A/N: This chapter popped out of no-where, I swear. It came about because I needed one and apparently Watson had some more thinking to do. And I felt the need to aggravate him some more! And yes, I know it is late, for which I apologize.

NO disclaimer: Public Domain!

WARNING! Please note that if it is in italics then it is being spoken in Latin most likely, unless it's obviously for emphasis. You will understand as you read. Some lines are spoken in English, and deliberately so.

Italics=Latin

Ch. 16-In the Face of Interruptions

August 1894

Several events have occurred that have stirred my thoughts into a riot that will not be controlled no matter what effort I exert. It is quite distressing and in order to fully digest all that was imparted to me, I feel that it is necessary to lay the complete events down within this journal. Doing so, I hope, will allow me to move onwards.

When I last departed from this journal I was in the process of describing what would be necessary in order for me to forgive Holmes of his transgressions. As I was finishing the thought on paper, a new voice broke over my thoughts.

"It's a curious thing to see a man writing in such a dead language, for surely he would not do so unless he had something to hide…?" The faintly amused, but very curious gruff in the others voice brought me instantly back to reality. I am not afraid to admit that I started rather badly, for this entire affair had shattered my nerves far worse that Maiwand ever managed, near sending the journal flying into a nearby potted plant.

The hand that gripped my wrist was surprisingly strong though it shook noticeably when it was removed. "Steady, mon petit. I had no intention of startling you so."

"Intention or not, sir, you have done it!" I shot back somewhat testily, clutching the open journal to my chest.

"My apologies, then, but I am afraid that my curiosity got the better of me."

"Curiosity?" I queried back, running a more thorough eye over my, at the moment, decidedly unwanted companion. He was a man of considerable years, but the high forehead and hawk-like nose showed that he had been, if not classically then uniquely handsome, during his prime. His hair was entirely too long to be acceptable by any standards but Bohemian, but trailed as a dark silver rope-braid over his lap. Surrounded by wrinkles though they were, the ocean blue eyes were no less commanding and fierce.

"But of course, I have found it a way to while away my time at night, reading your journal. The nurses are entirely aware of my nocturnal habit and provide me with a candle. So long as I disguise the cover of what I am reading and return it safely to you before you wake, what harm is done?"

My stomach dropped to the floor, then flew to my throat to constrict what little air I had managed to draw. I must have resembled a ghost for all the color that my face held. As it was, the older man became quite alarmed at my state and grasped my wrist once more.

"Mon cher, what is it? Shall I summon a nurse?"

His ridiculous question, coupled with the sheer incomprehensibility that his actions where in any way related to my reaction, snapped me from my shock.

"How dare you?" It was first uttered as a whisper, but as my anger roiled in a writhing red mass to the surface, I was hard pressed to keep from shouting. "How dare you!"

"Mon cher?" His feigned innocent confusion only served to stoke my anger. Surely he was aware of this gross indecency, this utter disregard for my privacy.

"You had no right!" I hissed, wishing for the strength to either stalk away or strike him. Even Holmes had been respectful of my privacy. To have it so disregarded in my weakest of moments was a terrible blow—and he a complete stranger!

The wretch let out a sad sigh. "Yes, I suppose I was a bit presumptuous, but I could not resist. You have a way with a pen that I could not ever hope to imitate nor would I wish to try. But, I suppose, I should have introduced myself first."

The complete insanity of the speech was only aided by the fact that, at the last line, he switched his speech from English to Latin. I had always held a fascination with the language that was considered 'dead' but lived on in so many arenas of our daily lives. Such was my fascination that I learned to speak it fluently and while the other boys as boarding school allowed the knowledge to wither and die, I kept mine alive by taking all of my notes in Latin. I had continued this by keeping all of my patient files in this fashion as well as my more private journals. Holmes had raised his eyebrows over the matter when he had come across one and made no other comment than, "I shall never get your depths, Watson."

In accordance to that philosophy, I had used that precaution with this journal. It was rather a good security measure for no layman who laid his hands upon this would be able to decipher its meaning. To have that overcome so simply dismayed me greatly.

