I tried to write a tale that highlighted both the gent's abilities - Holmes gets his chance soon!

Chapter 3

I found the paper had slipped from my hands, and the rustle of it hitting the floor brought me back to myself.

Trains are outside the rhythm of normal life, I mused. When on a long train trip, one is apart from the world, and the regular interruptions do not exist. There are few distractions on a train to keep one from retreating into memories that are brought forward simply because there is no press of life to keep them back. It crossed my mind that perhaps this was a fainter version of what Holmes experienced between cases - with nothing to actively occupy his mind, he had to find other ways to engage it or, perforce, slip into memory. Fortunately, no cases could reasonably come to this compartment door, and with luck, no callers with a medical emergency. We would remain in a pocket of time, responsible to no master but our own thoughts.

Likewise, there was no possibility of certain Yarders dropping in for a cup of tea and a need for Holmes' guidance, thinly disguised as a chat.

OoOoO

That last had rankled – Gregson had the effrontery to practically demand Holmes' presence one afternoon after one of the – thankfully fewer - trying nights only twelve days after he had been shot, and it was at that point I had decreed a two week rest in the North, knowing the landscape there would suit as a seaside cottage wouldn't. I had marshalled my arguments thoroughly, and was quite prepared to pull rank as his attending physician if friendship did not weight the decision; but Holmes had merely looked up from his lap desk, from the monograph he was penning, and agreed.

"You are looking somewhat peaked," he added offhandedly. "You really should take better care of yourself."

I brindled for a second – in whose cause had I been labouring these last days? – but he was grinning slightly to himself, casting small glances at me as I worked through the gibe – my own thoughts were somewhat slower these days. But the friendly humour was both an irritant and a relief – it was the first time since his wounding that I had seen a glimpse of the sharp wit return. It was a small thing but of mighty comfort.

"Seriously, old chap, you do not need to dance attendance on me. I'm much improved, as your colleague indicated, and more to the point you said so yourself. But I know how thinly you've spread yourself, Watson. Lestrade has been more than usually amiable –" it was true, when the Inspector paid his visits I often took the opportunity to withdraw and tend to the smaller items of life, content that Holmes was with someone trustworthy. "…and he has finally told me what happened in the church after I became…no longer interested in the proceedings."

His voice had an odd catch in it and I crossed to him swiftly. He had lain back against the pillows carefully, and now reached to move the lap desk. I stayed his hands and removed it to a corner of the bed, pushing papers aside and avoiding upsetting the inkpot, then turned to him again.

"He is – almost - in awe of you, Watson, will he show it or no. He described the surgery, and your mastery of the situation. Frankly, I believe you have superseded me in his regard!"

I smiled at the slightly wondering, slightly petulant tone in his voice. I had, entirely by accident, heard the conversation Holmes had mentioned, during one of Lestrade's visits I had work to do in the study and the door was left open, by accident or design I never knew and never asked.

Their voices had not been terribly quiet, and I had heard my friend ask after "any interesting cases down by the Yard, Inspector?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade had responded with a chuckle, "I've strict instructions from the Doctor that my visits are only allowed if I don't talk shop – at least not yet."

My friend muttered something, and then lit on an alternative. "If you won't provide intellectual stimulation, will you at least satisfy curiosity?"

"If I can," the Inspector's tone was wary.

"What, exactly, occurred that evening? Watson is proving adept at dodging the subject and I own I am most curious, having been otherwise occupied for much of it."

Lestrade let out a startled laugh. "Otherwise occupied! Well, I suppose that's one way of saying it."

I heard the chair creak as he settled himself more comfortably. "I marshalled the troops in response to your message, and we made immediately for St. Jude's," he started. "When we got there, we heard a gunshot – it must have been the one that injured you – Gregson was for simply storming the church, but I squashed that idea. If I've learned nothing else from you, Mr. Holmes, it's that information is all."

"Very admirable," Holmes granted. "Please, go on."

"I took three men and we made a quiet entry. We split up to cover the aisles and moved into the nave, and they had strict instructions to assess the situation but not to take action that would cause further threat to either of you. I don't mind telling you…"his voice trailed off, belying his words. "I saw you shot, and the Doctor standing over you like some angry lion defending a downed pack member, I was frightened for the outcome. I didn't see how I could get a good angle on Dabney without alerting the rotter, and he was ready to pull the trigger on a breath…" he paused. "Still, I didn't see the whole lay of the land so I kept going, keeping to the shadows, and I saw the Doctor had a gun in his wrong hand, concealed in the folds of the coat."

"Ah. I thought I'd managed to give him mine unobserved."

"Indeed – sharp thinking. I thought it was a slim chance, most aren't good with the off hand, but I tipped a pew for a distraction. The sound alarmed Dabney and the Doctor took the shot – and what a shot, Holmes, pure poetry, straight and true. I have never before seen its' like, and in those circumstances."

"Those circumstances are not as foreign to the Doctor as all that."

"I know, but I sometimes forgot somehow - you know he doesn't present himself with that attitude - that he was in the Army. Not likely to forget again, though. He turned his whole attention to you as I made certain Dabney was no longer a threat, and then told me that the wound was serious and demanded immediate attention. His idea of immediate was impressing the Reverend Warren and I into service, clearing the Reverend's desk and setting me to boiling up his instruments. I had no idea he carried a small kit on him."

"In his inner pocket, yes. A complete small surgical kit with catgut and scalpels. He carried it in Afghanistan as a habit that he never broke."

"A most fortunate habit," Lestrade agreed. "The Reverend he set to boiling up the tools and finding clean bandaging, while I became his assistant. How he did it…" there was a pause in the tale, and I realized Lestrade was briefly overcome.

The man had performed admirably, under unaccustomed circumstances – had I ever thanked him for helping to save my dear friend's life? I could not recall.

"He worked with astonishing speed and focus," the Inspector carried on, covering for his lapse with a sip of tea, as the clink of the cup to the saucer told me. "The Reverend returned, they kept a small dispensary in the church, for their charitable work – there was sulfa to be had, and sheeting and gauze for bandages. Once the Doctor had finished, he issued orders that brought you here, instead of to hospital, he was concerned about infection."

"Very wise," Holmes commented quietly. "Fortunately, due to his exceptional abilities and commitment to cleanliness, I did not need to endure even an initial infection."

"If I ever need it, he'd be my surgeon of choice," Lestrade agreed. There was a brief, slightly awkward pause.

"Thank you for telling me, Inspector." Holmes said finally. "I was quite curious. I rather wish I had been in a position to observe Watson in his element!"

"I'd just as soon not consider that his element if you don't mind, sir. And I would think he wouldn't either." His voice was quiet.

"Of course, I was simply thinking aloud. As you know, Watson tends to hide his light under a bushel! Now, you're certain you can't tell me anything of the London criminal?"

"If you're serious about needing something to think about, I have a very old case that I am working in my off times. I can tell you something of that, but I ask one favour – if you solve it before me, don't tell me? And don't tell the Doctor I gave you the detail."

"If I solve it before you," there was a smile in my friend's voice, but to his credit he was completely serious, "I shall parcel out the occasional hint, if I see you truly going utterly in the wrong direction. As to the other, my lips are sealed."

"Fair enough." Lestrade drew a breath, then started on a tale that would have seemed absurd, but for the fact we had dealt with far stranger in the past. For me, I simply kept working, putting the finishing touches on a tale that was sadly overdue at the publishing house.

And when Lestrade did leave, I made certain to thank him properly for his efforts. He actually coloured slightly.