"There is no news in fear, but in the end its fear that drowns you." - Anne Sexton (1928-1974),

Chapter 26: "Fear"

Holmes

"Watson."

"What?"

"Do stop worrying; it will not do any good, you know."

"At least it allows me to do something," he replied morosely, staring out over the water as we watched the clouds beginning to gather on the horizon. The brewing storm would be here by this time tomorrow.

"You are still angry with me, aren't you?"

"No, not angry. Just – I just wish you had told me at the time, Holmes," he replied with a small sigh, not looking at me but out at the grey sky, than down at the choppy water below us. He shrank back, shaking his head.

"That really is a deucedly low railing," he changed the subject, thereby indicating he had forgiven me as he always did.

I made a swift decision to never deceive him so drastically again, even for his own protection. The deception hurt him more than the truth would; and one of these days I should push his limits (though I doubted seriously that he had any) and might never be forgiven.

We were standing on the second-class deck, having prowled round at my suggestion to see if we could locate Smith as well as finding out the housing placement of the people who had fallen ill of odd ailments in the last few days.

The scattered placement of their staterooms on all three decks gave me no clue as to where Smith was basing himself from – there was absolutely no reason or pattern in the people who had been infected.

So far, three casualties and over a dozen others probably on their way to a similar fate. Smith had to be stopped, and he had to be stopped now, as soon as I could lay my hands upon him.

Or very likely, as soon as he could lay his hands upon me, for now that I had sent Ainstree that telegram warning him that I needed the ingredients to any antidotes he had concerning the diseases Smith had been working on in 1890, the man would no longer have an excuse for keeping me alive anymore.

I kept a sharp eye out, glancing round us at the shadows we passed, hoping that Smith did not have a blow-gun or some such weapon; we should be helpless if he did.

I heard footsteps behind us and Watson and I both whirled round warily, and I heard the click of his revolver cocking in his coat pocket.

But it was only Lachlan, glancing about him to ensure that he was not seen talking so privately to two passengers.

"What have you found?" I asked in a low voice, leaning against the railing.

"One more passenger ill, Holmes, and I just heard that two of the crew are as well – I'm on my way to check on them now," the man said, his honest face tinged with underlying worry and tension as he kept walking toward the aft of the ship and the crew's quarters.

"We will wait for you here," I told him, "be quick, because I need to know the symptoms. If Ainstree gets my wire and returns any information, we may yet be able to save lives if he knows what the diseases are."

"Right, Holmes. I shan't be but maybe ten minutes," the seaman replied, vanishing down the aft companionway toward the crew's quarters.

Watson

The wind had picked up as the sun began to set, sending a rather chilly breeze blowing over the second-class deck. I watched Lachlan disappear down the stairs and tallied up the count of ill and dead on the ship since we left London only a little over two weeks ago – it was simply monstrous.

The man was deranged and sick – and he had to be stopped.

The air was growing moist, indicating the storm was moving in with fair rapidity. I looked out at the cold grey water and shivered. I was sincerely glad that Smith was not in the habit of sinking the ships he attacked – I could not swim a stroke even in fair weather, and I had no desire whatsoever to learn how in an approaching storm like this.

Holmes was walking up and down the small deck, pacing away his frustration at inactivity. I was feeling rather claustrophobic from the low ceiling of the promenade deck above us, and I was about to suggest going above when Holmes suddenly stopped short, turning to scan the shadows around us with piercing eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"I thought I heard something."

"Just the wind, Holmes. And you say I have an overly dramatic imagination!" I teased him.

He quirked a half-smile but the worried look did not leave his face as we began to pace up and down together, waiting for Lachlan to return.

"You sent that telegram this morning, Holmes; and if you are right, then Smith had replaced one of the wireless operators for the purpose of intercepting it. Then why has the whole day passed with nothing happening at all?" I asked, puzzled.

We halted beside a companionway and Holmes turned to look at me thoughtfully.

"I suppose he could have been too busy finding ways to infect people – and he may be waiting until dark, Watson. Smith is brilliant, but he is not the type to openly just come barging into our stateroom with a revolver and shoot us in a direct confrontation. He is far too underhanded. He is waiting for a chance to strike when we have let down our guard."

I shivered.

Holmes

I was nonplussed as well by the fact that nothing untoward had happened all day to us. Knowing Smith, he would waste no time in ridding himself of me at his earliest possible convenience – why then had he not attempted it yet today?

I supposed he could be waiting for cover of the approaching storm, but it still did not seem very like his vindictive nature. I shook my head in some bewilderment, and Watson and I headed back toward the crew's quarters at the aft of the ship.

We had nearly reached them when I saw a furtive movement out of the corner of my eye in the shadows we had just passed.

I had only just time to shout a warning to Watson before we were set upon by three strongly built men.

Smith had not wasted any time after all.

Watson

The fight happened with such rapidity that I had only a second's warning after Holmes's shout to me before I was engaged in fighting off a burly fellow weighing at least two stone more than I and carrying a heavy club.

