Chapter Seven – A Fall

Perhaps it was the idea or the implications of not being human that made Sherlock Holmes forget himself. Watson had certainly accused him of such on many an occasion. Or maybe it was his stubborn nature that kept him healthy for years despite numerous cases, experiments, and weather conditions that worked against him. Either way, when Sherlock Holmes fell victim to illness, it was an illness to be remembered for three reasons:

There were few instances in his life to remember ever being sick.

Common colds that did not render him bedridden did not count.

He was overtly careful and cautious when it came to cleanliness…most of the time.

To put it simply, Holmes was a man who had a system, disorganized and disturbingly repulsive to any normal Englishman, granted, but a man with a system who was also a scientist in many aspects of human life. To a scientist disorder was order. Things in his world were attentively measured, meticulously maintained when called for, and promptly forgotten when uses outweighed worth and significance. When experiments failed, more often than not they were tossed aside in disappointment, not for lack of attention or care.

Were one to look into the mind of Sherlock Holmes, one might find two doors, one leading to information that was useful, and the other to a waste yard of discarded theories, abandoned chains of thought, and the occasional assumption that landed him into a fit of frustration or one of his more volatile tempers in need for some kind of data. Without data, without the daily exercise of information running around in his cranium, Holmes could practically feel the complacency settling in. If he were ever to openly admit a fear, and only to Watson of course, it would be the normalcy of every day living. Needless to say, sickness fell into the large category that described the bulk of the agonizingly boring and normal aspects of the human condition, no matter the severity.

Sherlock descended into another coughing fit that seized his entire body and forced it into curling in on itself solely for the sake of lessening the pain. Though subconscious the movement was, it was a motion in vain. There wasn't a place on or in him that he could say did not ache or throb with weakness. When he sneezed, no matter the state of the roaring fireplace at his bedside, his bodily state was worse yet. His thoughts were sluggish in the midst of a nasty headache.

Being the man he was, he would have been dragging his feet along the riverside for more evidence if it weren't for the fact that he didn't have the strength to move from his blasted bed. All the handkerchiefs he owned were dirty, filled with bodily fluids he'd rather have expelled all at once and not a little bit at a time when his cold felt like it. He didn't like breathing through his nose when sickness was assaulting his senses. It had a distinct and distracting smell that overpowered every comfort imaginable.

All of this in the middle of a case no less! It had to be her fault. Their little war seemed tempered to him not yesterday, but perhaps that had been the needed lull that seduced him into a false sense of security. Women were cunning when it came to things like that. And making him ill was not something he would put past his dear interim landlady in her efforts to reclaim her writing utensils.

Yesterday was proof that he was making progress with her. Yes, that was certain, however…

A shiver shot up and down his spine, compelling him to burrow deeper into the cool sheets that couldn't seem to retain any warmth from his body whatsoever. Perhaps he could hold up in this room until this cold passed and keep the woman at bay as well. But that would mean locking his door. And that would require getting out of bed. Not for the first time that morning did he wish Watson was by his bedside instead of a snoring Gladstone.

"It's a bit dark for the likes of your mother," Elias Andrews said, after their tour of the Baker Street boarding house. "And a touch too elegant for something like a proper home. But it suits the purpose I suppose."

"A pain in the bum to clean, right," Richard asked with knowing smirk.

Elias frowned at his son's language but did not reprimand him.

Caroline nodded with a smile.

The three Andrews' sat in the front parlour on the first floor with tea and cranberry scones between them. Richard did warn her of coming to tea sometime soon, but she hadn't expected him to bring her father along. And what surprised her even more was that he wanted to see the residence, all three floors of them. Richard had sent her an apologetic glance before they started, but it did little to quell her worry.

Ever since his fall from the front steps of their house their father did little in looking after himself, preferring to ignore doctor's orders and pretend that it hadn't happened at all. She looked over to him when he wasn't paying attention and noted the creases around his eyes and on his forehead. Richard noticed too, but said nothing and returned to his cup

"So where's this Holmes bloke-"

"Richard," Elias warned.

Caroline said nothing and quirked an eyebrow at him, as if saying 'You're asking for it.'

"Sorry," Richard muttered.

"Where is the rascal, sweet pea, upstairs? I was looking forward to meeting him."

'Indisposed,' she signed. 'I believe he's sick. I've heard coughing all morning but when I try to see to him he won't let me.'

"Noble," her father commented over his cup. "Probably doesn't want to get you sick, dear."

'Perhaps, father. But what can I do?'

Richard smirked. "Well nothing if he's going to be a stubborn prat-"

A form whack from the cane shut Richard up, but not without a short and contained cry of pain.

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep that kind of language at the warehouse where it belongs?"

"It won't happen again-"

"You see that it doesn't." Elias turned to his only daughter, who had her head turned away in innocence, and continued the conversation. "You might give that doctor friend of his a ring. Wouldn't do to have you both sick at the same time."

'It could just be a cold, father.'

"Or it could be something worse. I know the thought passed through your mind-and it's a precaution you need to take. Not just for yourself either. God knows what that man gets into with his experiments."

