This is the second to last chapter *sob*. I'm going to begin working on my next story soon, after I finish writing an application to a school I want to go to. I really recommend you get any suggestions. I already have on, and from Hannah Holmes I got an answer from my little list. Well, that is it, enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Ten: Final Goodbyes
I groaned and rolled over, trying to mind my arm. Last night the cast had come off in the water and... wait a minute. I had a cast on my arm. Did I dream the entire thing?
I slowly opened my eyes and winced at the bright lights. A sterile, white room. Stiff bed sheets. The horrible sleeping garments. I was back at the hospital. I looked around, and saw no one in my room. This unnerved me greatly, but familiar with the routine, I pushed to call button next to my bed.
"Yes?" asked the nasally voice from the intercom.
"Yeah, um, I'm awake," I told her. I heard the crack of gum from the speaker and a deep sigh.
"That's nice. I will send a doctor up right now ma'am. Don't move please," replied the secretary. I removed my hand from the call button and stared up at the ceiling. I had gotten to the fifty-third tile before the doctor walked in.
"Miss Watson, it's good to see you're awake. How are you feeling?" he asked. I smiled at him.
"As though I've plunged into the Thames, and had my arm broken again," I replied wryly. The doctor laughed.
"At least your humor hasn't suffered. Would you like to know your symptoms?"
"Yes please."
"All right then. You did break your arm again, as you so cleverly figured out. When you were trying to swim, your almost healed arm shattered, and then broke in another place. You're going to be stuck in the cast for a while. You also have pneumonia. Thankfully, it isn't life threatening. You are a lucky girl Miss Watson. Would you care to share what happened? All we could figure out is you and Mr. Holmes went swimming in the Thames," the doctor requested. I leaned back onto the pillows and closed my eyes.
"Holmes is here too?" I whispered. The doctor sighed.
"I am afraid so. Not as bad as you, we think. He had a especially long and deep cut across his arm. His muscles in that arm won't be the same, but aren't that bad. He also had a shallow cut on his chest. And pneumonia of course. He is fine, and sleeping right now," the doctor told me. I nodded.
"Of course. Will my arm ever be the same?"
"No. It will be stiff for a very long time, and whenever the weather changes you'll feel it in your arm, right where you broke it," answered the doctor. I didn't nod this time, just allowed the morphine to take me off into the land of dreams.
"Thank you doctor," I managed to say before I drifted off again.
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I opened my eyes again later that night. The rooms lights had been turned off, and it looked rather sinister. I rubbed my eyes delicately and slapped at the call button again.
"What is it now Miss Watson?" asked the nasal nurse. I scowled in the darkness.
"I'm awake again. I just have a few questions, if you would care to answer them," I responded. The nurse sighed angrily.
"Fine Miss. What is it you want to know?"
"First of all, could you tell me the room number of Sherlock Holmes?"
"One moment please," nasal nurse said. I propped myself up on the pillows and waited for her answer. After a minute or two the nurse called back.
"He's in room 214, ma'am," she told me. I nodded even though she couldn't see me.
"And his condition?"
"I believe he is sleeping again, all though he awoke earlier, about an hour after you."
"Thank you. Is Miss Irene Holmes here?" I asked. I could here the nurse typing rapidly. Perhaps she was a secretary, I reflected.
"No she is not, ma'am. She stopped by earlier, however. She was the pretty one, with the mahogany hair, yes? And green eyes?"
"Yes nurse," I replied, testing my theory.
"I'm a secretary, ma'am. Miss Holmes stopped in, went to her brothers room, gave him something, and then left again. Also, your mother stopped in, and Charise Holmes did as well," the secretary answered. I sighed.
"What did my mother say?"
"Only that she didn't know why she permitted you to hang out with that boy, and that she wanted a call as soon as you awoke."
"All right. Miss..."
"Lerlaine."
"Miss Lerlaine, do you know the time?"
"It's nine in the evening ma'am."
"Thank you Miss Lerlaine. And please, call me Jenny," I muttered.
"All right, Jenny."
"One last thing, Miss Lerlaine," I remembered. The secretary cleared her throat.
"Yes?"
"May I go see Holmes?" I pleaded. She laughed, a pleasant sound compared to her talking voice.
"Of course. In fact, according to my fellow secretary, Miss Jodie, he called her and demanded to see you," laughed Miss Lerlaine. I smiled.
"Thanks."
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I stood at the doorway of room 214 and listened. I heard a thin voice talking rapidly to another lady, one with a dark voice. The thin voice I placed as Holmes, but the dark voice was one I didn't recognize. I knocked carefully and I heard the thin voice stop immediately.
"Never mind Jodie. She's here. Come in Watson!" Holmes yelled. I entered quietly and looked around. No one was there except Holmes, sitting on the bed.
"Holmes, who was in here?" I asked. He laughed quickly then cut off.
"No one except me and the useful call box. Jodie is the secretary who obeys my very pleas," Holmes answered. I smiled at him and moved toward him. He gestured for me to sit down on his bed and so I sat.
"What is it Holmes? Lerlaine said that you were demanding to see me," I got down to business. Holmes laughter died in his throat and he pulled out a piece of yellowed paper.
"This is from Irene. Read it," he whispered. I looked at him, shocked at how sad he seemed. I removed the paper from in between his fingers and opened it. It read:
"My dearest Sherlock,
"As the night fades, and I watch you lay in the hospital bed, I realize what I must do. This will be painful for both of us, I realize, but it must be done.
"I'm leaving, Sherlock. My mental health has deteriorated even farther. I can't feel love anymore. Before, when I was younger, I at least knew it was there. I didn't believe in it, though. But when you hugged me last night, I felt nothing. Not even relief. I felt as empty as I had when I was alone.
"Thank you for your love. I know I couldn't return it, but it was there. Thank you for saving me from Robert. I am quite sorry about the injuries you and your Jenny obtained. I never meant to let him hurt you. I didn't mean for anything to actually happen. I'm very sorry.
"Keep good care of Jenny. You to are so sweet together, that I almost missed love. She is a good kid, and I hope you two end up going out. I know you are, you can't hide anything from a Holmes! I'll be somewhere in Vienna. Please, don't try and find me. You'll just push me farther into the dark. My old friend recommended a good physiatrist, and I will be with him. I promise I'll return. I promise. Good bye Sherlock. I care about you deeply."
It was signed "Your Melancholy Sister, I.R. Holmes". I looked at Holmes and saw that he was very upset.
"I'm sorry Holmes. But maybe it's for the best," I said. Holmes looked at me sadly.
"How can it be for the best, Watson? My sister is gone forever, as is my mother," Holmes asked. I heard the pain in his voice and ended up pulling myself up next to him.
"She said she would come back, Holmes," I reminded him. Holmes shook his head.
"Irene won't. She will never come back. And even if she does, she will still be lost to me," Holmes groaned. I moved closer to him still.
"What do you mean?"
"Irene will be different. I want her to get help, but if she comes back, she'll no longer be Irene. She'll be very different. And besides, Irene is to independent. If she is cured of her problem, she'll then want to explore the earth. Or something equally ridiculous," Holmes snorted. I hugged him, and for a change he actually hugged me back.
"They always leave. Always. You're the last thing I have left," Holmes said so softly that I almost didn't hear him. I don't think he wanted me to, so I didn't reply, just hugged him tighter.
The doctors later found us sleeping together, me with tear tracks down my face, and Holmes with the saddest expression in the world on his face.
