Keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key.
All's Well That Ends Well
William Shakespeare (All's Well that Ends well)
Chapter 32:"Keep thy Friend"
Watson
"Thirst, shaking, a slight fever and some disorientation…that's all so far. It's not as bad as all that, Holmes."
My friend was not listening. He was pale, his face set in a stony mask as he refilled the glass that I had dropped and brought it back, holding it out for me to take.
I reached for it and could not quite keep control of my hand. Holmes gently took hold of my wrist and pressed the glass into my hand.
"Thank you."
I sipped the water slowly as he had said, concentrating on getting it down my dry throat.
Holmes had still not spoken but watched me and after a moment or two I began to feel somewhat self-conscious. I lowered the glass.
"Holmes, I am all right so far."
"So far."
His blatant, monotone voice cut me short and I saw that his brows had lowered and his eyes had gained a particular steely sheen which I have seen only a few times.
I shivered and took a shaky breath, the effort costing me more than a normal breath should have.
But Holmes interrupted a second time.
"So far, yes…and it will go no farther."
He took the glass from my unsteady hand and laid it on the table.
"Watson, I want you to rest here."
"Where are you going?" I demanded, clutching at his sleeve as he put his hands on my shoulders, not only wanting to keep him from running amok on the ship but also because I was not thrilled at the prospect of being left alone.
"Never mind, Watson, rest here and I will be back," said he, trying to get me to lie down.
"Holmes!"
He looked straight at me then for the first time since he had declared Smith to be the culprit and his face was a mindless mask of rage and pain. He glared at me with gritted teeth.
"By heaven, Watson, why didn't you tell me?!" he snapped, shaking me.
Then just as abruptly he released my shoulders and stepped back, the rage replaced by shame and embarrassment at having lost his temper.
"I'm sorry, Watson I…" he stopped, took a breath. "This should not have happened, the case was closed, Smith behind bars." The pain resurfaced in his expression. "For heaven's sake, Watson, how did he infect you? Why did you not tell me earlier?!"
I quelled the alarm that had risen in me at his abrupt show of temper. "I didn't know."
Holmes closed his eyes and swore under his breath, his fist clenched and quivering as though longing for a target, but of course there was none to be had. Then he turned to me again and spoke in a soft, controlled voice.
"Watson, I think it best if you rest here a while," he repeated.
"You are going to see Smith."
Holmes nodded tightly.
"I would prefer to come." I said.
"No, Watson, I don't -"
"Holmes."
I took hold of his arm, and he looked at me again, and I saw just how worn and worried his face looked.
That I should be infected for real this time, and feel the same terror of that terrible night, was bad enough, but Holmes…
My friend would consider it his fault, would blame himself as he did with every dodgy outcome of his investigations. Even in his defeat Smith had discovered a way to affect my friend in the worst possible way, and to perhaps cloud his judgment.
The least I could do was show some measure of firmness and strength and go along with him…heaven knew I wouldn't be able to show it for much longer.
"I'm coming with you."
He scowled and his voice took on a reassuring tone as he tried to reason with me.
"Watson, you need to save your strength."
"I would far rather use my strength while I have it," I said. "I cannot just wait here. Not any more than last time."
Holmes frowned and I think that if he could have found some way to force me to rest he would have.
At last he sighed. "If your symptoms worsen then I am bringing you straight back."
I smiled in a show of confidence that I did not really feel and accepted his hand as he drew me to my feet.
I was pleased when the feeling of vertigo that had attacked me as I rose from my bed did not present itself again, but I could not keep from shivering, nor could I shake the leaden weight of exhaustion that had settled over my limbs.
Holmes drew on his coat and shoes and went to the door. I followed, bracing myself with one hand on the wall.
Holmes noticed my sluggish movements and his scowl deepened but he said nothing, instead returning and drawing my left arm over his shoulders, taking quite a bit of my weight. Together we made our way out the door towards the stairwell.
To my surprise we made our way not to the brig but towards the crew's quarters.
"Lachlan?" I asked.
Holmes nodded. "He can get us in to see Smith, and I wish to try a conventional means first before I break down the door."
