A Walk in the Park

At last I am feeling some improvement, though I still am far from fully recovered. Watson has already reminded me that it has not even been a full day since my senseless 'experiment', as he calls it, with the needle. Weakness and fatigue continue to plague me, often forcing me to rest for extended periods.

I am also all too aware of the heavy atmosphere which is hanging over my Boswell and myself. It would seem that over-indulging in cocaine was not the wisest thing that I have ever done, for my companion would appear to be of the opinion that I did it to spite him. Not that he has said as much, of course.

"We shall take a walk," the fellow decides somewhat brusquely as he tosses me my stick and takes up his own. "I am tired of listening to your complaints of boredom."

I agree readily enough and retrieve my favourite (warmest) muffler from my bedroom before following my companion downstairs to the hall, where Mrs. Hudson helps us into our coats and hands us our hats.

"If you feel too cold, tell me as much right away," my friend cautions me. "I do not want you catching a chill."

I am sure that I would have before now if I was going to do so. "Of course old chap."

He frowns at me from the corner of his eye as we each ensure that we have our gloves. Then we are off out of the door and turning our steps in the direction of Regents Park.

The park is beautiful. The first flowering bulbs of the season are just opening and I point out some of them to my friend. For now, we both are a little more relaxed.

"How are you feeling?" Watson asks as he comes to my side.

Ever the doctor! I take it that he saw the shiver that I was not completely successful in suppressing. "I am all right," I assure the fellow with a smile. A little chilly perhaps, but it is still early in the year. That is to be expected.

"Good," he responds with a smile as he pats my arm. "I am sorry if my fretting annoys you Holmes, but somebody has to."

I nod, for I do understand, and almost immediately give a sneeze. The reaction to the head movement is far from unusual following cocaine usage, but he is all concern. Possibly because I failed to stifle it at all.

"Bless you! Are you becoming too cold?"

Only if you are. "Not at all! Please do stop fretting; it is a pleasant enough day and I am glad to be able to stretch my legs."

"Well... All right then," but he continues to watch me closely from the corner of his eye as I attempt to enjoy myself.

I may have missed the fellow, and I most certainly am dreading his return to his damned practice, but I have not missed the manner in which he frets over my health. I am sure that I have never worried over his health in such a manner! Well... Aside from the occasions when I have required his assistance and therefore had to know that he was fit and able to keep up with me, naturally.

He takes my arm and we resume our walk, but I am becoming weary. I falter in my stride once or twice and then my irregular pulse begins to thrum at the side of my neck and I am all at once feeling weak and faint.

Without a word the doctor leads me to a bench and we sit together, his hand resting at my shoulder as his eyes sweep over my face, which is inexplicably tingling and no doubt rather pale.

"We shall take a moment to rest and then go back," Watson decides as he squeezes my shoulder. "This was a foolish idea. You are not well enough to go out yet."

Nonsense! I am perfectly all right.

"What are you feeling like?"

I shrug. "All right. Really. I am only weary." At least I no longer feel sick and would seem able to maintain my usual level of control over my body. I have not fainted, despite my weakness; that must surely mean that I am improving.

"I suspect that 'weary' may well be an understatement Holmes. You are terribly pale."

"According to you, my complexion is 'sallow' anyhow."

He grimaces. "More so than usual old man. You look dreadful."

I shiver again and Watson draws closer to me. "We should go home."

"We have only just arrived!"

He sniffs quietly and I cast him a glance. The fellow is rubbing at the old wound at his shoulder. Why did he not tell me that he was in pain?

"Perhaps you are right. We should get back," I address him with a smile and touch his hand. It is no warmer than mine. "You are chilly yourself!"

He shrugs and sniffs again. "I was all right until we were seated."

Yes, I have been becoming ever colder since we stopped walking, myself. I haul myself to my feet as quickly as I can without the risk of another fainting spell and then my Boswell has linked his arm through mine and we are heading for home.

We are just turning onto Baker Street when Watson sneezes, causing me to stop in my tracks and stare at him for a moment.

"I hope that you have not caught a cold," I remark, more as something to say than anything else, for I feel quite ridiculous now that I have realised that I have been staring at the fellow with quite obvious concern.

"It was one sneeze," he grumbles rather defensively. "You would assure me that it was nothing to worry about."

I shrug and unwind my muffler from about my neck in order to hand it over. I then go a step further and wrap it about the throat of my friend. "After cocaine or morphine usage, indeed not; you do not indulge."

"Holmes, you must be feeling as chilled as I am at least and more so!" he retorts as he unwinds and hands the muffler back. "You are thin as a wraith and you have been unwell. Besides, it is not far now; I am all right."

I am not convinced at all but I nod and attempt to increase my speed. It is deucedly frustrating to be so laggard, for I am usually so very quick.

"Slow down old fellow!" my friend protests. "Holmes! My leg!"

Now I stop. How stupid of me! "Are you all right Watson?"

He nods and squeezes my arm. "No harm done. Just keep in mind that we are not on a race course."

I smile at him and begin to walk again, this time allowing my companion to set the pace. It is an easy enough pace to maintain, but my head is now feeling heavy. I am done up! And only from walking to the park and back! What the deuce is wrong with me? Where is my stamina, the strong constitution of which I used to boast to Watson? Will I ever be the same?