Fathers and sons (chapter 5)
Watson's night was a troubled one, he was plagued by nightmares he simply could not avoid. Usually he would seek relief in the form of a late night walk of the room or a glass of water before settling in to a peaceful sleep, but now, his mind just wouldn't cooperate and remained clouded refusing sleep.
He was aware of a gentle voice in the background of his dreams that seemed to speak to him. He would latch onto it, an escape from his demons, but it was only ever temporary relief. No matter what easing the voice brought to his dreams, when his eyes closed the images of his parents came to life and once again plagued his mind forcing him to relive those sad days of the past; the vivid images of them suffering and their accusing glances at him to not being able to help them.
"Oh father, I was just a little boy. What could I do to save her?" It wasn't my fault, why must it fall on me? I never wanted it to happen, but what could I do? Every excuse in the book comes to mind, but they all fall short before tumbling past his lips.
"You simply stood there and watched her dying, and now you come to me and it's the same old story. I should have known you could not help me. I should have killed myself a month ago instead of waiting for you. You are not worthy your title!" The words, they sting, like salt to an open wound and John barely holds back the flinch as the insults fly in his direction.
"Please, father, if there was something, anything to help you I would do it without hesitation. But there is no cure for your illness. I have already told you that," John pleads softly, trying to reason with his father.
"You came here just to remind me how old I am and how young and healthy you are. You're telling me I have to accept my fate, that I am old and I must die. Well, I don't need you anymore, John. Go back to your life and leave me!" The bitterness runs through the words in full force, John can hear it, worse, he can see it in the way his father's face reddens in anguish and his mouth curls into a frown bordering on a snarl.
"You're not yourself, father, please calm down!" There's no use reasoning with him now, but John still tries, he tries his best to calm his father, but each word sounds forced and only adds to the aggravation.
"I don't want to repeat myself. Get away from me! Leave me alone and never come back!" This time John can't hold back his flinch as the words hit to his core. Never come back…
"No, no, I cannot do it, please…" begging, pleading, please don't do this father, I can't, I'm sorry.
The dreamscape fell away suddenly as the doctor felt a sharp slap on his face, opening his eyes he was startled to find a set of concern filled dark grey eyes looking down at him as he became aware of the strong hands gripping his shoulders.
For a moment he felt disoriented, the pull of sleep still latched on his brain, but slowly he began to recognize his surroundings. Heaving out a shuddering breath, he relaxed in Holmes' arms, feeling his weak body being enfolded in a tight embrace; he gratefully accepted the comfort his friend was giving him, a caring gesture that slightly improved his mood. He rested his head on Holmes' shoulder and relaxed at his magic touch.
"I was dreaming, of my father…" the doctor explained.
"I know"
"He told me I am not worthy my title…"
"Watson, I did not know your father but I am sure he was proud of you. You were at his side when he needed; you did what you could to help him… It was just a dream…"
Watson sighed and released himself from Holmes' embrace shifting so to face him.
"I know… Things are just getting blurred now… I can't think straight…"
"That's for the gash on your head… The doctor said you would be confused and disoriented for a while…"
"Holmes! I am a doctor myself, you know!" he replied tiredly.
"How could I have forgotten about it? Believe me, Watson; I am glad he was here when I came back last night…" the detective breathed.
"Did I scare you? I don't remember anything…"
"You scared me twice since we've been here, Watson. You will have to be more careful."
Watson visibly paled at his words and Holmes instantly regretted to have spoken them aloud. He noticed the perspiration on his forehead and the grimace of pain when he shifted in the bed. He decided it was time for his friend to get some real sleep. His questions could wait until tomorrow, at least.
"Watson, I think you should try to get some sleep." he coaxed as he helped maneuver the Doctor to lie down once more. "Are you hurt?"
"Head hurts but I feel fine. I don't think I can sleep anymore… I keep dreaming about my family… Ow, Holmes, wait… God, my back! It hurts…" he stiffened as the muscles in his back tensed and he gripped Holmes' shirt fiercely.
The detective had been informed his friend might suffer some discomforts as a result of the injury, so he was ready to help, the relaxant the local doctor left him remained on the dresser just in case. First though, he had to calm him down before he even tried anything else. Carefully he rolled his friend on his side and began to massage the charged areas on his back where the beginnings of many livid purple bruises were forming.
"Why does it hurt, Holmes?" Watson asked his friend in a little voice.
Holmes was not sure how Watson would have reacted, but he knew he would never win an argument on medical issues with him, so he told him the truth.
"Because when you fell, the bookcase collapsed on you. All those books came tumbling off the shelf crashing down onto you; imagine a waterfall of bricks, that way."
Holmes felt his friend gasping and shivering at the idea and he could tell by the silence his mind was working on processing this new information. He waited for a few seconds before asking him what he had on his mind.
"But there is no permanent damage?"
"No, no permanent damage. How are you feeling?"
Watson breathed a sigh of relief before answering "a little better, thank you."
Holmes helped him to lie down again and injected him the relaxant. The doctor did not ask what he was administering him, a clear sign he was in pain. When he returned to sit on the chair near the bed, he noticed his friend was clearly worried and agitated and he instinctively squeezed his hand to offer him his silent comfort. Instead of being reassured, the doctor release his hand from Holmes' and turn his head on the pillow so to not look at him. Holmes did not know if it was better to drop the matter or insist with him to talk about it. After some minutes, he choose the second option.
