Chapter Fourteen: Startling Revelations
"Come in!" I called stifling a yawn.
The door was opened and Watson crossed the threshold.
"Well you look better," he said with a smile.
"I wish I could say I felt better," I replied.
He moved to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers. Quickly he examined my ankle and felt my sides, causing me to wince in pain.
"The swelling in your ankle has gone down a great deal," he said with clinical detachment. "However I am much more concerned about your ribs. I cannot be certain how much damage you suffered, nor if there are any internal injuries."
"Don't be overly concerned," I said smiling. "I'm almost certain that I didn't injure myself too badly. When will you allow me to walk around?"
Dr. Watson shook his head good humouredly. "God help me, I have another Sherlock Holmes on my hands."
"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or insult," I said with a rye smile.
"In a medical sense, it is an insult," he said with a slight chuckle.
"But we're getting off the subject of my question," I said powerfully. "When are you gonna let me walk around?"
"I really do not want you to do yourself another injury."
"And that means what?"
"Since you are so adamant about getting up and walking about, perhaps I will allow you to stand and walk in about two or three days."
"Aww come on Doc!" I said miserably. "I can't lie around here for two or three days! You're sentencing me to death by boredom. In the US we have laws against cruel and unusual punishment."
"Right now Miss Sterling," he said with a smile, "you are not in the United States and further more, I am your doctor and you will do as I say."
I gave an exasperated sigh. "All right, fine you win! I'll stay here and suffer!"
"Good, he said giving my shoulder a slight squeeze. He turned to go and then hesitated. "Mackenzie, can I speak with you for a moment?"
"Sure Doc, take as much time as you need. I have all the time in the world, after all you won't let me move," I said raising my eyebrows sarcastically.
The doctor smiled, despite my sarcasm and I was once again reminded of his infinite amount of patience. When he spoke, I realized his voice was a pitch lower than normal, making me realize he didn't want anyone else to overhear our conversation.
"I am unsure of how to say this," he said softly.
"Just say it, don't worry about how it might sound. I can take anything," I said, instantly thinking the worst was coming.
Doctor Watson favored me with one of his sympathetic smile. "Do not worry Mademoiselle; I don't have anything terrible to say."
"Then what's the problem?"
He shook his head. "I just wanted to thank you."
"Thank me, for what? I've done nothing but been a burden to you and Mr. Holmes," I said completely confused.
Once again Watson smiled, putting his arm gently on my shoulder. "I want to thank you for the change you brought about in my friend. Holmes was on the verge of a black depression--"
Great now he's making me feel like Mary Sue!
"Somehow I don't know why you are thanking me for bringing a change over your friend."
"Let me finish, please. There are some things you do not know about my friend, and I think I should tell them to you."
"Go ahead," I said wearily.
"As I was saying, Holmes was on the verge of a black depression. He thought he reached the pinnacle of his career and the only place he could go from there was down. Injections of cocaine thrice daily were once again beginning and then the management of the opera house came to Baker Street and begged him for his help.
'At first he was hesitant, the case itself did not appeal to him, no interesting features were present. Nothing interested him any more--"
"You speak as though he was contemplating…" I allowed my words to tail off, not having the courage to voice the thought that entered both mine and Watson's mind.
He averted his eyes, realizing how close to the truth I came. "Even when we arrived in Paris, he was listless; all energy seemed to dissipate from his body and soul. I wanted to draw his attention to this, but I dared not, knowing how his temperament was in dumps like this, and since this was the worst one, I certainly did not want to speak my concerns aloud."
Watson's words captivated me. I had no idea why he was confiding in me; perhaps it was because he needed to get the emotions he was feeling off his chest, needed someone he could confide in. After all we were buddies who went on long walks together. But, even still I could not imagine why he would choose me, a girl of seventeen as his confidante. I didn't want to ask him, because I feared if I interrupted his words, he would never finish his statement.
"Several nights ago, he was in the foulest mood I had ever seen him in. He spent a good deal of time alone in this room; I can only imagine what he was doing in here. Most probably he was taking cocaine injections."
I could hold my curiosity no longer. "Why are you telling me this?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "You with his quick wit, your sense of humor and not to mention your extreme and occasionally biting sarcasm, you have brought a change to our lives, especially his."
