Two ninety-six. Two ninety-seven. Two ninety-eight.
A board creaked in the stairwell. Had Holmes found that gemstone, yet? He had already been gone longer than I had originally expected, and—Focus.
Two ninety-nine. Three hundred. Three hundred one. Three hundred two.
Something rustled in the attic. Did we have bats again? That would make—Stop speculating and count.
Three hundred three. Three hundred four. Three hundred five. Three hundred six. Three hundred seven.
Heavy footsteps pounded the cobblestones outside as my shoulder twinged my weight, and the last number faded into a sigh. I readjusted to stare through the ceiling instead of the wall. Counting was not putting me to sleep any more than breathing exercises and trying not to sleep, and my exhaustion made no difference when I could not even keep my eyes closed. How I could be drained but wide awake I had never learned, but I had not had more than a few minutes' sleep at a time in nearly a week.
It seemed I would not be getting any tonight, either. My bedroom lightened with dawn, and still I stared at the ceiling. I should probably put my sign on my door, I decided as I slowly pulled myself out of bed. I did not trust myself to administer the correct treatments with how tired I was, and the notice would send prospective patients to another doctor without my having to turn them away.
Too tired to be hungry, I grabbed only a couple of pieces of toast from the kitchen before returning to the silent sitting room. Mrs. Hudson had gone on holiday with her sister the same day one of Holmes' former clients had come asking a favor, and I had expected to enjoy having the flat to myself for a while.
I had, to some degree. The first two days had passed easily enough as I saw the occasional patient, read, and wrote in my journals, but somehow, the silent flat that had never bothered me before now made it impossible to sleep. The third night, I had spent several hours staring at the painted ceiling, and nothing had changed since. I was growing desperate. I would even take Mrs. Hudson's fussing over skipping meals if it meant sleeping for an hour.
I spent the morning in my chair, tiredly trying to read in the hopes I would fall asleep. I could not think clearly, focus for any length of time, or remember anything complicated when I did manage to focus, but my eyes refused to close. Even replacing the novel with a dictionary did not put me to sleep.
A knock sounded on the door midafternoon, and I realized I had forgotten to put out my sign. I ignored the pounding. I would have to navigate the stairs to try again to eat, but I did not feel competent enough to treat a patient. I would hang the sign when I got up, and until then, it was better to let the person believe no one was home.
They knocked loudly once more, then footsteps faded down the street. I let them get well away before I pulled myself out of my chair, and my old sign appeared from behind a nearby bookshelf.
"Doctor John Watson is unable to see patients at this time," the age-faded wood read. "You can find Doctor Agar or Doctor Thompson Junior at the addresses below." The painted wood also had a place to attach an expected reopening date, but I left that section blank. I would not deem it safe to see patients until I had gotten some meaningful sleep, and after nearly a week, I had no idea when that would be. The extra money was not worth the risk of a problem.
With fatigue making the room perform slow revolutions, I decided that carrying the sign down the stairs would not be the greatest idea, and I distractedly hoped it did not scratch something as it clattered to the landing below. I could not bring myself to care if it had, however. Down was always harder than up, and either direction was difficult when I was tired. I wanted to sleep, of course, but I did not want to use a concussion to do so.
Footsteps sounded outside again when I eventually reached the landing, and another round of pounding shook the door. I rounded the corner toward the kitchen instead of answering. Whether they sought the doctor or the detective, neither of us were available. The sign could wait until they had left.
Setting water to boil, I tried to eat a little while the tea leaves steeped, with limited success. I had never been able to eat when I was tired, and when I dropped a bite for the third time, I gave up. I was not hungry, anyway, and I saw no reason to make a mess with my attempts. I hung my sign then took the tea pot and a cup upstairs. A shovelful of coal effectively stoked the fire for a while, and I cradled my warm cup in one hand as I settled in my chair.
Time passed slowly. Too tired to read, I frequently found myself staring through the page instead of at it, but I was also too weary to grow truly irritated. Many times over the years, I had gone without sleep while sitting vigil or helping with Holmes' cases—or sometimes sitting vigil after helping with a case—but that was never more than a day or two. Six days was pushing it, and even the morphine I kept in my bag did not seem like such a bad idea anymore. A small dose would do no harm, and I would finally get some sleep. Why not?
Because I should not use an opioid to induce sleep, I reminded myself. It was too habit-forming, and it would be the height of hypocrisy to use morphine to sleep after so many years of fighting Holmes about his cocaine.
He need never know.
I firmly pushed the thought away. No. I would not do that no matter how desperate I was. There were other ways to induce sleep.
Like what? that same voice whispered. You are allergic to sedatives.
Was arguing with yourself a sign of madness?
Probably, I decided with some amusement, but that hardly mattered. I still shoved the thought aside. I would not use morphine to make myself sleep. There must be a better way. I stoked the fire again and curled up on the settee, hoping the change of location would work. When that failed, I paced until my leg started screaming, then leaned against a corner. I would take sleeping on my feet over not sleeping at all, but that did not work either. I was still just as awake as I had been for much too long.
Would anything put me to sleep?
My gaze drifted back towards my bag and the morphine inside. The minimum dose would make me sleep for at least an hour…
No. I refused, and I needed to get out of the room. I took the empty pot downstairs. Tea sounded better than anything solid, and it got me away from the temptation for a few minutes.
The urge returned the moment I reentered the sitting room, however, prodding me to give it a try. You need barely half the minimum dose, the unseen vial seemed to say. Holmes would never know, and you would finally sleep.
I found myself next to my bag without consciously deciding to cross the room, and the bottle rolled between my fingers once before I caught myself. No. I would not do this, and I apparently needed to remove the temptation. I turned away, intending to lock the bottle in Holmes' desk when my eyes landed on a familiar packet.
"Chamomile," it said in large, bold letters, and the vial hit the table with a thump as I dug through my bag. Did I have lavender?
I did, and I forgot the morphine entirely. Chamomile and lavender tea would put me to sleep in minutes, and it was completely safe. This was my other way.
I had no hot water readily available, but I did have tea. Mixing the two would taste worse than chamomile alone, but I was past the point of caring. Fatigue-shaking hands carefully proportioned the leaves, and I set the cup on a nearby table to watch the clock. The leaves needed three minutes to steep at minimum, preferably five, and I busied myself by putting the packets away and getting comfortable on the settee. When the time was up, I barely noticed the disgusting taste. I downed the cup in four large swallows.
My last conscious thought was utter relief.
Reviews are always greatly appreciated! And thanks to those that reviewed the last chapter of Court of Minds :)
Guest, I rather wish it had, too. Watson puts up with far too much, lol
Serenity, thank you very much! That's quite a compliment. And thank you for the prompt. The plot bunny didn't taken off running immediately, but i directed it toward the carrot supply. We'll see what happens :D
