Chapter 17: Lonesome and Losing
She stopped fighting.
Mycroft sensed this, as the Duke, Cassandra and himself resided at the meetings. Concerning the peaceful trades between China and England. No longer was she the firey spirit that rang out in anger if one of the men tried to play her into a con. Her dresses all were the same colors dark grey or black. She has become dull, with sad eyes and pale skin. Mycroft cursed silently to himself for placing Sherlock and Cassandra together that forenight. Since then she has been quiet and a feeling of defeat lingered around her. The meetings went on as plan, where all she was there to sign any documents that needed her family's signature. Usually she would read and ask about the
documentation. Now she just signs away, not even looking at the document itself. A few days after Sunday Cassandra took ill, she was rushed to her townhouse in London where she stayed with three servants.
"Telegram Mister Watson." Martha said quietly as she placed both Watson's luncheon and telegram on the table. Holmes sat across from him, eating his apple which was the only thing he wanted. He too had taken in some distress from the meeting, his appitate has been limited to fruits and a lot of cocaine.
"Thank you Martha," he replied as he opened the telegram and
read it. He crumbled the paper and got up quickly. "I'm sorry to leave in such a rush Holmes, but I have another very important cilent that I need to tend too. Every minute counts." As he talked he hurriedly placed on his jacket and hat. Grabbing his medcine bag he rushed out of the door, thundering down the stairs of their Baker Street home onto the street. Holmes stood by the window with his apple as he watched Watson hail a carriage and watch it rush into London's traffic. Sighing he took three long strides and reached the table they were about to eat their lunch at. Slowing uncrumbling the paper he read it.
Dr.Watson
Cassandra is sick.
Her trusted servant,
Frank.
An elderly woman with a mask moved around silently in the dark room. All of the windows were closed and candles were lit to place a dim light. As to not hurt the person's eyes that laid in the big oak wood four poster bed. Which had white curtains hanging from it. It was stuffy and hot inside the big room due to the lit candles and the fireplace with it's warm glow. Though the patient still shivered and shook. There was some muffled voices in the adjoined room, then the door opened. Watson walked in with Mycroft both them donning mask that covered their nose and mouth. "Cassandra..." Watson whispered. In front of them Cassandra laid on the white bedding, her black night gown was damnp from sweat.
"Watson it's best you do what you need to do fast... We really dont know anything about what she has.." Mycroft whispered, Watson nodded and went to work. Cassandra moaned as she felt Watson's cold equipment touched her flaming skin. After a few minutes he got up from the bed without kissing her forehead lovingly. Both of them left the room, as Mycroft closed the door Watson threw his medcine bag to the floor.
"Why wasn't I called earlier?" He snapped, taking off his mask also and throwing it into the fire that was in the adjoined study room.
"We thought she complained only of a headache... Till she started to cough blood..." Mycroft said quietly as he too tossed his mask into the fire. "She would not see any doctor... We had to get you without her knowing Watson."
"Damnit... She has TB Mycroft, I have shots that can make her comfortable and medicine to lower her fever. But all we can do is wait... If she can be able to escape this horror embedded into her or... To await her funeral." Both men stared down at the floor with a grave look.
"Do not tell Sherlock about this Watson... The last she needs is his 'I told you so' speech. He has already contributed to her sickness."
She moaned and trashed around her bed, trying to help rid of herself of the flaming fever that engulfed her whole body. She opened her eyes and watched as shadows moved about but everything was silent. Except for her labour breathing and her hacking cough. "Cassandra my dear.." Mycroft whispered into her ear as she moved her head away from him.
"Mycroft it is only a headache do not bother youself with such petty-" She stopped as she coughed, feeling a cloth against her mouth she coughed with all her might. To take out what was in her body, a copper taste filled her mouth as she fell back limply from the cloth into her sweat donned pillows. There was some mummers on her right side, then her bed lowered a bit on her side.
"Cassandra-"
"Watson? Mycroft did I not tell you no visitors!" She croaked her eyes still closed.
"You are sick Cassandra and he is here to make you feel better." Again Cassandra moaned in protest but she could do nothing. Barely able to move herself she opened her eyes. Soon it focused to see Watson sitting beside her wiping her arm with some cold cloth. Mycroft stood by him watching, she looked at them with confused looks. They were wearing mask... But why? Before she could ask she felt a prick of pain from her arm. Looking down there Watson had a shot in her arm, pushing some greenish liquid into her body. Soon her eyes started to unfocus before anything went dark she glanced at the cloth in Mycroft's hand...
Blood.
