A/N: Whoa boy, am I sick. That's right, laryngitis, cough, stuffed-up nose; the whole enchilada. But that's never stopped me from writing before! As always, thank you very much for your reviews, you wonderful people! You'd think I was like, an author or something! Just kidding. But really, I do appreciate your feedback. Oh, by the way, someone mentioned that this story was moving a bit fast. A brilliant deduction, indeed, because that was my intention. A lot of things are going to have to happen between Christmas Eve and New Year's, so I've got to cram it all inside that relatively short amount of time. Someone else asked me how long the story's going to be, and I'm going to have to disappoint you: only eight chapters. But don't worry, I've already got a third story in the works! Booya! And on another note, I'm glad everyone hates Laney! That's what I was going for, and I'm happy that everyone picked up on her suspicious actions.
And now, response to some of your reviews!
Rosethorn, Brink, Chibi Hermione, Kat Thorne, and Settiai: Yeah yeah, I know you know what's going to happen, but shhh! -covers your mouths- Some other people haven't read 'The Dying Detective'. And they don't gotsta know the truth just yet. -wink wink-
The Name Changer: CANDY! -gobbles it up- Thank you kindly, and the sugar rush which will ensue shall be used to continue writing.
Kittenchatter: I'm glad you liked the "streetcar" bit. That was my personal favorite line, too! And now, I think I have a triple fudge oreo cookie shake coming my way: that is, if you think I updated fast enough.
snowwolf: No, of course you have not offended me! The whole point in creating Laney was to make everyone hate her. After all, she's the main force that's trying to pull Rhodes and Bridges apart.
A.Spencer: Wowie, you put this story on your 'Favorites' list! I feel so privileged! I don't know why, but that always makes me feel extra-special. Much obliged!
Jezrael the Jealous: My my, I can already see I'm going to have some trouble with you, mein freund. Just remember, if you strangle me, no more Rhodes and Bridges! ...Well, unless someone else starts writing their own stories. But anyway, I understand your impatience. And once the story is finished, you can help a few of the others kill Laney. Does that appease you?
jepa: A chapter narrated by Rhodes? My my, what a very unconventional idea! But it seems we are on the same wavelength, because I've actually been thinking about writing, just not a chapter from Rhodes' point of view, but the entire third story! But of course, I'd have to first ask everyone, and see if they liked the idea. Oh, and to answer your question, in this story Rhodes is 26 and Bridges is 24.
Okay, those are all my thoughts, so let's get on with chapter three, shall we?
Disclaimer: Characters are mine. 'The Dying Detective' belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
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Down the Rabbit Hole
a modern Sherlock Holmes fanfiction
by Wakizashi
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Chapter Three: The Little Busy Bee
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If I must be truthful with my readers, I had absolutely no idea what to do. Rhodes was very ill, and yet he adamantly refused treatment from any doctor whatsoever. I didn't understand. He wanted to get well, didn't he? And the only way he could even begin to recover was to find out what was wrong in the first place. But he would have none of it. He really drove me insane sometimes.
Never mind, it didn't matter. All I knew was that Rhodes was cold, but he had a fever. So I had to do all I could to remedy both problems.
Grabbing two more blankets from the closet in the upstairs hallway, I made my way back down the stairs to the living room. Laney was pacing up and down the room with little glances toward my partner, arms crossed over her chest. Apparently she was still annoyed that Rhodes was refusing medical attention. I suspected she was one of those people who were used to getting their own way all the time. Somehow, I knew she wouldn't be of much use.
Unfolding the first blanket, and then the second, I draped each one over Rhodes and knelt by his side. "Better?" I asked gently. He nodded feebly, and I couldn't stop myself from reaching out and smoothing his unruly black hair. To hell with what Laney thought; I cared about this man, and I was going to do whatever it took to nurse him back to health. "Is there anything else I can do? How about some tea?"
"Tea?" Rhodes considered this for a moment, then gave another weak nod. "Yes, I'd like some tea. Thank you, Bridges."
Always so polite. If I had known for sure he wasn't contagious, I would have leaned forward and kissed him. Instead, I ruffled his hair again and smiled. "No problem. I'll be right back." Standing up, I turned to Laney. Here was a good time to make herself useful. "Laney, why don't you come in the kitchen and help me?"
She blinked, and nodded slowly. As she followed me into the back of the condo, I rolled my eyes. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had never even made tea before. Spoiled little brat.
