A/N: I have been leaving these two in rather precarious places, haven't I? Hmmm…I didn't plan it that way, just happened. I only listen to what the voices in my head tell me to write.

No disclaimer: Public Domain!

Ch. 10-The Happenings in Baskerville Hall

5 August, 1894

When I first woke to find myself in a hospital, I was less than pleased. I remember little of the last few days, which is unsurprising considering my fever. Once it was determined that I was truly awake, the doctor came to examine me. From him, I learned that I had contracted malaria; if one takes into account that my duties both as a physician and police surgeon have led me into rather unsavory portions of London, it is not hard to comprehend; as I have made no trips to India recently, I can only account for it so. If one also considers the state of my health and how I have allowed it to decline, I am not much surprised. I had diagnosed its onset when I had arrived in Paris. Apparently I collapsed in my hotel room and was found by a maid whom I had summoned moments before. I do not remember; it is not overly important I suppose. I was already entirely insensible when I reached the hospital. I have spoken with the nurse who has been my primary caregiver since I was admitted and was told that the doctor feared I would not be whole, mentally, should I live through the fever. Is it such a horrible thing that I almost wish it were true? My faculties, unfortunately, are as sound as they were before my collapse. I remember all too well. It was the nurse who asked if there was anyone that I wished to contact.

"No," I replied, but grabbed her wrist as she went to move away. "Did I…that is…did I say…?" How does one ask if they have comprised themselves?

She seemed to understand and patted my wrist. "You spoke of hounds and falls, but mostly you apologized to your beloved." She smiled. "I will find her for you, if you like."

I nearly choked on my relief. I had not spoken his name! Even in my weakest of states I kept him a secret in my heart! "Thank you, my dear, but my beloved is quite beyond my reach."

The sadness that permeated my tone clearly led her thinking astray for now her hand moved to my shoulder in sympathy. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Nurse Blain is a credit to her profession and has made it her personal mission to see that I make a full recovery. Today she has ordered a visit to the sun room. Since I was heartily tired of lying in bed, I was in full agreement of this plan; I do not, however, believe she was overly pleased by my choosing a rather solitary location in which to relax, but seemed to understand when I asked for this journal and a pen. I am eternally grateful that this journal went unmolested. It contains entirely too much for me to take back. After reviewing my last entry, I can see how quickly my faculties were slipping away. I shall endeavor to continue the account with a much clearer head.

When last I left off, I was recounting a moment during my first visit to Baskerville Hall when Sir Henry, after listening to my troubles, asked for permission to court me.

"Allow me some time to think? This is rather sudden and I do not wish to be too hasty in my decision," was my reply. The baronet nodded and rose from his kneeling position at my feet. As he went to release my hand, I suddenly clasped it tight in my own. "I cannot promise, Sir Henry, that should I say yes to your proposed courtship, that you will succeed. My heart has belonged to him for so long, I scarcely remember another state of being and truthfully I'm not certain that I want to. Just, please, keep that in mind."

But the American seemed unperturbed by my warning and bestowed upon me a most winsome smile. "I'm not worried, Doctor, not at all."

If ever I were to compose the Baskerville case for the public, and the thought has occurred to me more than once, I would have to conceal one very important detail: Sir Henry's courtship of me. The public is not yet ready for such matters even if I harbored any notion in sharing them. It would be safer to let them believe that he had turned his attentions to the lovely Miss Beryl Stapleton. It was his friendly attitude toward her that eventually led Stapleton to his display of suspicious temper and allowed me to see that all was not as it should be.

The halting of the trap outside of Baskerville Hall brought me from my ruminations of the past. Mortimer led me inside, straight to the study. Upon our entrance, Sir Henry quit his paperwork to greet us. His eyes were entirely on Mortimer at first as I was stooped behind him.

"And this is a surprise for you, Sir Henry," Mortimer declared once they had concluded their reunion. "We met at the train station." With that he stepped aside and I was in full view for the first time. The American looked momentarily confused until I tilted my head just enough to allow a peek of my green eyes.

"It has been some seven years, sir, since I saw you last and you have not changed at all!" I exclaimed.

His blue eyes were as round as an owl's, but I did not release a sigh of silent relief until he squeaked "Godric!" And it was a squeak. I would have to tease him mercilessly about that later. My grin was certainly as much gratitude as it was happiness, for, despite the circumstances, I was happy to see him.

"Aye, young one, now you tell me what is this business about a cursed hound? I thought you'd never meet a dog you didn't like!"

"How on earth did you hear about that, sir?" Mortimer asked as we sat down for tea.

I flapped my hand in the air. "I mentioned to some silly lad where I was going and he proceeded to tell me some blasted tale about hell hounds and family curses. Bunch of hogwash! Hell hounds…I wish I'd had one to get rid of him!" My blustering finished, I downed the rest of my tea and slowly rose to my feet. "I'll just let you two young sirs catch up. I see a chair near that fire with my name on it. I'll just catch a few winks and be all the better for it!"

