A/N: *bows to readers feet* I know, I know and I am sorry! I blame school? And just life in general.
Disclaimer: Public Domain!
Re-Cap: Watson is currently in the hospital, attempting to recover from malaria. Holmes is on a ship headed to France to find him (real-time). Journal-wise, Watson is wondering if he can ever forgive Holmes and Holmes is in the middle of his confrontation with Sir Henry.
Ch. 17-The Relative Interventions
8 August, 1894
Despite having to force myself to stop and consume some sort of sustenance or face imminent collapse, I shall continue this account, no matter how distasteful it may seem to me. This is part of my self-punishment; I am forcing myself to endure the emotions of the discovery which in consequence make me feel just as wretched the second time as it did the first. I have seriously contemplated whether or not this entire endeavor of finding Watson in the hopes of setting this right is not sheer folly. Will he not spurn me, banishing me from his presence, declaring that I have utterly destroyed whatever regard that he possessed for me? If he were to do so, I would hold no grudges against him for it and quietly bow out of the scene, returning to England and Baker Street and fulfill the earlier vow of ending my life. I would wish him a happy life and beg God, the Devil or both that he would discover love with a worthier soul than me.
I have no clues in which I might extrapolate a prediction of how our first meeting will play out and that lack of knowledge is flaying the very last of my nerves. In order to pass the time and take my mind away from my ever-present anxieties, I shall resume from where I left off.
There is no doubt that this situation has caused me to run the gamut of emotions, but I had never before experienced such an attack of anger that I have literally seen 'red' as others had claimed. But as the baronet's words began to truly sink in, a hazy red cloud obscured my vision and I am ashamed to admit that my first instinct was to tackle the man to the ground, wrap my hands around his neck, and demand that he repeat his last statement. The thought of Watson with anyone else, but especially another man, was enough to shove me clean over the edge of reason and I readily admit that I was non-too stable to begin with. Still, despite this, I managed to refrain from assaulting Sir Henry, but only because I was frozen in shock.
Words failed me for only a few seconds before I was able to squeeze out a rather breathy, "What did you say?"
The grim smile and shark-like look in those dark blue eyes demonstrated that he was clearly enjoying the pain this was causing. It is natural for one to snipe at your rival and even though I previously was unaware, Sir Henry obviously categorized me as such.
"As your hearing, just like everything else, is so obviously failing you, I shall do so. When John," Just his saying my Watson's forename set my teeth on edge, "stated in no uncertain terms that the two of you were not lovers and he feared your reaction should he make any advances in such a direction, I asked plainly if he would allow me to win his heart for my own." Here the bitterness of his tone took on new lows. "He was uncertain he would even be able to give me a fair chance to win it as he believed it was not his to give. No," he hissed, "it was yours. He had gifted it to you, Mr. Holmes, and you've done a right bang up job of taking care of what should be considered the most prized possession on either side of the Atlantic."
The power of the emotions was frankly making me rather dizzy and for a moment I feared that I would faint from the sheer force of it. This man, this insignificant man had schemed to remove Watson, my Watson, from my side and claim him as his very own. The anger that thought conjured was enough to nearly blind me, but the appalling thought that he might have succeeded in doing so because of how I have treated Watson in the past due to my ignorance and—worse—how I have recently sent him to near depths of despair because of my jealous rage, suffocated nearly all else.
I do not deserve Watson in any shape or form; I have previously stated so before in this dreadful account and will likely do so again before this nightmare ends—if it ends. My doctor is a creature of light while I am one of darkness. While I may wish to resist, I am forever drawn to his flame and want nothing more than to bask in the warmth of his regard. It was such an easy task in those early days of our acquaintance and while our friendship was a new and shiny thing I treasured it so and cursed the day these wretched feelings muddled the waters between us. It was those feelings that helped drive us down this course and if it was within my power I would reverse time and simply confront Watson with my feelings laying myself bare before him and hope beyond hope that he would not turn me way.
Good God in Heaven—how could I have been so blind?
Despite this world whirlwind that was playing havoc upon me, these words escaped.
"Watson is mine."
This brought the baronet up short, halting him from launching into what would no doubt prove to be another diatribe on my unworthiness of the good Doctor. "What?"