Padding across the reddish-brown tile floor, I reached into the tangle of copper pots hanging above the island and pulled down a tea kettle. "The tea bags are in the second cupboard to the left, if I remember correctly," I told Laney as I filled the kettle in the sink. Over my shoulder, I watched, pleased with myself, as Laney opened the indicated cabinet and was greeted by a large selection of teas. "Get down the jasmine-and-orange-blossom, it's Rhodes' favorite," I said.
Laney looked at me with a quirked eyebrow, then did as she was told. It felt good to be ordering people around in somebody else's house.
As I set the kettle on the stove and cranked up the burner, Laney pulled a stool up to the island. "You know your way around Ethan's kitchen very well," she remarked.
What was that supposed to mean? Determined not to let her get under my skin - I know, I know, it was a little too late for that - I just chuckled good-naturedly. "Yeah, well you know how it is. I've known Rhodes for over two years. I guess it just comes natural after a while."
"Two years," she echoed thoughtfully, tracing the pattern of tiles on the counter with her fingernail. "That is surprising."
Okay, that wasn't going to slip by me so easily. "Oh?" I said casually. "Why do you say that?"
Laney shrugged, a motion she somehow managed to appear stuck-up. "I just always thought," she said slowly, "that Ethan is not a very... social person. He does not have many close friends, n'est-ce pas?"
I opened another cupboard and brought down a cup. "Mmm, no, not really," I replied. "You'd be right in saying that he's a pretty closed-off guy to people who don't know him." I snickered, remembering how Rhodes had reacted when my friend Alma had first greeted him. "But we've been through a lot together. And we've gotten used to all the little things that annoy us about each other." Turning to her with a full-force smile, I said proudly, "He's the greatest friend I've ever had."
Now both of her eyebrows shot up. "Friend?" she said dubiously. "Are you sure that is all he is to you?"
We stared silently at each other from either end of the island. So that was how it was going to be, then. All right, I could play that game, too. Slowly, deliberately, I folded my arms. "I don't know," I said. "What do you think?"
The corner of her lip raised in a little smirk. "Since you asked," she said in a low, furtive voice. Her coy, innocent manner had completely dissolved. "I think that you are in love with Ethan. It is so obvious a child could see it. The way you touch him, the way you speak to him in that special voice. But he does not see it, and it drives you mad. That is what I think."
"Really." I knew I should have felt furious that she had noticed I had feelings for Rhodes, but curiously enough, all I felt was an icy detachment. "Well, if you were to ask what I think, I would say that I'm tired of pretending I like you. I think you are a pretentious little snob, and it's not going to take Rhodes very long to realize that you are the embodiment of everything he hates in a woman. And I think you feel threatened by how close we are." I imitated her French accent and smiled. "Zat is what I t'ink."
Suddenly the kettle started to whistle, and I turned off the burner. "Tea's ready!" I said cheerfully.
Laney's mouth set in a pert little line as she glared heatedly at me. Pointedly ignoring her icy blue stare, I poured hot water into the cup and dropped in a tea bag. Picking up the cup, I gestured her politely toward the living room. "After you."
Stomping past me down the hallway, Laney crossed the living room and stopped beside the futon couch. Rhodes appeared to have fallen asleep, but as she knelt next to him, he stirred slightly. "Bridges?" he murmured.
That, it appeared, was the final straw for Laney. I couldn't hide the smile of satisfaction on my face as she expelled a breath of frustration. "I am going home," she announced, standing up and planting her fists on her hips. "I will call you later to see how you are doing, and if you are no better, I am getting you a doctor. That is final."
And then she bent down and pressed her lips firmly against his. White-hot fury surged through my veins as she straightened and flashed me one last triumphant smile. "Goodbye, Ethan. À bientôt, Miss Nadia."
The front door slammed shut, and I stood there holding the cup of tea, shaking with anger. She would get what was coming to her; oh, I would see to that.
----
After Laney LeFool relieved us of her presence, I got to work. No one can accuse me of saying my time wasn't occupied, because every minute was used in tending to my ailing friend. I moved Rhodes upstairs to his bed, I soaked and re-soaked the cloth for his forehead, and I prepared food for him - that is, when he felt confident enough to eat. I even helped him to the bathroom when it became evident that he wasn't ready for food just yet. He was quite stubborn in his refusal to allow me inside with him, but I could hear the sound of his retching echoing harshly off the bathroom walls as I waited outside. I sank to the floor, trying to block out the awful noise.
One thing I was not going to let him talk me out of was packing a suitcase at my apartment and staying with him until he recovered from his illness. When I first suggested it, Rhodes was naturally against the idea, but this time I wasn't going to cave.
"I'm staying with you, and you're not going to convince me otherwise," I said obstinately as he glared up at me from his pillow.
