friend, your only friend, to spare him unimaginable danger, pain, sacrifice, and you refuse to take it?"

"You cannot imagine eternity, Doctor," the second man said quietly. Still quietly, yet my stomach clenched at the certainty in his voice. "A permanent separation from God. You cannot imagine the agony you would endure."

"Threats, that's all an angel can offer," the demon snarled. "What is threats compared to a life?"

The angel met my eyes, and I could no more look away than grow wings. "You know him well, Doctor Watson. Would Sherlock Holmes really desire his safety at such a price?"

"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!" Such guilt and horror, though the bullet wound was slight. What would Holmes say if offered this choice?

In my heart of hearts, I knew.

The demon knew it too. "His death will be on your head!"

My lips quirked bleakly. "Go to hell."

Then I turned away. My heart hurt, and I was unbearably tired.

1918

I shoved through the crowd, my heart lurching as I spied a familiar face. "Holmes!"

"Watson, my dear fellow." Holmes was thinner than he had been, and he carried himself stiffly as though in pain. Yet he was alive, and safe, and smiling with his old accustomed warmth.

I clasped the hand he offered me "I am so glad you have returned."

His mouth twisted. "Not easily, nor quickly, but I trust brother Mycroft will be tolerably pleased. And you," he added wryly. "I have not forgotten our bargain."

"Well then," I said, picking up his small satchel before he could protest. "Come with me, old fellow. I have arranged for a motor car to transport us."

He grumbled something about 'new-fangled contraptions' but followed me willingly enough. I helped him into the car and settled his baggage alongside.

Almost lost in the roar of the motor, I thought I heard a rustle of wings.