UNHAPPY ENDINGS (PART THREE)
By Ms. Neptune Holmes.
A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks to the great reviews, I have decided to write another "UNHAPPY ENDINGS" adventure.
Chibi Hermione: Thanks! I will have to read that story, but I would be happy to write "Copper Beeches"
Brink: Thank you! Yes I was thinking something along that line, I didn't want to write another story where Holmes died.
Nooka: Glad you liked it! *calls down to Moriarty* Have a NICE swim!
P.S. anything with a ( ) is an author's note. Please scroll down to the bottom to read.
THAT BEING SAID, ONWARD!
Summary: What if the stories that we know came out different than we know?
Disclaimer: The Characters of this story, as well as the story it is based on do not belong to me. They are the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No money is being made from it.
Unhappy Endings Part three: The Dying Detective
My Friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes looked upon Doctor Culverton Smith with a disgusted manner, his grey eyes flashing with both the triumph of bringing him down and loathing of the man. Inspector Mortan of the Yard sneered at the prisoner and then announced "Doctor Culverton Smith, I arrest you for the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "
I saw Holmes smile through his gaunt face. "One moment Inspector Morstan, I believe that there is another crime for which he should be charged. He also confessed to me, though unknowingly, to the murder of one Mr. Victor Savage. That will be his undoing I'm afraid." Holmes said this in almost a gleeful tone. I watched the hand of Doctor Smith slide into his own coat pocket and then quickly remove it.
"Anything else before we go?" the Scotland Yarder addressed both prisoner and detective.
Smith spoke up in his high pitched tone, "I would like to shake the hand of such a worthy advesary. You hade me duped, Mister Holmes, I truely believed you to be ill and close to death. " The smaller man extended his hand, which my friend took, but then gave a small alarm of pain.
"Oy, now you can add assult to that list. C'mon now!" yelled Inspector Mortan as he bustled the prisoner to the open door, The constable standing nearby closed it behind him.
Holmes went to the window. When he heard the departing hoofbeats of the police wagon, he called to me, "Watson, please accept my humblest of apologies and remove yourself from that place. I am not feeling quite myself." He collapsed onto his bed with a ragged sigh. "Do forgive me my dear fellow, " Holmes continued, "Three days of fasting and some other tools are to explain for my false affliction. However, Watson, when Culverton Smith went to shake my hand, he concealed a small needle of about 300 millimeters. (1) I did not realize this until it had struck my pointer finger. He had positioned the needle to conceal it completely."
"But Why? If he did not think you long for this world, then why would he try to posion you again?" I asked, baffled.
"Because Watson, he carries those extra little needles around with him, so that if someone should stand in his way then, well, they would suffer the consequences." (2) Holmes's voice seemed quieter now. " Now Watson, I am not up to my regular standards, but I think a good night's sleep will remedy that. Good Night." He went upstairs and I heard the door close. Exausted by the day's events, I too decided to retire for the evening.
Three days passed, during which I saw nothing of Holmes. I considered him to be resting, which was a normal occurance after a case, because of his strange constitution. I was in and out of our rooms in Baker Street, attending to my surgery. Early one morning, four days after my friend had retreated to his room, I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder. Mrs. Hudson was standing over me, looking quite fearful.
"Doctor Watson, you must come with me at once! Something's wrong with Mister Holmes!" she said in a unusual high pitch
I sat straight up in bed. "Are you sure?" I gasped. Mrs Hudson, nodded, tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Yes sir. He was thrashing around, and he's sweating terribly ."
I threw on my dressing gown, grabbed my medical bag and headed to Holmes's room, Mrs. Hudson in tow. Pulling the door open, I instantly reconized the smell of a sickroom. Rushing over to my fallen friend, I quickly examined him, and discovered to my horror that he had come down with Yellow Fever. His pulse was rapid and his breathing was erratic.
I turned to the landlady, "Mrs. Hudson, would you please retrieve a basin of water and a few small towls?" she nodded and left, coming back with the items I requested.
"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" she whispered, wringing her hands desperately.
"I'm afraid it's Yellow Fever." I said sadly, which caused the woman to gasp. Placing the cloth in the basin, I squeezed out the access and placed it lengthwise on Holmes's wide forehead. "There's nothing more that we can do for him. His life is in his own hands now."