"How?"
"Today," he said ignoring my question, "when he carried you up from the cellars of the opera house, I have never seen him so shaken. He was genuinely frightened. He has been pacing the sitting room floor all afternoon and continually asking me about your health."
I didn't see what any of this had to do with me and I told Watson.
"Don't you see? You've brought joy into his life. I know it sounds strange, considering you've only known each other for a few weeks, two months at most, but you've shown him, indirectly of course, that his life is worth living. He glows with pride whenever you praise him and he even chuckles when you insult him. He does care for you, but doesn't know how to show it. I don't know what he would have done if you were seriously hurt today."
I smiled at the words Watson just spoke. I felt extremely happy that the detective actually liked and possibly cared about me. (Although I thought Watson's deductions of Holmes caring were a little farfetched, but I didn't say that to him).
"Doc," I said staring into his green eyes.
"Yes?"
"What made you tell me this? I mean, hell, you don't even know me."
Once again he shrugged his shoulders. "I see the way you look at him. I thought it best for you to know where he stands."
"Huh? Please stop talking in bloody riddles!"
Watson smiled at me warmly and rumpled my hair. "When you're meant to understand my reasoning, you will. Now, I think I'd better leave and allow you to rest." He rose from the bed and walked to the door.
"Hey Doc!"
He turned and cocked his eyebrows quizzically.
I felt myself blush. "Between us, I can for him too. I care for both of you."
He nodded, smiled and left me alone with my thoughts. I stayed in bed for several minutes, turning Watson's words over in my mind. 'I see the way you look at him. I thought it best for you to know where he stands.' What was that suppose to mean? What did my glances at Holmes have to do with anything? I mean it's not like I was in love with the guy or anything…or was it?
I shook my head in attempted to eradicate the thoughts that just entered my mind. I was only seventeen and besides, my heart was reserved for him. The guy I stared at longingly everyday at school, the guy who played with my emotions like a song...the guy I hoped to make see how I feel and make him feel the same way. My heart was NOT for a misogynistic consulting detective. And yet…
Mac, stop it right now! Christ! You're acting like a frigging eighty year old woman who lost the love of her life in the war. You are only seventeen! Your heart belongs to no one! Don't even start questioning what Watson said. Holmes doesn't give a damn about you and you know it. It's about time you begin to get that through your thick skull. Hell, how can he care about you when he's constantly deriding you?
And don't say he does the same thing to Watson 'cause he doesn't. Face it kid, he doesn't trust you or any other woman for that matter. Now I, being the rational part of your brain, suggest you shut your heart up and start listening to me. You've got to focus on this investigation and then figure out how the hell you're going to get home. Got it? Use your bloody intellect instead of you heart. Now get up, out of bed and go into the sitting room to see what the doctor and the detective are plotting.
I closed my eyes for a few moments and tried to end the battle between my brain and my heart. (At least I think it was my heart that was telling my rationality to shut up!) Watson could have been right about Holmes's feelings for me, but he also could have been wrong. After all, he never portrays himself as the most perceptive individual. I decided to push all emotions for Sherlock Holmes to the back of my mind until I could figure out what to do with them.
I hastily sat up and then instantly regretted my actions. I nearly doubled over in the sheer agony of my wounded ribs. I hissed in pain while muttering several curses, (all of which are too colorful to be mentioned here), and hugged myself tightly, attempting to ease the pain from my rash actions.
Once the agony subsided into a dull throbbing, I slowly climbed out of the bed and put my weight on my wounded ankle. Stupid thing to do! As soon as I stepped on my foot, my ankle gave way and I collapsed to the floor in a heap. I lay on the floor for several minutes, completely stunned. I didn't think my body could hurt so much. Tears welled up in my eyes and silently cascaded down my cheeks, but I refused to give into them.
My mind was set on leaving the room and that was what I was going to do. Clenching my jaw, I pulled myself to my feet and hobbled to the door.
"Damn this hurts!" I muttered as I put more weight on my ankle. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, I opened the bedroom door and crossed the threshold.
At the sound of the door opening, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson looked up at me. Holmes's eyes were filled with mild amusement and Watson's were filled with anger.