"Bridges, you're being ridiculous," he shot back irately. His accent became much more pronounced when he was irritated. "I'll be fine. You don't need to keep mothering me like this. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I think that much is evident, considering how long I survived without you."
"I'm not going to go back home, and leave you here alone all night," I continued, unfazed by his rudeness. "What if something happened? What if you took a turn for the worse, and I wasn't here? I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
Suddenly Rhodes propped himself up on one arm. His face softened, and his voice became much more pleasing to the ears. "Your concern is appreciated, Bridges," he said gently, taking my hand and pulling me to sit on the edge of his bed. I was instantly on the alert. "It really does touch me to know how much you care. But I can assure you, you're worrying over nothing. I'll be all right in a couple of days." He ran his fingertips between my knuckles, like he always did when he was trying to placate me. "You don't have to stay."
I smirked. "Nice try, Romeo," I said, jerking my hand away. "But by God, you're not going to change my mind this time, no matter how cute and charming you try to be." His nose scrunched up in displeasure, and I gave it a good flick and stood up. "Oh, quit pouting, Rhodes, it's never worked on me before. You're sick and I'm going to take care of you. That's what it all boils down to, my friend."
Rhodes gave me a long, scrutinizing look, and finally sighed, knowing he had been defeated for once. "Very well," he said wearily, sinking back down his pillow. "Go on and get your things. But take my car. There's no sense in wasting more money on a cab ride."
My mouth dropped open, and I quickly closed it to keep from drooling. Me, drive Rhodes' car? He never let anyone drive that beauty but himself, and now he was proposing I take it for a spin? What a very silly, very delicious notion.
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice betraying my sweet anticipation.
He nodded and waved me away with his hand. "Yes, go, before I change my mind," he replied listlessly. "My keys are in my coat pocket, which I believe is hanging over the back of the couch. If you're not back soon, I'll assume you got into an accident and are willing to pay for the damages."
With a delighted squeal I was unsuccessful in holding back, I dashed out of his bedroom and down the stairs into the living room, scooping up Rhodes' elegantly tailored jacket and fishing out the keys. Barely remembering to close the front door behind me, I all but skipped to the parking garage and pushed the button on Rhodes' remote door opener. I was so excited as the garage door slowly opened that I unconsciously held my breath.
There she was, my partner's 2002 Ford Thunderbird, waiting in the dark garage and just begging me to drive her. The cold afternoon light bounced off its gleaming black surface, and though the weather made driving it with the top down out of the question, it was still going to be an unparalleled joy to be seen in that baby. And I soon would be.
Unlocking the driver's side door, I climbed in and shut it again, immediately sinking into the soft white leather. I sat there for a moment in awe, then slowly, solemnly, I turned the key in the ignition and the 252-horsepower engine rumbled to life.
The traffic was a nightmare as I pulled carefully out into the street, closing the garage with the remote. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and no doubt people were still taking care of last-minute chores, like shopping for Christmas dinner and picking up relatives and whatnot. As I stopped at an intersection, I realized with a sinking feeling that Rhodes and I were not likely to celebrate this Christmas in a very traditional way: no Christmas ham, or tree, or sitting around the fire, surrounded by loved ones. We were it this year, unless you counted that French version of Yoko Ono who had weaseled her way into our lives.
I shook my head. There was no way I was going to let his sickness, or Laney's... existence get in the way of spending a nice holiday with my best friend.
Grr, Laney! I shook my fist at her mentally. How dare she figure out I had a thing for Rhodes! And accusing me of being in love with him; now that was entirely inaccurate. I had feelings for him, and I cared a lot about him as a friend. But my feelings weren't strong enough to be considered love. Or at least, I didn't think so. Yet.
Exhaling in annoyance, I forced those thoughts out of my mind with an effort. Inspecting Rhodes' collection of CDs, I selected a Moby album and put it in the car stereo. Letting the soothing sounds of "Porcelain" fill the car, I slowly began to relax. No point in driving angry.
Going was slow, and the CD was almost finished playing when I finally found an empty space outside my apartment building. Pleased that I managed not to crunch the bumper while parallel-parking, I climbed out of the T-Bird and locked it. "I'll only be gone a minute," I assured the car before running inside and climbing up the stairwell to my floor.
And in fact, it didn't take me long to pack myself some clothes and toiletries, along with some books I hadn't gotten around to reading yet. The real problem was managing to carry my suitcase, along with the presents I had bought and wrapped for Rhodes, down the stairs and to the car without dropping anything. I say "presents" because every year we always got each other a gag present - something we knew the other would hate and all the more amusing because of it - and also a few minor gifts, along with one main gift from the heart.