Days went by without any improvement in Holmes's condition. Rarely did I leave his bedside, save for those very desperate calls to surgery. Much of my days and nights were at spent at his side. Mrs. Hudson brought me my meals as I sat next to the bed which Holmes occupied. She spent almost as much time as I going in and out of the room, bringing me tea, and other things I required to tend to my ill friend. Before I knew it, a month had passed, though there was little change in Holmes's health. I had no doubt that his wiry constitution and iron will was helping him fight for his life, an soon remedied it.
One morning around seven, I awoke to the shallow calm breathing of my friend. Stretching in the chair, I leaned over and checked Holmes's pulse; it was slow, but steady. Slightly alarmed, I then placed the back of my hand to his forehead; it was cool, the fever that had ravaged his body for a month had dissapated. To my suprise his eyes fluttered open and he gave a weak smile.
"Holmes!" I shouted "By Thunder, I thought you had it this time!" Our landlady flew in and began to weep.
"Oh-Mr. Holmes-I'm So-glad you're-Alright!" she sniffled.
Holmes chuckled softly and said in a hoarse tone, "Now now Watson, you made our dear landlady cry! Tut Tut! A little disease like this couldn't bring me down!"
For the next two weeks, Holmes rested and recovered. His quick recovery was aided by my and Mrs. Hudson's insistance. Progress did not come without consquences however. Through the two weeks he relapsed twice and almost relied on the 7% solution to dull the bordom and fustration he felt.
Breakfast on a Monday left Holmes in a pensive, distant mood. Our landlady broughtour meal and a telegram for my friend. I had dressed as did Holmes. As I sat eating my egg, Holmes gave a gleeful smile. Rushing to the door he threw on his coat and hat and called to me, "Come Watson, the game is afoot!"
I could only stare as my friend bounded down the stairs to the street below. Throwing down my spoon, I too threw on my coat and hat and followed my friend to another case.
The End
A/N: Please forgive me if that was too clich`e. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated, flames however, are not Thanks for reading! More coming soon!
note (1) I don't know exactly what measurement is, I just kinda made that
up
Note (2) That is another fact made up by the fan-fictionner. Nowhere in
ACD's story does he mention that.
By Ms. Neptune Holmes.
A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks to the great reviews, I have decided to write another "UNHAPPY ENDINGS" adventure.
Chibi Hermione: Thanks! I will have to read that story, but I would be happy to write "Copper Beeches"
Brink: Thank you! Yes I was thinking something along that line, I didn't want to write another story where Holmes died.
Nooka: Glad you liked it! *calls down to Moriarty* Have a NICE swim!
P.S. anything with a ( ) is an author's note. Please scroll down to the bottom to read.
THAT BEING SAID, ONWARD!
Summary: What if the stories that we know came out different than we know?
Disclaimer: The Characters of this story, as well as the story it is based on do not belong to me. They are the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No money is being made from it.
Unhappy Endings Part three: The Dying Detective
My Friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes looked upon Doctor Culverton Smith with a disgusted manner, his grey eyes flashing with both the triumph of bringing him down and loathing of the man. Inspector Mortan of the Yard sneered at the prisoner and then announced "Doctor Culverton Smith, I arrest you for the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "
I saw Holmes smile through his gaunt face. "One moment Inspector Morstan, I believe that there is another crime for which he should be charged. He also confessed to me, though unknowingly, to the murder of one Mr. Victor Savage. That will be his undoing I'm afraid." Holmes said this in almost a gleeful tone. I watched the hand of Doctor Smith slide into his own coat pocket and then quickly remove it.
"Anything else before we go?" the Scotland Yarder addressed both prisoner and detective.
Smith spoke up in his high pitched tone, "I would like to shake the hand of such a worthy advesary. You hade me duped, Mister Holmes, I truely believed you to be ill and close to death. " The smaller man extended his hand, which my friend took, but then gave a small alarm of pain.
"Oy, now you can add assult to that list. C'mon now!" yelled Inspector Mortan as he bustled the prisoner to the open door, The constable standing nearby closed it behind him.