I had no time to get my revolver out of my pocket; I had barely time to dodge the first stunning blow and frantically try to remember the self-defense maneuvers Holmes had hammered into my head over the years.

I dodged two more blows before being able to come up inside his last swing and ram my elbow hard into his stomach. He screamed in pain and clutched at it, giving me an opening at his face.

My right fist connected solidly with his jaw, but the man was strong as an ox – it appeared to have not shaken him in the least!

Dismayed, I ducked under the swinging club and tried again, only receiving a hard blow to my shoulder for my efforts, felling me to one knee.

As I dodged another swing that could have taken my head off, I absently worried about Holmes and his two attackers – how was he doing?

Too late, I saw that club coming hard at my head, and I had no time to do ought else but throw my arms up in front of my face, groping wildly to stop the swing. I connected with the weapon and grasped hold of the thing desperately.

The thug I was struggling with cursed and tried to shake me off but I held fast, knowing that it occupied his hands at least. He was jerking the stick back and forth, trying to get me to let go, and I clung even more stubbornly.

But I did not notice until it was far too late that he was forcing me close to the low railing of the second-class deck.

Holmes

Smith was not as brilliant as I had given him credit for – he obviously did not know me well enough to know that these two fellows were no match for my boxing and Baritsu skills. Even with the advantage of clubs, they were relying on brute force instead of skill as I was, and I was not having any great difficulty in overcoming them.

I dispatched the one by a neat application of leverage, landing him up against an iron pole; his head fetched up against the hard metal and he lay still at last. That left the smaller of the two, and I started carefully weaving out of the way of his huge sweeping swings; obviously the man was an amateur.

I had just ducked a rather bad attempt at a left cross and landed a blow to his midsection and followed it up by a crashing blow to the jaw when I heard running footsteps and a familiar voice shouting an order to stop the fighting – Lachlan was returning, thank heaven.

But the relief that flooded over me was suddenly and violently shattered as another cry, a very frightened one, reached my ears. Lachlan hauled the thug off of me and I spun round only just in time to see that the man Watson had been fighting with had shoved him too close to the low railing, and they were struggling on the brink of the deck.

As if in slow motion, my body frozen and unable to stop it, I saw his frightened eyes widen and heard his cry for help as their struggle grew too violent and without warning they both teetered on the edge – and then went over the low railing into the water below!

"Lachlan! Stop this ship!" I gasped, the sudden terror sweeping over me making my voice shake almost uncontrollably.

I struggled out of my jacket and kicked off my shoes. I had both hands already on the railing when Lachlan called back to me.

"Holmes, wait! You're not going to be able to help them – we'll pick them up when she stops!"

"Watson can't swim, Lachlan!" I shouted back to him.

I barely saw the horrified shock register in his blue eyes before I turned back to the cold grey water, scanning its depths for a sign of where they were now, choking down that icy lump of fear.

Wait – there, far to the left I saw a head break above water briefly before going under again. I cursed under my breath; we were moving faster than I had thought. I dimly heard Lachlan shouting the alarm of man overboard before I took a deep breath and made a clean dive off the low deck into the water below.

Watson

I am the farthest thing from a fearful man as one can get – Holmes has described me as level-headed and sensible to the point of being stolidly dull at times. But once I land in water over my head, panic takes over rationality in my mind. (1)

When I felt myself falling over that low railing I panicked completely; I really could not swim a stroke and in consequence had always harbored a lurking fear of water. Few people knew about the weakness, for I had told no one save Sherlock Holmes – and he had learnt it completely by accident.

It all happened so quickly that I was not prepared for the coldness of the water, and in consequence I gasped when I hit, filling my mouth with the burning salty bitterness. I struggled furiously to reach the surface, not even knowing which direction was up.

I absently wondered where my attacker had fallen to, but my main worry right now was getting my head above water – I was already choking. Finally my head came above the water and I coughed violently, trying to catch a breath and attempting desperately to remember what Holmes had tried to tell me about staying afloat.

But I had not even caught one deep lungful of oxygen before I again slipped below the surface, this time absolutely panicking, all logical thoughts fleeing from my frenzied mind – I was going to drown!

Holmes

The water was the coldest thing I had felt since the mountain streams of Tibet – it nearly took my breath away when I first hit it, and I spluttered a good deal upon coming back to the surface from my dive.

I took a long breath, gasping for air, and suddenly the water lit up round me as the ship's searchlight was turned onto the depths. Good. Now, where was he?

I scanned the grey murky liquid round me frantically, knowing that Watson would not have been able to even keep himself up for more than a few seconds – where was he? I could not see anyone in the water, neither him nor the fellow he had been fighting with.

Dear God, no. No, no, no. Please.

Then I suddenly saw a dark disturbance in the water several yards away and struck out for it, my franticness fueling me with an energy I did not know I possessed.

Watson

I cannot ever recall being so frightened, so absolutely terrified in my life – I couldn't breathe, my lungs were burning from a lack of oxygen, and no matter how hard I tried I could not seem to move toward the surface.