I might have laughed had not the situation been so dire and my friend so grave. It was obvious that he was quite serious, and the fact that he spoke of such things in such a calm manner only alarmed me further. His temper was there just below the surface, and heaven help the man who got in his way. Because of his barely controlled fury, he cared not if we were caught in the crew's quarters, which were off-limits to passengers.
I coughed as we stepped up onto the deck, the cold air assailing my lungs, earning me another worried look from Holmes and a tightening of his hold.
I muttered some reassurance or other and went on in a show of normality that I did not feel. The cool air had a frightening effect on my already chill limbs, freezing the sweat on my face, making me shudder more frequently and worsening the tremors that shook me already.
It lasted only a moment though for we reached the aft staircase and were once again enveloped by the warmer air of the interior of the ship.
Holmes traversed the darkened hallways admirably and we came swiftly to the door of Lachlan's cabin.
My friend rapped on the door lightly, keeping hold of me as he did so.
There was a slight scuffling inside and after a moment the door opened to reveal Lachlan, looking as alert and ready as he had the morning he had come to Baker Street in the early hours. He really was a very light sleeper.
His brows were furrowed in confusion until he saw us; then they swept up again in surprise before plummeting again in concern.
For once the sailor said nothing, standing still as a statue, simply staring at us with a worried frown, as though hoping that we would vanish as a part of some nightmare.
It was Holmes who broke the silence at last, his tone sharp and impatient.
"I need to see Smith, Lachlan. Now."
Lachlan's mouth opened to speak, and then he looked me up and down, took in my condition, and closed it.
Then his face hardened like that of Holmes and he snatched his uniform jacket off a hook on the wall, pulling it on and drawing ahead of us, leading us down the hall towards the brig.
"This way…stay close."
His pace was somewhat rapid and Holmes moved to match it, pulling me off balance slightly. My friend turned an apologetic look on me as I stumbled. But I shook my head before he could speak.
"I am fine, Holmes."
The worry did not leave his face though it became hard-edged with anger. "No…you are not. That is the problem."
I shook my head again and lowered it, concentrating on keeping pace with my friend on the polished boards of the floor that passed seemingly without end beneath my feet.
In a short time we drew up to the door that led to the small cells of the brig. A sailor stood guard there and with a few quiet words Lachlan dispersed him, taking the keys which the officer used to unlock the door.
Then he turned to us.
"I'll stay out here, to make sure you're not disturbed. Doctor, perhaps you would care to wait with me?" His gaze was critical and concerned.
I opened my mouth to retort, feeling some resentment towards the sailor for one of the first times, but I was interrupted by Holmes.
"I think it best, Watson. He may be less resistant if he does not see…" my friend's voice broke.
"His handiwork," I finished softly, understanding now that my presence would only inhibit Holmes from this point on.
The detective frowned at my choice of words but did not disagree.
"Yes."
I nodded and slipped from his grip, making my own way to steady myself against the wall.
"Be careful."
Holmes gave a very feeble imitation of his usual reassuring smile and accepted the keys Lachlan pressed into his hand and closed the door behind him.
Lachlan gave a shaky sigh and drew the guard's stool towards us with his foot.
"Sit down Doctor. Holmes'll have my hide if you collapse here in the hall."
I sat, not because I wanted to, but because my shaky legs agreed in full with Lachlan.
Holmes
The cells were dim, but I could make out the shadowy figure of Smith sitting on the bed behind the bars of his small cell.
He did not move but drawled as I entered the long, narrow room and closed the door firmly behind me, not wanting either of my companions to hear what was about to transpire.
"I only deal in certainties, Mr. Holmes."
I turned to him, trembling with a rage that I have rarely felt.
He smiled as I glared.
"You yourself said it."
His taunts had as much effect as gnats do to an angry animal, for I was already in a rage.
I approached the cell took the key out and placed it in the lock, letting the door swing open on its creaky hinges, the sound echoing eerily through the room.
Smith's face fell for the tiniest instant. He had not been expecting that. His eyes flew quickly to the door, no doubt waiting for the guard to emerge. But upon seeing none he faced me again and his face resumed its arrogant façade of confidence.
His very position was aggravating, lying back on his bed with his arms behind his head and his legs crossed, his coat draped casually over the bars of the cell.