Holmes went to the window. When he heard the departing hoofbeats of the police wagon, he called to me, "Watson, please accept my humblest of apologies and remove yourself from that place. I am not feeling quite myself." He collapsed onto his bed with a ragged sigh. "Do forgive me my dear fellow, " Holmes continued, "Three days of fasting and some other tools are to explain for my false affliction. However, Watson, when Culverton Smith went to shake my hand, he concealed a small needle of about 300 millimeters. (1) I did not realize this until it had struck my pointer finger. He had positioned the needle to conceal it completely."
"But Why? If he did not think you long for this world, then why would he try to posion you again?" I asked, baffled.
"Because Watson, he carries those extra little needles around with him, so that if someone should stand in his way then, well, they would suffer the consequences." (2) Holmes's voice seemed quieter now. " Now Watson, I am not up to my regular standards, but I think a good night's sleep will remedy that. Good Night." He went upstairs and I heard the door close. Exausted by the day's events, I too decided to retire for the evening.
Three days passed, during which I saw nothing of Holmes. I considered him to be resting, which was a normal occurance after a case, because of his strange constitution. I was in and out of our rooms in Baker Street, attending to my surgery. Early one morning, four days after my friend had retreated to his room, I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder. Mrs. Hudson was standing over me, looking quite fearful.
"Doctor Watson, you must come with me at once! Something's wrong with Mister Holmes!" she said in a unusual high pitch
I sat straight up in bed. "Are you sure?" I gasped. Mrs Hudson, nodded, tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Yes sir. He was thrashing around, and he's sweating terribly ."
I threw on my dressing gown, grabbed my medical bag and headed to Holmes's room, Mrs. Hudson in tow. Pulling the door open, I instantly reconized the smell of a sickroom. Rushing over to my fallen friend, I quickly examined him, and discovered to my horror that he had come down with Yellow Fever. His pulse was rapid and his breathing was erratic.
I turned to the landlady, "Mrs. Hudson, would you please retrieve a basin of water and a few small towls?" she nodded and left, coming back with the items I requested.
"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" she whispered, wringing her hands desperately.
"I'm afraid it's Yellow Fever." I said sadly, which caused the woman to gasp. Placing the cloth in the basin, I squeezed out the access and placed it lengthwise on Holmes's wide forehead. "There's nothing more that we can do for him. His life is in his own hands now."
Days went by without any improvement in Holmes's condition. Rarely did I leave his bedside, save for those very desperate calls to surgery. Much of my days and nights were at spent at his side. Mrs. Hudson brought me my meals as I sat next to the bed which Holmes occupied. She spent almost as much time as I going in and out of the room, bringing me tea, and other things I required to tend to my ill friend. Before I knew it, a month had passed, though there was little change in Holmes's health. I had no doubt that his wiry constitution and iron will was helping him fight for his life, an soon remedied it.
One morning around seven, I awoke to the shallow calm breathing of my friend. Stretching in the chair, I leaned over and checked Holmes's pulse; it was slow, but steady. Slightly alarmed, I then placed the back of my hand to his forehead; it was cool, the fever that had ravaged his body for a month had dissapated. To my suprise his eyes fluttered open and he gave a weak smile.
"Holmes!" I shouted "By Thunder, I thought you had it this time!" Our landlady flew in and began to weep.
"Oh-Mr. Holmes-I'm So-glad you're-Alright!" she sniffled.
Holmes chuckled softly and said in a hoarse tone, "Now now Watson, you made our dear landlady cry! Tut Tut! A little disease like this couldn't bring me down!"
For the next two weeks, Holmes rested and recovered. His quick recovery was aided by my and Mrs. Hudson's insistance. Progress did not come without consquences however. Through the two weeks he relapsed twice and almost relied on the 7% solution to dull the bordom and fustration he felt.
Breakfast on a Monday left Holmes in a pensive, distant mood. Our landlady broughtour meal and a telegram for my friend. I had dressed as did Holmes. As I sat eating my egg, Holmes gave a gleeful smile. Rushing to the door he threw on his coat and hat and called to me, "Come Watson, the game is afoot!"
I could only stare as my friend bounded down the stairs to the street below. Throwing down my spoon, I too threw on my coat and hat and followed my friend to another case.
The End
A/N: Please forgive me if that was too clich`e. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated, flames however, are not Thanks for reading! More coming soon!
note (1) I don't know exactly what measurement is, I just kinda made that
up
Note (2) That is another fact made up by the fan-fictionner. Nowhere in
ACD's story does he mention that.