I could not hold my breath for more than a few more seconds now, I was already growing weak from the lack of air…I had to break above the water…it was not supposed to end like this!

Holmes

I grabbed the shadow in the water and then cursed – it was the man who had pushed Watson overboard.

I am by no means a heartless creature, but at that moment I had not the time to see if he were alive or not. Nor did I care, even a little. My dearest friend was out here in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, drowning because of him.

I shoved the man back toward the light that was following us, knowing that someone might be able to pick the unconscious fellow up before I found Watson.

And if they did not pick him up, it was no more than he deserved.

Where was Watson? I shivered in the water, thoroughly chilled in body and mind, sick to my stomach at the thought.

I am not a praying man by any means, but I was certainly praying then, hoping a kind Providence that I had been guilty of pointedly ignoring in the past might take pity upon me and answer.

I swam in a circle, trying to spot anything in the water, any sign, any ripples, anything at all.

Nothing.

I paused for a moment, treading water, peering frantically round me – and then I saw Watson, only twenty feet away, finally break above the water for what looked to be the last time, choking and struggling frantically at this point.

With a whispered prayer of gratitude I instantly struck out for him and caught him just as he slipped under again.

Watson

My lungs felt as if they were on fire…I couldn't breathe, there was water over my head for what seemed like miles…I was drowning!

I fought desperately, my self-preservation instincts starting up even after my mind had already registered the fact that I was drowning, and I still feebly struggled for the surface, what I hoped was the surface, knowing in my heart that I was not going to survive this.

All at once I felt air above my flailing hands and suddenly I got one breath. This did nothing but set me coughing as the water in my lungs protested the arrival of oxygen. I struggled desperately to remain above the water, but I knew it was of no use, I was too weak.

I made one final effort to stay afloat, thrashing about wildly in an effort to keep my head above water, but I felt myself slipping again. Panicking, I struggled frantically, my arms and legs flailing, but they were heavy as lead and cold as ice – I could barely move them.

I choked as I took in a mouthful of water and felt my head start to go under for what I knew would be the last time…it really was going to end in this sordid fashion…

"All right, Watson, I've got you – stop struggling!"

Something grabbed my thrashing arm and yanked my head above water again, and through the ringing in my ears I heard a familiar voice.

I choked and coughed, the water in my lungs burning my throat.

"Watson – stop struggling – you'll pull us both under! I have you – now stop it, man!"

That cold clear voice snapped a frantic command that finally registered in my desperate mind and for a moment I was thinking lucidly.

But then I started to slip under again and the panic returned; I couldn't drown now, not with help right here?

My mouth filled with water again and I choked, my struggles becoming weaker. I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist and a hand pulled my own arm round a pair of thin shoulders.

My head was spinning now, my ears were ringing, and I could not hear what he was saying to me, but I was suddenly blinded by a bright light round us in the water, and something landed with a splash a few feet in front of us.

Holmes held me close to him and reached out to grab the life-preserver, bringing it back towards us. I clung to the round flotation with a devout prayer of gratefulness, my teeth chattering from cold and fright.

Holmes

It was a lucky thing that Watson was half-drowned when I reached him and his struggles were feeble, for his fear and panic were so great that he probably would have drowned us both, for I would never have let go of him and he would have pulled me under as well.

I snatched at the life-preserver, pulling it towards us as I became dimly aware of shouting on board the ship above us. Watson let go of me to cling to the flotation device, latching on with both arms in a death-grip.

I grasped the device with one hand and comfortingly rubbed his shoulder with the other as he choked and coughed – he had to have swallowed an enormous amount of water, and I knew his stomach would be rebelling shortly.

"Easy, old fellow, it's all right now," I murmured shakily as his gasping breathing erupted into another coughing fit, glancing above us to see the slow progress of our prospective rescue – for the love of heaven, had they never had a man overboard before?

Watson moaned and shivered violently, probably from fright as much as from cold. Then he dissolved into another coughing bout, producing a good bit of seawater, his body wracking with the painful movement.

I saw his grip on the life-preserver was slipping and I wrapped a strong arm round his waist again and tightened my other hand's grasp on the device, feeling him trembling with fear and the reaction of the closeness of the thing.

He took a long shuddering breath at last, still shaking all over, and then glanced over at my worried face as we waited for the rescue to commence.

"I – I h-hate water!" he gasped weakly, trying gallantly to manage a small sense of humor.

"I know, old chap," I returned soothingly as he coughed up some more of the stuff – what was taking those confounded seamen so long?

Watson moaned again, going limp against me after the fit had passed, and then he took a ragged breath and again glanced in my direction.

"Thank you," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning against the life-preserver.

I blinked rapidly and convulsively tightened my grip on my friend in the cold water, fervently glad that I was soaking wet at that moment.

For then no one could tell that the salty drops on my face was from my eyes and not the cold grey ocean.

(1) Many thanks to Igiveup for inspiring part of this chapter from her story "Deep Waters" – please go check it out after you leave a review, won't you?