I couldn't wait for Rhodes to open that one.
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When I opened the door to Rhodes' condo, I heard the unmistakable sound of an acoustic guitar. After dumping my burden of luggage and gifts in the foyer, I climbed the stairs and opened Rhodes' bedroom door. There, in his room that was meticulously crafted to resemble Vincent Van Gogh's own bedroom in Arles, Rhodes sat on his big oak bed, propped up against at least five pillows and strumming on his favorite old guitar.
He raised his head at my arrival and smiled faintly. His face, which had been pale before, was now flushed and damp with sweat, and my worry soared again. "Bridges, welcome back," he said in a weak voice before resuming his playing. "Did you enjoy the trip?"
"Immensely," I replied, sitting on the bed beside him. I reached up and felt his slick forehead. "You don't look so good," I remarked, ignoring his weary sigh. "I think you might be dehydrated. Do you want me to get you some water?"
I started to rise from the bed, but Rhodes gestured with his head to the table by the window, and I noticed an empty glass and a pitcher full of water. "As you can see, I'm not entirely helpless," he said with another smile.
"Oh." I sat back down, wondering if there was anything else I can do.
"I can see that you are feeling dejected, Bridges," Rhodes noted in a kind voice. "May I make an observation?"
Surprised, I nodded silently.
He ceased playing his guitar and looked up at me. "You've been waiting on me hand and foot all day because it is what comes naturally to you when someone you know is out of sorts. You took care of your father after the accident, and when you could finally afford to hire a physical therapist, you were no longer needed. This cut you deeply, so you resolved to become a masseuse because you wanted to feel like you were helping again. Am I wrong in presuming this?"
I couldn't speak; I could only shake my head. How could Rhodes know me so well? Not for the first time, I wondered why I possessed this strange desire to feel needed.
Rhodes put his hand on my arm. "And now you're waiting on me, because you've found someone else who is in need of your assistance," he said softly. "I'd like you to know, Bridges, that I'm very grateful for it."
My throat closed up, and I found myself blinking back tears. I opened my mouth in a feeble attempt to speak, but Rhodes resumed his absent strumming on his guitar. "You brought everything you'll be needing, I hope?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "Yeah," I said quickly, standing up again.
"Good, good. You can put everything in the spare bedroom. I pushed aside the weight bench and laid out the inflatable air mattress for you. No need to get out the bedclothes; they're already on it."
"What?" I gaped at him with a mixture of surprise and frustration. "Rhodes, you didn't have to do that! You're in no condition to exert yourself--"
"How I choose to waste my energy is my own decision, my dear Bridges," he interrupted stubbornly. "Besides," he added in a gentler tone, "it was the least I could do for my nursemaid."
If we had been keeping a score of our victories over the years, it would be 'Bridges - 3, Rhodes - 419'.
But I was grateful at the end of the day for Rhodes' considerate actions, because the moment I changed into my nightclothes and my head hit the pillow, I was out. It appeared, however, that destiny had not included sleep on its list of things for me to do that week, because at roughly two o'clock in the morning, I heard those dreadful retching sounds again.
In an instant I was on my feet, and I padded out of the room and into the hallway. At the end of the hall, I could see light glowing from under the bathroom door. I tapped on the door softly. "Rhodes?" I called. "Are you okay?"
The water in the sink turned on for a moment, and then shut off as the door opened. Rhodes heaved a great shaky sigh and stepped out in a tank top and a pair of gray-and-white flannel pants. "I'm sorry I woke you, Bridges," he said miserably. "You can go back to bed."
I shook my head. "No point, I won't be getting back to sleep any time soon." A new thought entered my head, and I smiled. "Merry Christmas, by the way."
Rhodes returned my smile. "Merry Christmas."
"Why don't we open our gifts, now that we're both awake?" I suggested hopefully. "Come on, you'll feel better."
"I have no doubt of it," he replied, and I returned to the spare bedroom to retrieve his presents. When I came back down the hallway and into Rhodes' room, I scowled as I found him pulling wrapped boxes out from under his bed. The little booger, so that was where he had been hiding them.
He insisted that I open my gag present first, so we sat together on his giant bed as I unwrapped an oddly shaped package. Frowning, I tore the paper off and burst out laughing. It was a six-pack of Play-Doh containers, each a different color. Attached was a note written in Rhodes' meticulous hand: "Warning - Do Not Eat".