Sir Henry began to rise. "Let me show you to a guest room. You'll be much more comfortable there."

I waved him back and made a show of settling myself in the aforementioned chair. "Nonsense, my dear boy, this will do nicely. It will be nice to try and sleep on something that is not moving for once." I perceived, by his troubled expression, that he did not believe me, but I was entirely truthful. It was the second day since my departure from London and I had indulged in little if any sleep. My mind was much like a darkened alley, ready and willing to spring horrors upon me when I least expected it. In such an unguarded realm as dreams, I was a helpless victim. So I had imbibed in rather more coffee than was likely healthy in an attempt to keep those monsters at bay and so suffered the ones my mind conjured when awake.

I was therefore surprised when I fell into a deep, thankfully dreamless, sleep almost as soon as my head touched the padding on the back of the chair. I was, blessedly, completely unaware of the world around me and when I think upon that moment now, I can nearly appreciate Holmes's cocaine use. He tells me it is for the mental stimulus that it provides, but I am rather more inclined to believe that it shuts away the world so he need not deal with it. As a man who has endured the travesties of war and the devastation and bitterness of heartbreak, I can certainly understand why he would wish to escape, even if I have not reached that level of desperation.

Yet.

It was evident by the deep orange rays filtering through the half-drawn drapes that I had been asleep for some time. No sound save the merrily burning fire reached my ears. Mortimer was gone then and someone had been kind enough to tuck a rug around me. The same person, I believed, who was even now indulging in a cigarette just across from me.

"No use, old man, I know you are awake." Sir Henry's amusement overlaid his worry but not enough that I could not detect it.

As playing opossum was entirely useless, I opened my eyes and stretched, unsurprised that, despite my nap, I was still very tired. "It's rather later than I expected," I commented.

The other nodded, glancing at the clock. "Well past dinner, but it looked as though you needed the sleep. They have it waiting for us. Shall I have them bring it up?"

"Thank you, and just for yourself. I've no appetite I'm afraid."

"By looking at you that's not a recent occurrence." The grimness of his tone surprised me and it was only now that I saw the frown etched over those youthful features.

"It is not as bad as it seems."

"Not as bad!" The bouncing of his leg told me he was restraining the urge to pace. "Watson, you are practically a ghost! And you're here as Godric, which I know means trouble with Mr. Holmes. The question is, then, just what sort of trouble is it?"

I heaved a rather heavy sigh. "It is a long tale, Henry."

Those blue eyes were relentless as they bore into me. "John, you may have picked Mr. Holmes over me all those years ago, but that did not negate you as a friend. As a friend, I am asking you to unburden yourself. What's happened?"

For a time we sat in silence as I contemplated his request, unsure that I would be able to fill it. The memory of that afternoon was like an arrow to my heart. The wound had been too fresh when I was rescued by Lestrade and in the last few days I had done my very best not to dwell upon it. But somehow I could not refuse this man who had been so kind to me in the past and perhaps, in the telling, the wound might begin to heal.

At least, that is how I deceived myself.

I am a soldier, but even I could not bear to look upon the pity I would surely find in his expression. Therefore I kept my eyes locked upon the fire and in a slow, flat voice even I should have worried over, I relayed all that had happened. Every vile phrase, every hurtful slur. I had just come to how I had been injured when the American let out a cry and leapt to his feet, rushing to my side.

"Does it still hurt? Are you in need of a doctor? Should I send for Mortimer? What can I do?" His laid his hands upon my elbow as though he might ascertain the damage by touch alone.

In truth, the bruising and inflammation was extensive and quite painful and while I had reluctantly shared my tale, I was not ready to share this. As gently, but firmly, as I could, I removed his questing fingers and pushed him away. "There is nothing else that can be done, it will need to heal on its own."

By the set of his jaw, I knew that he wished to pursue the issue and was debating on whether or not he would win. He decided against it and retreated to pace in a circle around his chair.

"How," he finally asked, "how could he do such a monstrous thing? You are his best friend, his Boswell! You have followed him into situations that I can only imagine would have caused lesser men to flee. And no one could ask for a more loyal companion!" He halted abruptly in his pacing and scowled into the fire. "Any other man would have abandoned him long before now, but not you." He looked me square in the eye. "And he has thrown all that away because of your 'unnatural' desires for him?"

"I can only account for it so."

"Then he is a thrice-damned fool! I know that I have said so before but this goes far beyond my worst fears." Those dark blue eyes continued to examine me. "You will stay here of course?"

"If I am not imposing."

"Nonsense! I insist. In fact, I intend to do my best to persuade you to stay here permanently." He held up a hand to forestall my arguments. "Please, allow me the chance to help you on the road to recovery, old man."

As much as I wished to protest his placing himself in control of the situation, I just did not have the energy to do so. "Very well."

End Ch. 10

A/N: Considering he ended up in Paris, we know that Sir Henry failed in that respect. Oh, and I figured he contracted malaria while down in Rotherhithe. If only Victor Savage had been so lucky!

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