Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: Watson's beard

Close Shave

"Awake, sir?" a familiar voice said. "Ah. Good. Time for a shave."

"Murray?" John Watson blinked open his eyes and peered dully at the smiling face before him. "Murray. Thank God! You're all right."

"I'm fine, sir." Murray smiled. "And you are safe, sir. Back in Kandahar. Be moving you soon."

"Kandahar?"

"Remember?" Murray grimaced with concern. "After the battle, I brought you here."

"The battle?" Watson made to rise but shocking pain racked his body. Shoulder and leg screamed and blackness took him.

"Sir? Don't try to move, sir," Murray's face, suffused with concern, reappeared. A foggy haze swarmed around him.

"The regiment?"

Murray pressed his lips together and shook his head sadly.

"Bad?" asked Watson.

"Bad, sir," Murray confirmed. "But you're safe. A lot of the lads are safe, too. They're here in hospital. Most will be moved with you."

"Who?"

"Well, I've seen Tanner. You recall that cavalryman whose ankle you let me splint? He took a bullet to the ribs. Not as bad as it could have been. Doctor says he'll recover well enough to return to duty. And there's Purvis, sir. The other orderly that helped us. Broke his leg. He'll be back on his feet in a few weeks. Says it itches awfully. Asked me to get him a pint of rum. Can't be too much wrong with him, eh?"

"No rum with his medicine," Watson croaked.

"I know, sir. Don't try talking anymore. Just lie back and I'll give you a nice shave. Doctor said it would be all right. Can't be looking like one of the rankers when the colonel comes around, can you?"

Watson smiled weakly. The sound of a shaving brush in a tin cup floated in from nearby and a moment later, Watson felt the stiff pig bristles spreading lather on his chin and cheeks.

"They tell me we'll be reinforced soon," Murray said as he plied the razor to Watson's cheek, scraping away whiskers and soap. "You won't be with us. Don't worry about that."

"You go with them?" Watson asked.

"Aye. Been reassigned. I'm to attend Dr. Marple, sir."

"Marple?" Watson searched his memory until the image of a chubby, red-cheeked gnome of a man came to him. "He's a good surgeon. Knows what he's doing. Pay attention. You could learn much."

"Don't speak, sir," Murray cautioned, running the razor up under Watson's chin. "Save your strength."

"You could do well if you study, Murray," Watson said earnestly.

"Really? Thank you, sir. Now just hold still while I get your throat. Don't want to nick you. There! That's better." Murray wiped the razor on a towel and began on Watson's other cheek. "Dr. Marple seems a good chap. His previous orderly caught one in the belly. Died yesterday. Suppurated bowel, I think it was. Bad fever, I know."

"A friend?" Watson asked.

"Not really, sir. I knew him in passing. Now let me get your upper lip. Nice and clean is the way we like it. Right?"

"I was thinking I might grow a mustache," Watson said, mustering a weak smile.

"Shall I leave it then, sir?" Murray asked brightly.

"Yes. You know… how… the ladies love… a man… with a mustache."

"Ha! That's the truth of it, sir. You'll be going where there are sisters aplenty."

"Going? When?"

"I don't rightly know, sir," said Murray more seriously. "Not sure I'll see you again before then. I'm getting Dr. Marple's things organized. We lost most of the baggage and he needs supplies and things before he can go out, you know."

"My books," Watson began but was cut off by a cough.

"Lost the ones we brought, sir," Murray said. "Anything not essential was dropped."

"Not those books," Watson said. He closed his eyes as Murray wiped a cool, damp cloth over his freshly shaven face. "The ones I left behind. There is a large one. Black binding."

"I know the one, sir," Murray assured him. "Everything will be collected and sent to wherever you end up. No worries."

"Not what I was intending," said Watson and focused on his orderly, finally seeing his ruddy face clearly. "I want you to have that book. Study it, Murray. Learn everything you can. Get back to England. Don't be a soldier anymore."

Murray looked down on the ailing doctor, emotions roiling. Though they had not known each other long, the time they had been together had been concentrated. A lifetime compacted into months.

"Well, sir," Murray finally said with a genuine grin, "I suppose it will keep me from getting bored."