Chapter 8: "Shows His true Colors"
Shows his true colors: Nautical term referring to the flag insignia that a ship displayed so that both enemies and friends could recognize it.
Watson:
I sat beside Holmes's bed for what seemed like an eternity, but what was in reality only close to two hours, just watching his calm, even breathing, reassuring myself that the fever had subsided and he was no longer in such deadly danger.
I checked his temperature once more around nine o'clock, and could have cried for relief when I found it had returned to normal. My friend's pulse was slow but steady – he would indeed be all right after a couple days' rest to restore his blood loss.
As I began to put my instruments away, noting absently how badly my hands were shaking either from reaction or fatigue, I heard the pealing of the front doorbell. Since I could smell Mrs. Hudson's breakfast cooking, thereby indicating she was up and about, I made no move to leave the room and was startled a moment later to hear loud angry voices in the hall.
I threw another glance at Holmes's sleeping form and then softly closed the door of his bedroom, entering the hall and looking down the stairs.
I should have laughed at Mrs. Hudson's ferocious refusal to let the two men up who were standing in the entryway, had I not recognized Lachlan and – that must be one of the men who had attacked Holmes last night, judging from the way that the midshipman was holding him tightly by the scruff of the neck.
My face flushed hot with barely controlled rage, and I took the steps down to the hall three at a time.
"I shall deal with this, Mrs. Hudson," I said angrily, "and would you all please remember I have a patient upstairs?! Lachlan, what is this row about?"
I had landed with a thump in the hall in front of the taller man and was glaring up at him.
"This 'ere's the man that stabbed Mr. Holmes last night, Doctor," the man growled, shaking the cowering little blackguard as a terrier shakes a rat, "I found 'im just over an hour ago down in th' docks – recognized my handiwork here on his face from last night's scrap!"
I could not help but wince as Lachlan indicated what looked like a broken cheekbone and a very nasty mottled mass of purple-green bruises – the seaman must be as strong as an ox, and I for one would never wish to be on his bad side.
But it was less than what the villain deserved, for what he did last night. I set my jaw, thinking of how I had almost lost the only person I had left in the world that I could say I truly cared for; and how close this man had come to robbing me of him.
"Take him up to the sitting room, Lachlan," I ordered, my voice deadly calm, "I have a few questions I wish to put to him."
The man made a sniveling, whimpering noise at my words.
Lachlan was staring at me strangely, but he smirked and then began to haul the man up the stairs by his collar.
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, and then followed.
I peeked into Holmes's bedroom, seeing that he still was resting as comfortably as he had been for the last two hours, and then I entered the sitting room through the bedroom entrance. Lachlan had flung the man down on the couch and was standing in front of him. He glanced up as I entered.
"How is he, Doctor?"
"I – I nearly lost him last night," I responded hesitantly, "his fever peaked at 106 degrees, and it looked very bad there for about an hour. There had to have been a deal of poison or bacteria, or something on that knife for it to spike so high so quickly."
A sudden flush of anger spread over Lachlan's face that turned it into a mirror image of my own.
"Is he –"
"He will live, I know that now," I said, my voice suddenly hardening as I looked at the man responsible. "No thanks to you, sir! What is your name?"
The man glared at me out of the one eye he could use properly, and Lachlan grabbed him and yanked him up out of his seat by his collar. The fellow's face changed from defiance to fear as the seaman's huge hands closed upon him.
"Hawking," the man gasped, looking terrifiedly at me.
"Lachlan," I said in the same cold tone of voice I had used downstairs, "let go of the man."
"What?"
"I said let go of him."
Our client stared at me, but then he released his hold, and the sailor stood trembling before me.
"Now, Hawking," I continued, a deadly calm filling my voice with a suppressed menace that startled even me, "you will tell me why you and your two friends took it into your heads to attack a lone man in the Dockyards last night."
"Not on your life, gov'!" the man said insolently, now that he knew I was not going to let Lachlan touch him.
The seaman's honest face flushed with anger, but I held up a restraining hand.