"You are such a dork," I said, shoving him playfully. He merely grinned as I handed him his own gag present. It was a large, flat box, and he shook it curiously before tearing it open and removing the lid. As I had suspected, his first reaction was to scowl in distaste. Inside was a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt in his size, patterned with green palm fronds and scarlet macaws. To someone else, perhaps, it might have made a nice gift, but Rhodes was extremely averse to wearing colors.
His expression of displeasure quickly faded, and he set the shirt ceremoniously to one side. "Thank you, I shall treasure it always," he said gravely.
We opened our other gifts, saving the most important ones for last. Rhodes greatly appreciated everything I got him: a gray silk tie, a few CDs, and a pair of early Gothic-style bookends. I was also presently surprised by the gifts he got me: a calligraphy set, some opal earrings, and a beautiful crystal paperweight. Finally it was time to exchange the gifts we had been waiting until the end to open.
To my surprise, Rhodes handed me a small, plain envelope. Looking at him carefully, I tore it open and pulled out a brochure for a ski lodge at Lake Tahoe. I raised my eyebrows. "What's this about?" I asked, examining the various pictures of snow-covered hills and rooms lit with glowing fireplaces.
Rhodes smiled. "I booked us for a two-week vacation there this spring. Which is, incidentally, the same time Haydee is due."
My heart gave a brief stutter. "Haydee?" I repeated in an unsteady voice. Haydee had been the name of the horse I had been forced to sell when my father and I left the farm.
At that moment a glossy photograph fell out of the brochure, and I plucked it from my lap. It was a picture of a beautiful Appaloosa mare, its belly swollen with an unborn foal. "That's her mother," Rhodes explained, pointing to the picture. "Her owners told me I could buy the filly when she was born. Once she's old enough, she's all yours."
Tears sprung to my eyes, and I hugged him tightly. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. "I can't believe this, Rhodes," I choked out. "Thank you so much."
He stroked my hair for a moment before pulling away, rubbing his hands together. "Think nothing of it," he replied good-naturedly. "Now, I believe it is my turn?"
Suddenly my present didn't seem that great. Rhodes had gotten me an entire horse, not to mention a reservation at what was most likely a very expensive ski resort. The gift I had bought for him had been expensive too, but it paled in comparison to his. "It's... It's nothing special," I said, holding it to my chest in embarrassment. "I just thought you'd like it--"
Before I could react, Rhodes had snatched it deftly out of my hand. "Come now, Bridges, there's no need to be so defensive," he said mildly, ripping off the layers of paper. "I'm sure I will love it, just as I have loved all the other..." His voice trailed off, and he stared at his gift in stunned silence. Then, reverently, his white fingers slid down the front of the first-edition print of 'Alice's Adventure's Underground', dating back to the year it was first published. Its cover was marvelously restored to its original glory, and each chapter was fully illustrated.
Rhodes stared at it for what seemed like hours. Finally he spoke, his eyes still glued to the book. "Bridges," he whispered. "My father used to read this story to Alice all the time when she was a child. It was the only way he could get her to sleep."
My poor, wonderful Rhodes. How he missed his younger sister. Her fate was a tale Rhodes had confessed to me alone, and I was, therefore, the only one who knew how much a gift like this would mean to him.
Hesitantly, I laid my hand on his arm. Only then did he raise his eyes to mine. "I don't know what to say," he said softly.
I smiled gently. "Now you have something to put between your bookends," I suggested.
Setting the book carefully beside him, he pulled me into his embrace, burying his face in my hair. "Thank you, Bridges, thank you," he kept repeating, his voice muffled. I just held him, patting his back comfortingly. As he tightened his hold on me, I gave a deep sigh of contentment. Whether or not he was contagious was no longer an issue.
Reluctantly, Rhodes pulled away, though I was extremely aware that his hands were still on my waist. He looked away nervously and, removing one hand, picked up the book again. "This may sound foolish, but... Will you... read this to me?"
My chest tightened at his request, and I desperately wished I had a sprig of mistletoe with me. "Of course," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He handed me the book, and I leaned back against the pillows as he stretched out his long body beside me. Opening the cover and breathing in the pleasant, musty smell, I turned the pages to the very first chapter and began to read. "'Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversation?"...'"
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A/N: Ahhhhh, finished. Now I need to blow my nose and disinfect the keyboard, lest someone else catch my wicked, wicked cold. I don't think I need to say that 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' is not mine; Lewis Carroll has that privilege. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. I, personally, am rather pleased with this chapter. And hey, at least it doesn't end with a cliffhanger, so ha, can't pin that one on me! Ciao for now!
Wakizashi