For a moment our gazes remained locked, and then he spoke again more seriously, though with a smirk.
"I warned you that I was not one to be taken so easily. You have tangled with me and again you pay the price, albeit in a somewhat indirect manner."
The thin film of control that had been keeping in my rage snapped and I seized the smaller man by his collar, dragging him from the bed and flinging him against the opposite wall.
"How dare you!" I spat as he stumbled and caught himself with one hand on the bars, regaining his feet, the smirk still firmly in place.
"I am surprised he means that much to you, Holmes…he is after all only another expenditure, a tool. You use him like I used the ships of the Lansing line."
The remark spurred me, heating the inferno that already raged inside of me. I slammed my fist into his jaw, knocking him to the side, and he stumbled and hit his head on the bars. I landed a low blow to his stomach.
My inhibition was gone, I only knew that I wanted him to feel some of the pain that he had caused…was causing.
But his next remark, spoke hurriedly and with a shortage of air, stopped me in my tracks.
"Amazing how easy it was!"
He watched as his words had the desired effect and seeing my reaction he smiled and straightened, continuing.
"What a simple matter it is to infect someone…provided you have contact…even for a moment."
My heart plummeted.
Of course…after our escapades in the storage room. He had tackled Watson, had overpowered him, and in that moment it would have been a simple matter to prick my friend's arm with a needle or a sliver of wood or any manner of unnoticed materials.
And in the events of the attack Watson would not have noticed. I remembered now Smith saying in the dining area that he had one final surprise for me; at the time I had imagined he was speaking of the hidden gun. No, he had been talking about – about this.
My breath came hard and fast and I approached Smith again, pulling him roughly to his feet by his shirtfront.
"What did you do?! What did you infect him with!?"
Smith smiled.
Watson
The moments dragged into minutes and I lowered my heavy head into my shaking hands, trying to wait patiently for Holmes to finish.
But I could not remember ever feeling so uncomfortable, not any certain pain but just a general unwellness. My limbs shook with exhaustion and the chill that had settled, seemingly into my very bones.
My elbows and knees and every joint that I bent began to ache and I shifted, trying to relieve them.
I felt a hand grip my shoulder reassuringly but took little comfort in it.
Holmes
I shook him like a terrier shakes a rat and his head came crashing into contact with the bars again. His hands seized my wrists but I was stronger than he in my rage and he could only glare at me.
"What did you do?!" I demanded again, shaking with pent up fury.
How I longed to do away with him, to thrash him soundly, to kill him even. But this was more important. Watson was more important.
Smith sighed through his nose and when he spoke it was with the controlled voice of a scientist discussing something cold and unattached.
"It is a new specimen, one I discovered quite by accident. It is unknown to the men of my field and I have only just begun my studies with it."
I shook him again. "The cure, Smith?!"
His glare increased but he managed to brace himself against my onslaught, his grip tightening on my wrists.
"I have developed one, yes, I always do. It works quite beautifully."
"Where is it?"
The smirk returned.
"You already know that I will not tell you, Holmes. How would that benefit me?"
Yes, I knew…I knew only too well. Smith was as cruel and vindictive a man as I had ever met, and just as he had denied to help me as I lay on what might have been my death bed in Baker Street, he would have no qualms about refusing help for Watson.
It was a cruel twist of fate that required me to ask for such aid from such a villain, and that the fate of one good man's life lay in the hands of a being I considered less than human.
I swallowed hard; I would not beg him. He would only take satisfaction in it, dangling the knowledge I needed before me, in sight but never in reach. Pleading would avail me naught.
"What type of specimen?" I demanded. "A virus, a fever…what?!"
He smiled calmly once again and I felt my stomach squirm with disgust.
Watson
"Doctor?"
The voice rang softly in my ear, urgent, worried; by its tone it was clear that it was not the first time that it had called me. I jerked my head up, wincing as the motion made the sore muscles on my back and neck pang.
"What?"
Lachlan was watching me with that unnerving blue gaze, his face an open expression of concern.
"Do you feel all right, Doctor?"
An irrational irritation rose within me. I wanted him to go away, to be left alone. His presence was not a comfort, merely a nuisance. I just wanted to curl up into a corner and forget my surroundings.