"I would not be impertinent if I were you," I said, stepping up to the man and facing him toe to toe, "I would like nothing better than to teach you the proper way to answer a question."
The man glared at me out of his good eye, giving a snort of disgust.
"Hawking. I am waiting."
With a foul oath the man suddenly brought his fist up in a sweeping roundhouse toward my face. I promptly ducked under the blow, blocked a second and third, and then landed one of my own on the already broken part of his face that sent the fellow sprawling on the floor with a shriek of pain.
As he fell I could imagine his scream being close to the cries of agony Holmes had made last night when Lachlan caught up with him after he had been stabbed, and my vision suddenly clouded with a blind red fury.
I reached down, grabbed the man, and yanked him up by his cravat, grasping him with a hatred I had rarely felt before in my life. He gasped, clutching my tight wrists, still moaning from the pain of the new injury, and I could hear in his whimpers the same sounds I had heard all night as I tried to save Holmes.
"So help me, Hawking, I should kill you right here and now," I hissed through my clenched jaw, very seriously considering choking off the fellow's flow of air. It would be so easy, so very easy…
"Might be a bit hard to explain tha' to the police, Doctor," Lachlan drawled from behind me.
The sound of the man's calm voice suddenly penetrated my emotionally driven rage, and I realized I had been completely out of control.
Breathing heavily, I threw the cowering man roughly onto the couch and stalked over to our client, who was standing leaning casually against the fireplace watching the scene.
"Can you tell me about this man again, Lachlan," I said, my voice rather unsteady, "I was not listening to you last night. No, Mr. Hawking, you will kindly stay where you are! I have a gun in this drawer and I would be only too thrilled for you to give me an opportunity to use it!"
The man had started to glance surreptitiously at the sitting room door, and I pulled my revolver out of my desk and held it on him as Lachlan and I talked. Evidently the villain sincerely believed I would shoot him if he moved, for he sat as if frozen while Lachlan explained to me about the events in the pub last night.
"I had the very devil to pay tryin' to locate the blighters last night and into this morning, Doctor," Lachlan went on, "finally come across this 'un at one o' the local druggists – 'e was in there buying a painkiller for that face. Soon as I found him I tacked straight round and set my course for Baker Street, knowing he would be of use to you."
A bit of my anger dissipated at the knowledge that while I had been fighting all night to save Holmes's life, our client had also been sleepless, pursuing the men responsible.
"Any sign of the other two?"
"No, Doctor, I am sorry."
"Thank you, Lachlan. You have indeed gone far and above duty being helpful to us," I said quietly, much more in control now. I turned and looked at the man still cringing on the couch.
"Now, Mr. Hawking," I said, my teeth set, "you will tell me why you and those partners of yours attacked that man in the docks last night."
The fellow was holding his broken face, whimpering and looking up at me.
Calmly, coolly this time, I hauled him to his feet and put my face close to his.
"Was it because of the Lansing line?" I fired a rapid question toward him.
His face blanched white behind the bruises, and I knew I had hit home.
"All right, who told you to scare off anyone asking questions about the Lansing line?" I demanded, my patience now non-existent.
The man cowered away from my gaze but shook his head vigorously.
"You know, don't you – and you're afraid of them!" I said, shaking the man a little.
His round dark eyes in his white face were testimony to the veracity of my words. I released the man, shoving him back to the couch, and turned to Lachlan. The man looked at me.
"You shan't get any more out of him, Doctor," he said slowly, "I've seen that look o' fear before – he's more scared of whoever's behind this than he is of us. Which is quite a lot, apparently."
I sighed. "Right then, Lachlan. I shall send for the police. Can you watch - Hawking!"
My sentence ended in a sharp exclamation as the man bolted for the door at the mention of the police. I jumped over the couch after him, chasing the fellow down the stairs. Behind me I heard a hoarse shout from Lachlan but I paid no heed, racing down the steps after the man.
"Hawking! Stop or I'll shoot!" I yelled as I chased him, just as he got the front door open. I would not chance a shot in a crowded street, as well he knew, however, and I shoved the gun into my pocket and followed him out into the bustle of a midmorning Baker Street.