Caroline looked at her father, confused. 'You know him?'

Elias Andrews looked up and his face was blank for only a moment before he spoke. "Of course, dear. We were colleagues. Worked on a few projects when he was still in his university days. Came up with a damn good solution for cheap mortar too. Don't you remember?"

Caroline shook her head, thinking back to her childhood but finding nothing.

"Hmm, well he didn't come around too often. You might have been out with your mother."

Caroline would have blamed it on her memory if she hadn't seen the look on Richard's face, a look that mirrored her own not a few seconds ago. When they left, and Caroline was washing up in the kitchen, the conversation was still stuck in her mind. If her father and Mister Holmes had worked together before, he as her father's assistant even…why didn't she remember? Surely she would have…

Coughing again, upstairs.

She stopped midway through cleaning the serving tray and sighed. He was sounding worse with each passing fit. Perhaps she ought to take her father's advice and call on Doctor Watson. But then again, she hated to bother the busy man if it was nothing more than seasonal congestion.

Sneezes.

A moan.

Maybe her lock pick was in order, since he locked the door on her the last time she knocked…Yes, that was what she would do. She would check on him by force and if the situation warranted it, she would fetch the doctor. So she left the tray in the sink, dried off her hands and went in search of what she needed before venturing into his flat. She didn't even bother to announce her presence this time, choosing instead to pick the lock without ceremony. Quick work was made of it and Caroline entered the room without trouble. No traps or tricks, just a poor man nursing something awful in his bed. She went right over and immediately noticed that he was shivering…under nothing more than the bed sheets.

Stupid fool, she thought to herself as she went in search for some blankets.

Opening the closet had been a shock; it was one of the more organized nooks in the entire flat. But no blankets to be found. Well, perhaps a coat would do for while she searched. It was well worn and soft to the touch, but most definitively warm, which was what the poor man was desperately in need of right now. When she settled it on him, he didn't wake, but she was happy to see the shivers die down a little.

Nothing out in the open.

Nothing under the bed.

Nothing in the dresser.

All that was left was the chest at the foot of the bed which, of course, was locked. Caroline spared herself a moment to glare at the incapacitated man in bed before setting to picking that one as well. She hadn't spent three seconds on her task before she heard something halfway between a droning whisper and a groan.

"There are spare blankets in Watson's old office."

Caroline's head shot up to find the detective with his eyes still closed. Deciding to take the pick with her for good measure she made a run for the room that was separated from the sitting room by a retracting set of double doors. She pushed one aside, entered the cool room and noticed a pile of them in the closet. She returned with as many as she could carry and dropped them in front of the fire so they would be warm by the time she needed them.

She refilled the glass of water at his bedside, gathered all the handkerchiefs and tossed them in the basket of laundry to be done, and returned with a few clean ones of her own in the meantime. The detective had turned on his side, away from her and the fire, clutching at what little warmth the coat had to offer. He had a thought to snap out a retort when she took the coat away, but as soon as she covered him in the warm blankets his body could no longer complain and the words died on his dry lips.

Once she laid the fifth and final one on him, she sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his forehead. He regarded her with thinly veiled curiosity and a little bitterness, but she ignored him. The heat under her hand was worrying, more so the fact that he wasn't even sweating under it.

"You're thinking of getting Watson," he said in a hoarse whisper.

'What would you have me do? You are sick.'

Holmes jerked his head away from her hand. "I'll not have him in this house while I'm incubating this damned virus."

Caroline was not pleased at his attitude, nor at the words that were clearly fueled by the fever. 'If your aim is to play the martyr-'

"It's not. It's necessity-"

'You need a doctor.'

"And the doctor, whose wife is newly pregnant, does not need what I have."

Caroline's eyes widened and she sat back as she thought on that logic, finding it frighteningly sound. It was indeed a risk to call for Doctor Watson if that was the case. And Mister Holmes didn't seem the type to lie about something as serious as that, not when it came to a close friend of his. Caroline had a sneaking suspicion that Watson was the only doctor that Holmes consulted or allowed to treat him for things in the past. Either way, that placed the both of them in a predicament. She was no doctor herself. And to pretend to be one could prove something regrettably harmful.

Caroline thought on this a long time before responding. 'If you get worse, I'll not promise a thing.'

Holmes sniffed and wiped at his nose with one of her handkerchiefs. "If that becomes the case then any doctor other than Watson will do."

Caroline pursed her lips. 'Will you even let them in the door?'

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I would. Their choice of treatment, however, may prove difficult."

Caroline rolled her eyes and sighed. Then she jumped off the bed and ducked when a powerful sneeze forced Holmes up from his prone position. He moaned from the force of it and fell right back from whence he rose. Before she left to tend to the laundry she readjusted the blankets around him, took the key for the door, pocketed it, and closed it behind her.

Caroline had intended to abide by the detective's wishes…she really had, but when the doctor showed up at the door after she finished with the laundry, wanting to know if Mister Holmes was in, she couldn't help but let it out of the bag. Once Watson heard of Holmes' illness, without any explanation as to why he wasn't called, he went straight upstairs. Caroline followed closely behind, but stayed at the doorway.

