From goodpenmanship: poison

Directly follows #4 Case on Delay

When I was nine, my father and I moved to an island in the middle of the ocean. No crazy cities. No strangers, neighbors, or even acquaintances to interrupt our quiet. Not even domesticated animals making their noise behind the house. We preferred it that way. We ate what the island provided. We made most of our things ourselves, and what little we could not make or cook, we purchased from an old captain that promised to keep our secret…

That looked interesting. One hand against the bookshelf steadied me to my feet. If I had read this book before, I did not recall it offhand. Perhaps I had forgotten enough detail to make it a new read.

Unlikely, but a lack of immediate recollection did suggest I had purchased or found it shortly after moving to London, which was good enough. I had just reached my chair when the door below opened, then quickly slammed shut.

"Doctor, there is another flower on our step."

Another one?

My book dropped to the cushion as a quick hand against my chair prevented me from sitting. After the last one had proven poisonous, I had warned Mrs. Hudson not to touch the flowers someone had been leaving for nearly a week, but I had not expected another so soon—or even at all, considering how quickly Holmes had left earlier. She waited quietly for me to limp across the sitting room.

"This one's bigger," she told me as soon as I leaned over the railing. "Looks like hogweed."

Which meant I could not simply let it blow away, I thought with a sigh. Hogweed burned the skin on contact. Anyone who so much as brushed any part of that plant ended up with large, infection-prone blisters. I would have to bring the cutting inside for Holmes.

Except half-healed injuries protested the storm drenching the streets. I had not wanted to deal with the stairs for a while.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Doubling back to the sitting room retrieved my cane, then slow steps gradually descended to where Mrs. Hudson still waited. I pretended not to notice the way she edged closer when I had to rest near the bottom, but a moment's thought provided a question.

"Do you still have that brown paper you found in the alley?"

"It's in the kitchen," she confirmed, still watching me. One hesitant step took her toward the hall, though she waited until I lacked only a couple of stairs before she finally left. I reached the entry well before she returned.

"I didn't see anyone out there." Passing me the stack of heavy paper let the twine fall. She bent to retrieve it, adding, "but I also didn't look. Do you want to weigh it down instead?"

I shook my head, leaning my cane against the wall. Almost every doctor could easily identify such a toxic plant, but most of the general populace saw it only as a curiosity or ornamental flower. Leaving it on our step risked any of the Irregulars deciding to take it for themselves.

As Mrs. Hudson knew. She held the paper steady as I carefully used different portions to lift and wrap the blooming stalk without touching the plant. Several minutes resulted in a large, crudely wrapped but safe bundle, and I started fighting to juggle the awkward shape as well as my cane.

"Let me."

No, I could do this, but the bundle disappeared before I could get my balance. Her shameless grin answered my attempt to scowl at her. Apparently taking a lesson from Holmes' actions the past couple of weeks, rapid steps climbed many times faster than I could manage, and she merely rolled her eyes when returning found me three steps up and still frowning.

"There is no shame in letting me take it upstairs, Doctor. You would not expect your patients to work so hard. Why do you push yourself?"

Because they should not have to do for me. I did not say as much, however. Several seconds and a quiet "thank you" sent her back down the hall, and I focused on reaching the fire.

A few seconds' rest. Grip the banister. Another stair. Repeat. She did not need to speak for me to know she hovered just out of sight, and I never hated my injuries more than when their presence burdened others. Worst of all, recent months had suggested they might never fully heal, might render me half-crippled for the rest of my life. Mrs. Hudson should not have to pause whatever she did in her rooms to keep an eye on me.

"Watson?"

Nor should Holmes have to slow down. Less than a year sharing rooms had proven my flatmate a man of constant motion. I would not let my more fragile health interfere with the life and career he fought to build, and I firmly concealed my discomfort to glance back—though a scowl escaped when Mrs. Hudson's footsteps faded with the closing door.

"What did you find?"

"The flowers and the murders are connected." Several papers slapped the entry table though most of his attention remained on me. "What was delivered?"

How he did that, I would never understand. "Hogweed. I wrapped it in paper, and Mrs. Hudson put it in the sitting room. Do not touch it!"

Something I hesitantly named excitement flickered across his face, and he bolted around me, one hand waving off the warning as he disappeared up the stairs. I nearly cursed when my leg prevented me from following.

"Holmes, don't unwrap that! The plant burns whatever it touches!"

"I know." He hurried back down the flight of stairs before I could conquer one, the bundle under one arm and a reassuring glance for me. "Stay there. This may provide the last piece of the puzzle."

Skipping every other step, he avoided me yet again to drop the paper in the middle of the floor, and careful movements lifted several edges before he found a spot that let him view the plant.

"Excellent."

"What is it?"

"All in good time." He darted back up the stairs but quickly returned with the notes he had left on his desk. "Have you any plans today?"

Only to hide from the damp cold. I much preferred helping him, and I barely caught the twitched grin that announced I need not answer that question. I posed one of my own instead.

"Are you going to tell me what a poisonous weed has to do with bodies in the Thames?"

Of course not. He paged through his notes only long enough for me to don my hat and coat and retrieve an umbrella. The door clicked shut behind me as he waved a cab.

"Where are we going?"

Still nothing. The address he had called belonged to the nearest telegraph office, but he would not ask me to accompany him there. When yet another question received only silence, I sighed and settled into my seat. Wherever we went, the diversion would be more interesting than a half-forgotten novel in a silent sitting room.

Hope you enjoyed! Yes, I do plan to finish this thread eventually, but when depends on the prompts, lol

THANK YOU to those who reviewed :)