But I forced myself to smile and nod as well as I could.
"I am fine…just tired."
Holmes
Smith sneered at me ruthlessly.
"What…and spoil the surprise?"
I nearly lost my control then, but he would only gain pleasure from seeing how much his words affected me.
"What?" I asked again, giving him another harsh shake. "What did you do to him?"
Another eerie smile.
"It is a fairly simple pathogen, rather like the one you yourself contracted during our first acquaintance. He has at least three days before it kills him – I would enjoy his being alive while you can, Holmes."
My throat ran dry and I tightened my grip.
"The fever?"
Smith laughed.
"No, the fever will rise fairly high but it will fluctuate. It alone will not bring death to a strong man."
"What else?" I demanded, grating the words between my teeth, trembling badly as if ill myself.
"I think it would be better for you to discover that," the fiend said coldly. "It should not be long before his symptoms worsen."
I snarled and slammed him against the wall, but he lost none of his confidence.
There was nothing I could do to him and he knew it – I would not kill the only man who knew the cure.
And as though some vengeful fate had been listening to his heartless words there came a sudden shouting outside the door.
"Holmes! Holmes!"
"Not long," Smith said again with a smile.
I dropped him, throwing closed the door of his cell and snatching up the keys, hurrying out of room to the hall.
An abrupt jolt of terror ran through me as I took in the scene before me, and then I was kneeling beside Lachlan at Watson's side.
"What happened?!"
"He fell," Lachlan gasped out as I took hold of my friend's shoulders and turned him over as gently as I could manage.
"Watson."
My friend's face was several shades paler than before and he was shaking uncontrollably, shuddering violently beneath my hands.
"H-Holmes."
He was awake, for his eyes opened and fixed on my face with a look of terror. His hands came up to clutch at my jacket, they twitched and spasmed.
But it was his breathing that alarmed me, shallow and far too quick. His chest rose and fell rapidly with every labored gasp which he pulled in raggedly through his throat.
He groaned and flinched, his hands releasing my jacket to clutch at his stomach as he attempted to curl in on himself, his face twisting, still shivering, fresh sweat beading on his forehead.
"H-Hol-lmes!" he gasped again.
"I – I'm here, Watson." I heard my own voice shake and attempted to steady him by bracing his shoulders, painfully aware of my own inability to help.
I could see the fear in his face, and that sickened me more than anything else. Watson was the bravest man I knew, and now he was in the grips of something that terrified him, a horror as no one should ever have to endure – death by an exotic and painful disease. He was scared.
And so was I.
"it's all right my dear fellow– I've got you," I said, trying for his sake to make my voice calm, "What's wrong…where…"
His eyes met mine, still clear and alert, then they closed again and he turned his head, groaning, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle.
"Watson!" I put my hand on his forehead and spoke in the forceful voice that I reserved for those moments of danger when obedience was imperative.
He slit open his eyes and peered at me.
"Tell me Watson."
He let out his breath in a slight whimper and spoke quickly in gasping breaths.
"Spasms…cramps…can't…"
He broke off with another groan, the effort costing him immensely.
"Holmes I can't breathe…my throat's constricting!"
I swallowed, the fact that he was a medical man and could understand what was happening only made it worse.
He cried out, his head snapping back, his hands clenching on my coat again.
I took hold of his arms instead, trying to keep him still, to stop the painful convulsions as he twisted in panic.
"Holmes!"
"Watson, calm down, calm down and try to lie still. Try to breathe slowly, one after another old fellow."
He nodded weakly, his hands grasping desperately to hold onto me, and I looked over his head to meet Lachlan's eyes – filled with a desperation that had to be only a fraction of what was filling me right now.
He raised his eyebrows and glanced meaningfully at Smith's cell. I shook my head in defeat at his unspoken question.
"Would you like me to try a different brand of persuasion, Holmes?" Lachlan asked with a low menacing growl, his own voice shaky and unnerved by Watson's condition.
"No," I replied, turning my attention back to Watson as he let out a violent shudder, his breaths rasping harshly in his throat, "I need your help. Leave Smith for now."
Lachlan nodded
"Only for now, Holmes," the sailor replied between clenched jaws. "Only for now."