"I told you not to let him in," Holmes groaned.

Caroline at least had the decency to look as ashamed as she felt on the inside.

But Watson was not deterred. He strode over to his companion's bedside and saw to his condition immediately. "Your gratitude is immeasurable, old boy. Now, what have you done to yourself this time?"

"Take care Watson," Holmes hissed, grabbing hold of Watson's jacket lapel and dragging him down so he could be heard. "She's managed to incapacitate me, but I won't have her ensnare you in this web of revenge either."

"What," Watson asked, completely confused, although his friend's physical condition was becoming more clear with each passing second.

Surprisingly, Holmes turned his gaze to Caroline, who placed a hand against the cool doorframe to steady herself against a slight dizzy spell. Probably from those stupid stairs-"Won't admit it, will you? Not in the company of another person, a witness to your crimes against me."

Caroline turned worried eyes to the doctor. Mister Holmes didn't talk like this to her, and not with such a murderous look in his eyes. She tried very hard not to flinch or shake under that gaze, but the memories that were surfacing before her eyes made it hard not to. So she lowered her gaze and tried to gain control over herself. Her head was beginning to pound and her strength was starting to wane.

Nerves. Surely nerves.

"First the tea, the scones, then the ink-if you truly wanted to poison me then you'd best take note and get it right the next time-if there is even an opportunity for it."

Caroline looked up at him, at a loss for words, and a little hurt that he would think she would turn their playful game into something malicious. Was that what he truly thought? If so then why had he facilitated it? Why make her go through all the trouble…Did he think she was that kind of a person-Why had he defended her from the Inspector-What was it all for-some bigger game? Her face was heating up. It made her dizzy to even think that-

"In case you were wondering you've done a piss-poor job of it-"

"Holmes-" Watson exclaimed.

Her knees felt weak. She felt like he had just slapped her across the face with that kind of declaration. Perhaps she deserved it. It wasn't as if-

"Are you completely incompetent or have you lost your senses in your quest to make me suffer? There are certifiable imbeciles running the streets that could have done it ten-times better than you, shouting their plans all the way to the finish-"

"Holmes, that is enough," Watson shouted. Once his point had been made he lowered his voice, but not his tone. "You are sick with a fever and need to rest. Do you understand me? Calm yourself this instant!"

Though Watson's displeasure had been noticeably clear, Caroline still left the room. She would have gone downstairs and outside for some air had she not felt so weak all of a sudden. She leaned against the banister and looked down at the house below her. In her mind's eye she looked back at the girl that stepped through that door for her first day. So naïve, innocent with rightly placed fears and insecurities about herself and she world that she was asking to be let back into. Why did she ever want that?

"Lydia?"

She turned, eyes glossy and throat scratchy. 'His eyes…they were so hateful.'

"I'm sorry you had to see that, but it was the fever. Holmes is not in his right mind at the moment. I guarantee you that he would have lashed out at me had you not been there."

Caroline didn't notice it at first, but as soon as Watson had finished speaking, she knew what had initially surprised her. 'You understood me?'

Watson sheepishly smirked. "I've been doing some studying. I don't know too much, but from what I gather, much of any language, spoken or not, is intuitive until you know it fluently."

'How is he now?'

"You were doing all the right things," he said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'd much rather break his fever with heat than with the cold, but we'll just have to be careful that his temperature doesn't rise to high. I'd advise checking it by the hour. If it rises any farther than where it is now I want you to fetch me. He'll need plenty of fluids, tea and broth, as well as anything light that he can stomach. "

'Anything else?'

Watson looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if he had just seen something important. "Plenty of rest, for the both of you. You're looking a bit peckish yourself-"

'I'm fine, please-'

He pressed a hand to her forehead and even when she tried to wave him off he persisted. She thought nothing of it until she stopped to look at the worry dawning on his face. "Lydia, you're burning up."

'I am not.'

"Yes you are. You've got a cold sweat on you-How are you on your feet?"

Caroline shook her head, and instantly regretted it. She felt her hand shoot out to grasp the banister for support. Her ears were ringing, louder than usual. And her vision was getting fuzzy, going in and out of focus. Sitting down seemed a good idea. Why hadn't anyone thought to put a chair out here on the landing? That hand was back on her shoulder, hooking around her arm as if it knew she felt dizzy too.

"…-help you up to bed," he was saying. "You're in no condition to-…"

Rain was beating against the window. It was raining. And the laundry was hanging outside. She watched as her feet started moving, one in front of the other. But the strange thing was that her body felt numb, as if she were trapped inside a cage and being forced to look out. Talking. Jumbled words-were they words?

Someone called her name.

Not her name.

She tried turning around but her feet were dragging on the spinning carpet.

"Watch the staircase!"

And then there was no floor.

Part one! It's a shortie I know, but putting this and the next chapter together would have been too much methinks. So, cliffhanger! Part two soon to follow. Review?

-Rainsaber