"I said Watson is mine, is your hearing failing you, Sir Henry?" I was building steam now, the words forming of their own accord. "John Watson belongs to me and no other, just as I do to him though I am clearly unworthy of such position. You know this as do I though clearly he does not for if that were so he would've given up upon me and directed his affections toward a worthier subject. As he is not yet done so, I will use every power I possess to find him and beg his forgiveness. If he would find himself unable to grant that forgiveness, I will do as he bid me and if that means leaving his presence forever I shall do so. If he wishes me to return him to you, I shall do so. I will grant him whatever is within my power and if it is not I shall attempt it anyway.
You see, Sir Henry, you have imparted to me the very clue that has eluded me during this entire affair. Watson loves me. I use present tense until such time as I have spoken to him upon the matter. How does it feel, sir, to love a man who does not love you back in the same manner as you do?" By his blanched expression niceties he knew exactly which feelings I was referring to. "That is the hell in which I have resided for well over a decade. I can honestly say that it is enough to drive one mad and while it is not an excuse for my actions, it goes a long way toward explaining them. So I thank you, sir, for your opinion on this matter, but I would rather you tell me where my Watson has gone."
The pasty countenance swiftly flooded to read once more and he pointed a shaking finger to the door.
"Get out."
I stood my ground. "Tell me," I demanded.
The baronet swung away from me and snatched a beautiful, and deadly, dueling pistol from its case on a nearby shelf and pointed it in my direction with the cool gaze, some drawing the hammer back.
You will leave my home this instant, Mr. Holmes, and henceforth find yourself unwelcome and unwanted within it. Should you feel brave enough to venture here again I will not hesitate to shoot you for trespassing. So, I say again, get out."
Knowing that it would be most unwise to press the baronet further, for he clearly stood upon a knife's edge and I cannot afford any bullet holes, I retreated. Retrieving the borrowed mount from the stables and, gaining the necessary information of where to return it, I set about doing so. I normally would not have bothered with such a task, but having not received what I come for, I need the mindless task to allow myself the chance to plot my next move. My visit with Sir Henry had been both exhilarating and equal parts disheartening. Watson loved me! It was simply more that I could comprehend at the moment I just knew that if I could find Watson he would help me understand.
But where to look? Sir Henry's lips were indefinitely sealed upon the matter and I knew with the utmost certainty he would admit nothing even he if he were tortured. As much as I hate him for it, and the fact that I have a rival, I could understand his wish to protect Watson. After all, I am the one that drove him away; I broke him, is it not my duty to amend him?
My thoughts were stalled momentarily when I discovered that I had arrived at my destination. The father of the unfortunate child and Dr. Mortimer were speaking quietly just outside the small home. The two men shook hands as I dismounted and Dr. Mortimer stared at me with honest surprise even as the other man retrieved his horse.
"Mr. Holmes? I did not expect—I thought he would be at Baskerville Hall. Is everything all right with Sir Henry? Is he in need of assistance?"
My lips twitched and I wondered over the irrational urge to laugh at the question. "Sir Henry is well, though, as you said, in need of cheering up. I am afraid that my trip here wasn't for naught and I must be returning to London."
The doctor shook his head and offered to take me to the train station, an offer I readily accepted. During the journey, Dr. Mortimer did not attempt to engage me in conversation, able to tell, no doubt, that I was not in the mood for it. It was only when we were nearly halfway there when some of my intellect returned to me and I was struck with the thought. "Dr. Mortimer, do you know where this friend of Sir Henry's might've gone?" At the other's confusion I pressed on. "He may hold vital information to a very important case and I am most anxious to speak with him."
After what seemed an eternity the doctor reached his decision and slowly nodded his head. "As I said before, Mr. Jameson's health was precarious and when he expressed a wish to leave Baskerville Hall, I suggested a visit to France, Paris in particular, in the hopes that the city would revive him, for he struck me as a man of the metropolis rather than the countryside. He took my suggestion to heart and booked passage to the very next day. He told Sir Henry that if he wished to contact him to do so at the Lion Hotel."
Unable to contain smile at this unexpected good fortune I think the man for the information and pulled my hat over my eyes, now able to rest with a promising lead within my grasp.
It is now merely an hour before we dock and the anxiety is once more beginning to build. What would be said; what would be done? Despite all my worries I will see this through—I will see this resolved.
I am coming for you my Watson.
End CH. 17
A/N: I know I promised this sooner and I can't tell you how sorry I am. But school is over now and supposedly I will have more time to myself. Most of this is written the ending is done. Maybe now I'll get off my happy behind and actually finish it for all of you. If any of my reviewers are still out there apologize again for making you wait so long I hate seeing it done to me with my stories and I hate doing it to you.