My rather ardent declaration seemed to do nothing to clear up the matter. "Mon cher, why are you so distressed? You have nothing to fear from me, so you have no need to worry."

If the words were meant to calm me, they failed in their task as I was desperately trying to slow my rapid breathing. When I found myself unable, I began to panic, afraid that I would pass out. The silver-haired man cursed vividly under his breath and wheeled closer to me, grasping my wrists once he had done so.

"Breathe as I do. Watch me, watch me! Do as I do!" Even as he chanted these commands under his breath, he took slow, steady breaths which I struggled mightily to imitate.

What seemed like an age passed before my heart ceased to race and my breathing was once more under my control. Once I was no longer in immediate danger of passing out, the older man released me and turned his head away to cough into a handkerchief. Despite my preoccupation I could not help but note that it was now spotted with blood.

"Your pardon," he pleaded once the coughing had ceased and he had tucked the evidence away, "I had no idea you would be so effected."

The words, almost a perfect echo of Holmes all those weeks ago, sent another shock to my system, but one that secured me to the present rather than sending me to the past. "Who are you?" I eventually asked in Latin once I was certain that my voice would not fail me.

"Most just call me Jean-Luc and now so shall you, mon petit. It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor." He eyed the journal that I still clutched to my chest and I perceived many questions trapped behind those unnaturally blue eyes just waiting to bubble forth. But I had a few questions of my own.

"I would be ever so grateful to know, Jean-Luc," my irritation flowed through as I stressed his name, "if in the gross violation of my privacy, you have learned anything interesting."

The other shrugged carelessly, settling once more into his chair, his eyes roaming restlessly over the room. "I have learned that you love a man who has badly mistreated you and pushed you past the point of endurance. You were forced to flee from him and your home so that you might find some measure of peace. I know that you sought sanctuary with the man chased by hounds who would win your heart for his own, if it was yours still to give. But it is not; it belongs to the Raven. You have become ill while healing others and now find yourself faced with the decision of to fight for life or allow your body simply to wither away." The bright blue eyes flickered in my direction once more and I was quite certain that I detected a smile lurking at the corner of that thin mouth. "Did I miss anything?"

If I possessed any doubt over the matter of his reading my journal, it was now utterly banished. "I would say your grasp of the situation is revoltingly accurate," I replied sourly, which earned me a quiet snicker.

"Come, come, mon petit! I bet you have not felt this alive in weeks!"

I shot him a truly awful glare, which earned me a hearty laugh, before attempting to settle comfortably once more into my chair. I lowered my journal once more into my lap and found it promptly snatched from my grasp.

"Unhand that, sir!" I all but roared, struggling in vain to regain my possession.

"Do quiet down or you will have the whole of the hospital down on us."

My weakened constitution could not keep the struggle up for an extended length and I was soon forced to watch as my privacy was violated once more, now while I was able to witness it firsthand.

Eventually he closed the journal, allowing his fingers to drum along the surface in a curiously contemplative fashion.

"Can you?"

I once more started rather badly at this question, but found myself unable to escape Jean-Luc's intense gaze. Feeling compelled to answer, but unsure of what was being asked, I returned with, "Can I what?"

"Can you truly forgive him? Think carefully on this, it is a vitally important question."

He was so earnest in his insistence, but I could not stop myself from growling out an immediate, "Have you not read that I would?"

He flapped his hand in the air and scowled in my direction. "One may write what they like and convince themselves it is the truth, but lie to themselves in the same pen stroke. So, mon petit, I ask again. If he were to walk through that door and get down on his knees to beg your forgiveness, would you be able to grant it?"

Anger, indignation, disbelief, and confusion were vying for domination over me as I was presented with this rather weighted question. Part of me wondered why I was even giving this any contemplation as I had already written that I would and could forgive him.

But…could I?

