Doldrums and Deep Waters

Chapter 7: Invasion of the spirits

I awoke at some point during Thursday feeling as ill as I have ever felt in my life. Anyone who has ever consumed the best part of a quart of strong liquor at a sitting will therefore understand how hideous my misery had been on the preceding day when I say I felt better in myself. The misery now was little more than that of a man who has knowingly poisoned himself, and is reaping the rewards whilst leaning over the bathroom furniture which has already seen far too frequent usage.

It must have been mid-morning, or perhaps afternoon, when a gentle knock sounded at the bathroom door, and Holmes entered in response to my weak acknowledgement.

"I feared as much," he said, his mouth twitching at the sight of me. "I saw the empty bottles. You look gorgeous."

I could only groan eloquently.

"I have brought you some water. I have stirred in a little salt and sugar, to make a nine percent solution of each. As I am sure you would tell me in a similar situation, you will need to replace lost fluids."

"I shall just bring it back up again." I whispered, unable to speak any louder.

"Then you shall drink more, bring it up again, drink more again, and bring it up again ad infinitum. Your body will know how to take care of its needs, so long as you provide it with the substrate to do so."

I sat up a little, responding to Holmes' masterful nature as usual. He helped steady my hand and guide the liquid to my mouth. It was blessedly cold, but I spluttered as I detected the salty taste hitting the back of my throat.

"Ugh, nasty!" I was incapable of embarrassment at such a childish utterance, and compounded my words by trying to push the glass away. Holmes was relentless, and virtually forced me to take another sip.

"Come along, Watson, swallow it down."

I gagged as I obeyed.

"Oh, Holmes, I think I'm going to...."

My friend hastily moved aside, tactfully averting his eyes from my predicament. However, as soon as my breathing had returned to normal, I felt a cool cloth wipe my forehead, and then he was compelling me to drink again. This time, he was more successful, and by dint of a gradual process with several setbacks, I managed to take over a pint.

My condition had now improved, from almost moribund to merely decimated. Holmes, tired of crouching upon the bathroom floor, suggested we repair to the living room, and offered me assistance whilst my unsteady legs attempted the journey. He then helped to establish me on the sofa, propped up with the afghan tucked around me, and a basin, just in case, clutched to my chest.

"By Jove," he teased, as he collapsed into his own chair. "Now I begin to see why you became a little tetchy on the few occasions when I have rendered myself in a similar situation."

"I am terribly sorry, Holmes." I moaned. "I am sure I'll be absolutely mortified when I have the energy to spare. Thank you for your assistance."

"Today, I shall overlook it. I shall even refrain from smoking or chemistry or violin practice until you feel rather more the thing – but it would not do to make a habit of it. Do you think you could tolerate a little tea and dry toast?"

"I shall try." I replied, eager to please. I was slowly coming back to myself. I did manage to take a small amount of sustenance, watched approvingly by Holmes.

"How is your case?" I asked, as I cautiously finished the slice in my hand. My head ached abominably, and, to be entirely honest, I had little enthusiasm for the answer, but I felt honour-bound to listen after his exertions on my behalf.

"Progressing well, Watson. I shall further inform you in more detail when you are capable of listening with the smallest degree of interest. For now, suffice it to say, I have discovered how he has been eluding me. I am not the only person capable of utilising outside help, it would appear. It has been necessary for me to play least in sight, and lull him into a false sense of security; this appears to have achieved the desired end. One of our targets has dropped off his prize to one of Dix's shops. Dix was in absentia, but I fully anticipate he will return to inspect the merchandise tomorrow, and arrange for payment. We then have a warrant for his arrest."

"Does this mean another all-night surveillance for you?"

"No, no. Quite the opposite. He will prefer to visit his establishment during its opening hours. He has an appointment with his legitimate supplier until ten o'clock, which will give us time to occupy the surrounds in an unobtrusive fashion. I do not anticipate there being any action before eleven in the morning, but I have placed a watch, of course. Sometimes, one must delegate."

"I am sure the tale is fascinating in its entirety, and that you will forgive me enough to relate in to me when I am recovered from this ghastly self-inflicted condition."

Holmes smiled. "You are easy to forgive, my friend. However, I am curious as to why you suddenly developed the need to pickle yourself. It is not like you. I will go so far as to say you have not been yourself for some days now."

"I am aware of it." I muttered. "Would you be awfully offended if I postpone explaining myself until I feel rather more articulate and strong-stomached?"

"Not at all," he replied, suavely. "Take the time to recover yourself a little. I shall occupy myself with my current books. Perhaps this room will seem a trifle less oppressive when I have cleared some of the paper avalanche I have created. You should try to sleep. I find ethanol's slumbers to be unsatisfying, notwithstanding their depth."

I nodded, then regretted the movement. I closed my eyes, relieved at least that the world had ceased spinning. I slipped into an exhausted doze.

I awoke some hours later. For a moment, I sincerely hoped I would find myself feeling much improved. It was with a sinking sensation that I began to identify all was not well. I was shivering violently, and soaked with perspiration. I believe the headache had awoken me, and it throbbed agonisingly. There was an edge of nausea persisting, and an awful metallic taste again. As I attempted to process these observations, I noted that my very thought processes seemed sluggish and woolly.

Worst of all, like an oily seepage of dark matter, the depression was returning. I could feel it, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness like an intruder. A strange terror seemed to possess me at this alien invasion of my mind, yet I was helpless to prevent it as, yet again, it stole in, to infiltrate everything I was; body, mind and soul.

Which just goes to show you should not rely upon alcohol to solve your problems. Although, he did seem a little happier when he was hungover. Hair of the dog, perhaps?

Please continue to read and review! Continued in chapter 8.