I dodged and weaved around passers-by, trying to keep the man's fleeing form in sight, but I got stuck behind a woman with a cart of fruit and it slowed me down for several seconds. When I finally got round the woman, I reached the street corner and stared about me, breathing heavily, trying to find the sailor in the crowd.
He had vanished.
"Doctor Watson!" a small lad cried, rushing up to me with a cheerful wave.
"Alfie!" I said excitedly to the little Irregular, "I need you to do a job for me!"
"Sure, gov'! Wot is 't?"
"I was just now chasing a man, I need you to try and find him. He can't have got far yet unless he picked up a cab. About my height, dark hair and eyes, navy blue pea jacket. His whole left side of his face is covered in purple bruises. Find him, lad, and I'll give you a sovereign!"
The boy's eyes grew round as saucers.
"What'd 'e do, Doctor? Kill somebody?" the lad gasped in amazement at the amount I was offering him.
"He very nearly killed Mr. Holmes, Alfie. Now hurry, off with you! Report back to Baker Street – and try to get the rest of the lads on it as well!" I said, and the boy nodded and scampered off down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd like a little mouse.
I watched him for a moment, hoping that the Irregulars would be able to locate the man I had lost. And due to my own carelessness. I had been so blinded by hate and anger that I had not kept all my faculties alertly about me. I could see why Holmes did not encourage emotional displays of any kind – it certainly did, as he said, cloud the thinking processes.
I made me way back to Baker Street with a despondent heart, my eyes downcast. As I entered the door and shut it behind me, Mrs. Hudson started into some barrage about 'undesirable characters fighting in my own house!' which I dutifully tried to listen to but failed rather completely.
Lachlan heard my steps on the stairs, evidently, for he hollered down to me.
"Did you get him, Doctor?"
"No," I called back, "he was too fast in the crowd outside!"
This staircase had never seemed this long, and I realized afresh how completely exhausted I really was. I wearily pushed open the door of the sitting room – but our client was not in there.
"Lachlan?"
"In here, Doctor," the man called urgently, and the voice was coming from Holmes's bedroom.
My breath caught in my throat – Holmes! Had he taken a turn for the worse?
I jumped over to the doorway, dashing into the dimly lit room – and stopped short, limp with relief.
"Good morning, Watson," Holmes said softly, looking up at me from where Lachlan was settling him back, propped up against the headboard.
"Holmes," I gasped breathlessly, leaning on the doorframe in my relief. "How – how are you feeling?"
"Rather like I wish I had taken you along last night," he replied weakly, leaning back tiredly against the pillows.
Lachlan came over, took my elbow, and pushed me into the chair beside Holmes's bed. Then before I registered what he was doing, he had left the room and shut the door behind him.
Holmes and I looked at each other a little awkwardly, and I cleared my throat.
"Did I wake you up just now?" I asked hesitantly.
"I do not know who did," he said, "it seemed that there was quite a bit of excitement going on here in the last eight hours."
I nodded, not trusting my voice to very many words just yet.
Holmes turned those keen grey eyes in my direction.
"You still haven't slept yet, have you?"
"Stunning deduction, my dear Holmes. You scintillate this morning," I replied, my shaky voice belying the humor in my words.
Holmes snorted, and his thin lips twitched in a smile. Then his eyes and his voice softened slightly.
"How long was I ill, Watson?"
I thought back – it all seemed like such a horrid nightmare.
"A good seven hours, Holmes," I said, wishing my voice would hold steady, "your fever didn't break until nearly seven this morning."
"It was very high, wasn't it?" he asked, his forehead wrinkling as if trying to remember what had happened all night.
"Very," I whispered, "and – and it rose so fast there was nothing I could do. I don't know what was on that knife but I've never seen anyone get such a dangerously high fever so quickly."
"How high?"
"106 before it finally broke," I sighed softly, the horrible night's event replaying over and over in my mind.
Holmes was silent, his eyes downcast.
"I am sorry, Watson," he said after a moment, his thin fingers nervously picking at the coverlet.