Holmes had wounded me to the core, far beyond what any other had ever managed. But what if I was wrong in my initial assumption? What if it was not my highly illegal feelings that sparked the incident, but some other infraction I was not aware I had committed, or had I even committed one? What if I was not the cause of his ire, but merely its target? I had borne the brunt of Holmes's frustrations before, but never had his attacks been so personal in nature. His level of agitation had never been so great, yet there was deliberation in his attack—not recklessness.

This realization side-tracked my other thoughts completely. His attack had been deliberate. It had been specifically designed to drive me as far away as possible. Even his injuries…it was entirely within the realm of reason that they were staged in an attempt to draw me close in order to instigate a fight.

But that still left the reason of why.

Why had Holmes done this? What heinous act could I have possibly perpetrated that dictated I should be treated in such a manner? That was the very sore root of this problem, one that I have half-tortured myself over. I needed to know the reason and there was little doubt that one existed for no plan could be carried out with such execution if there was not a reason behind it.

And what should I do if l were to know the reason? I had informed Sir Henry that I would be more than willing to forgive Holmes if only he were to explain to me why he did it. Now I was not so certain. Blast it all! Why did he ask such a question? Why was it so imperative that he have an answer? If Holmes were to walk through that door, I was well within my rights to toss him out upon his ear much as he had done me. The likeliness of him giving me a second thought after The Incident were deucedly low and the notion that he would track me down was downright ludicrous in its very nature that a laugh bubbled up but I fought it down again.

But Jean-Luc…he had tendered the question as though it were a distinct possibility that Holmes would walk through that door and that he would fall to his knees and beg for my forgiveness. Did he possess information that I did not? Why else would he ask such a question?

Suspicions roused, I felt my eyes narrow. "Will he?"

"Eh?" was the startled return.

"Will he walk through that door? I believe that I have a right to know."

"And if I were to say yes, what would you do?"

"Leaving aside the absolute ridiculousness of the notion that he wishes to have further contact with me, I would be forced to flee at once." My statement was high-handed and scathing in the extreme and some small part of me was meanly glad to see the older man's expression fall.

"Then you cannot forgive him." The sadness of his tone only further heightened my already irrational anger.

"What difference does it make!" I demanded. "He is not coming!"

The light in those blue eyes sharpened to a razor's edge and sealed my lips, stifling any further outbursts.

"The difference, Doctor, rests on the matter of you attaining even a modicum of peace over this matter. If you cannot come to a conclusion on this matter, how do you ever hope to tackle any of the other issues surrounding this one?" He cocked his head to the side. "It has always been my philosophy to conquer the most challenging problems first. You, Doctor, do not strike me as one who would back down from a challenge. If you wish to find peace, even in death, then apply yourself to this challenge."

With that he wheeled himself away from me, not halting till he was across the room. I watched as he drew the blanket up around himself and settled down for an afternoon nap.

"Oh, and, mon cher?" He called, though this time it was in English, "You will let me know when you have an answer?" With that last word, he turned away from me and soon enough I was able to discern his snores even across the room.

Even as I record this account, I cannot say with absolute certainty that I have reached any conclusion on the proposed scenario. The question was one I had never in my darkest or lightest dreams given much thought and to do so now was to invite more heartache than I could hope to bear. But Jean-Luc, despite all that he has done, is correct. I do not back down from a challenge.

So, can I truly forgive Holmes?

End Ch. 16

A/N: I know the holidays can be stressful but jeeze-louise, it was a bit much! This has been most done for a week and a half and I am only now finishing. I am a bad author. *Gibbs-smacks self in the back of the head*

Most of this takes place in Latin versus English, so be aware. I knew that strange little man was there for a reason, I just didn't think it would be this one! He was so quiet and unassuming until now, then BAM!

Status of characters:

Holmes: Presently on board a ship to France. Journal wise he is still in the middle of his confrontation with Sir Henry.

Watson: Presently and Journal wise in a hospital in Paris.

I know it can be confusing for you guys, but if you go back to re-read, just know that the first paragraphs of the journal entries tell you what is happening presently to the characters, versus the journals which tells you what has already happened. Thought that might make it a bit easier.

Anyhoo, love you all and can't wait to see what you think!