Chapter 3
He woke to the sensation of hot liquid coating the inside of his mouth. His body was more willing to respond this time, and he jerked his chin against the spoon, spilling broth onto his chest. He brought his arm up to rub his eyes, but it made contact with the bowl, which spilled all over the woman administering it and the bed. She quickly crossed over to a table, where she began to blot at her skirts with a linen napkin.
Her back was now turned, which gave him an opportunity to escape. Quickly squeezing his fists to test the return of some self-control, he found that his body had once again returned to the service of his mind. He leapt out of bed, running headlong into the maid, who had just entered the room. The servant yelped in surprise and fear at the sudden appearance in front of her of a tall gaunt man in a nightshift. The movement had been too sudden, however, and his head began to spin. He reached out to steady himself, finding only the maid, who began to scream in earnest.
"Do try and restrain yourself from molesting my servants, Mr. Holmes!" The words could have been spoken in jest, but as the small woman crossed the room, the tone of her voice was steely. She turned to the maid.
"You may go fetch fresh linens. And you –"she turned to him, "– sit down. Now."
His experience of women told him that it was best to obey. His head still spinning, he sat down on the chair she offered him with an imperious gesture.
She tossed him a blanket and crossed her arms. Fixing him with a stare, she asked,
"Well? Have you an explanation?"
It was a ludicrous question. Had he been in a fit state of mind, he may have begun a lecture on logic and argument. However, with his vision swimming, pain shooting through his limbs, and the stale smell of broth assaulting his raw senses, he could only pose a ludicrous question back.
"Were you not trying to poison me?"
His interlocutor quite unexpectedly began to laugh. She turned back to the table and returned with a newspaper page, torn out and folded across the width. She held out the page to him, still smiling, tilted her head, and asked,
"How can I kill you if you're already dead?"
He stared at the open page, his eyes finding his own name and the tragic details of his death at Reichenbach Falls. A long and maudlin summary of the heroic adventures of his short life followed, as well as a triumphant paragraph at the end expecting the criminal circle of one Professor James Moriarty to be brought to justice. He found the date – early May, 1891. He was thirty-seven years old. He couldn't help but laugh.