"For what?"
"For – for scaring you so," he replied, finally looking up at me, "I really had no intention of getting into that fight."
"I should hope you don't make a habit of antagonizing gangs of knife-wielding sailors!" I exclaimed.
He gave a dry laugh at my sarcasm but then his manner reverted to something more serious.
"But still, Watson, I am sorry. Lachlan said something to me last night just after I was stabbed that made me think very deeply about how foolish I was, and I promise you – I promise you that I shall endeavor to not let it happen again."
I was curious as to what that was that our client could have said to my friend, but I refrained as always from pressing Holmes for personal details.
"I shall hold you to that promise, the next time you want to go gadding about alone," I warned him, straightening out the tangled blanket he had been picking at.
He grinned, a little tiredly, but it was still his old self. I took a long breath and met his grin with a small answering one of my own.
Our comfortable tête-à-tête was interrupted by Lachlan poking his head in the room and asking if we wanted breakfast.
I laughed aloud – I had completely forgotten the man! He grinned at our expressions and disappeared into the sitting room, returning in a moment with a tray.
"I have to say, Mr. Lachlan, that we probably should be splitting whatever fee we will get for this case with you, for you seem to be doing your share of the work," Holmes said as the man handed me the tray.
Lachlan's blue eyes danced merrily.
"Got to give that blessed landlady of yours a break, gentl'men. She's a real woman, that one! I have to say, I am rather surprised she 'asn't tossed the both of you out on your ears by now!"
I snickered as I poured the coffee, for the same thought had crossed my mind more than once over the years.
"Lachlan, won't you stay for breakfast?" Holmes asked, glancing at me.
"No, no, gentlemen, I must be shoving off –"
"Oh, come along, Lachlan," I said, handing him a cup of coffee, "you need to tell Holmes what you discovered about the Friesland last night, anyhow."
Holmes sat straight up in the bed, forgetting about his injury, and I nearly dropped the coffee pot when I heard his choked cry of pain as it made its presence felt harshly.
"Lie still, you bleedin' idiot!" Lachlan barked sharply before I could remonstrate with my friend.
"My thoughts exactly," I agreed, glaring meaningfully at Holmes. He made an immature face at me and turned his attention back to Lachlan.
The man went on to detail over our excellent breakfast what little he knew about the Friesland and what he had found out about her in the course of the last night during his search for the men who had attacked Holmes. It was not much information, but combined with what they were now discussing that they had learnt in the pub, it seemed a fairly solid lead.
Holmes was firing questions at the man with a rapidity that amazed me, considering how weak he had to be feeling, and I myself was barely keeping my eyes open, coffee or no coffee. I had not slept at all last night other than that one hour before Lachlan had shown up with Holmes, and I was physically and emotionally drained completely.
I did not realize they had stopped talking until I became aware that there had been a minute or two of silence, and I hastily jerked my head up and opened my eyes to see both men looking at me, Lachlan with amusement and Holmes with fondness.
I glared at both of them, daring them to make fun of me.
"Go to bed, Watson," Holmes said gently.
"Wake me in three hours, Holmes," I mumbled sleepily, stifling a yawn, "I shall have to recheck that dressing for infection by no later than twelve. And Lachlan – you were up all night as well, make sure you get some sleep before you go back to your work."
My muddled brain having performed the necessary medical instructions, it now proceeded to shut down rapidly.
I was nearly out on my feet by this time, so I did not hear the seaman's response nor did I really care at that moment about anything other than getting to my bed upstairs, which suddenly seemed very far away.
"Oh, Watson?" I heard Holmes's voice behind me, and I turned, rubbing my eyes clear.
"Yes, Holmes?"
"Thank you, my dear fellow," he said simply, flashing me a warm smile.
I managed a tired grin in return, relieved in the extreme that he appeared to be fine after such a dreadful night, and stumbled up the stairs to my room; not even bothering to turn down the covers before falling on the bed in an exhausted deep sleep, content in the knowledge that all was right again.
For the immediate present, at any rate.