"Watson, what's bothering you? You know you can tell me…" he talked hesitantly.
"Nothing, I'm fine." was the doctor's reply.
"You're not fine. If you let me in I am sure you'll feel better…" he tried again with a soft tone.
Watson let out a small sad chuckle but remained silent, clearly avoiding Holmes' question. He felt so miserable and he would had liked to be alone but he knew his friend was going to vigil over him all night. This inheritance thing had become a nightmare: not only the house and its atmosphere had roused unpleasant memories to him, but someone tried to kill him and he had been so damned fool to not see and not feel the danger coming; if not for Holmes, he could had died on the first day of his stay in the village. He felt useless because he could not take care of himself. He was now completely depending on Holmes. He loathed it. In the back of his mind, he knew it was not a burden to him. When Mary was still with him, he had enjoyed her motherly care when he was ill, he did not felt ashamed in front of her. It was something someway natural between two people that had chosen to share their whole life together to not being afraid of showing each other their weaknesses. But with Holmes was completely different. He did not want him to see how scared he was at the moment.
Please, leave me alone. I can't do this now.
"Watson, I-I… You should not be alone right now, but I can give you some space if you need… the room is very large, I suppose I can sit by the fireplace if you prefer…" the detective sadly asked him.
Watson did not realized he had spoken aloud and felt guilty for his manner. He certainly did not want to upset his mate nor to hurt him.
"No, Holmes, please… stay… I just feel … I did not mean to upset you…" he let out in shaky voice he did not recognize as his own.
Holmes smiled at him and the doctor felt actually better.
"I hate to be so useless and weak, I hate that I am a burden to you… I wish we had stayed in London and I never knew about this house and …" he gasped for breath and his vision blurred. He felt relief flooding him and his last strength giving out as he closed his eyes and he fell asleep.
The next morning the local doctor went to see him. Watson was awake and more alert than the evening before and asked him a thousand questions and agreed with him about the treatment for his injury. He was glad the man gave him the possibility to discuss the subject with him as an equal. He was suggested to take it easy for the next days and so he did. He loathed to be in bed all day with nothing to do, deathly bored, with Holmes hovering over him all the time, but his back was still causing him some discomfort and sitting up or walking was not an option at the moment. To Holmes' dismay, he unconditionally refused to sleep and insisted to discuss with him the events of the last days. The detective was glad to have the opportunity to question him.
"So, Holmes, you said you wanted to question me, I am here and I have all the time!" he said firmly. "And before you ask me, yes I am sure I want it and I feel fine so I don't see any reason to waste a day of investigation!"
"As you want, Watson, but we can stop whenever you want if you need to, alright?"
"Alright, we have a deal. What do you want to know?"
"Can you tell me about your uncle?"
"Well, I know very little about him. He was the older brother of my father. I never met him because they had a bad discussion before I was born and he decided to leave the family. If I remember right, he was married but I never heard my father talking about his wife. And my father never spoke about him."
"Did he have any children?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Any other relatives?"
"My father had a younger brother but he died when he was 15. And my mother did not have any brothers or sisters. Now my only family is my brother, but it had been years since last time I saw him." Watson explained, his voice tinged with emotion.
"I am sorry, Watson, this must be hard on you."
"I am used to live on my own, you know!" he smiled at his friend, who was now looking at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy in his eyes. "What I don't understand is why someone wants me dead. I mean, I didn't even know about this place and if not for the solicitor I would had never thought about claiming my inheritance. And it is so far from London…"
Holmes did not answered but remained silent, lost in his thoughts: that meant he was processing all the elements he had to form a general picture of the situation. He did not speak for several long minutes, his expression changing from concern to resolution. He sighed and nodded to himself.
"Can you remember anything else of your uncle, maybe something your brother told you?"
"I am sorry, no."
"It's alright. I would had asked Mycroft to do some researches on him, anyway."
"But one thing… I don't know if I remember right, but listen: yesterday I was checking the documents the solicitor gave me, there were properties acts and personal letters and others random sheets… well, I found a reference to a little house in the village with a strange name, kind of Mallow or Mellow, that my uncle bought but was excluded from the inheritance and it is left to the present usufructary and his family until its end. I have never heard about it. I found it strange the solicitor did not tell me about it."
"It's a shame we don't have any clue to locate it without those documents. Did you take notes about it?"
"I am afraid they took them too."
"Can you tell me what do you remember?"
"About what?"
"The documents. I'd like you to repeat me your notes so I can write them down"
"It was just a list of dates and names mostly, I cannot remember each of them. I don't think it will be useful."
"Maybe not, but I want to give it a try."
Watson sighed and closed his eyes in order to let his mind recollect the information he needed. His photographic memory helped him a lot, for he was able to give his friend almost the complete picture of the property. Holmes was satisfied and thanked him for his effort.
"At least my brain is still working. So, what do we do next? You did not tell me about the lands you visited with the farmer, by the way."
"It was useless, nothing but trees and bushes."
They discussed "the case" exploring every possible solution until Wilson entered the room carrying their lunch. Watson ate with appetite and then, despite his effort, he fell asleep. Holmes used that time to clear his mind, certain that it was only a matter of time before they had to face their enemy again. He had to stop him before he got another occasion to hurt Watson.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 6...
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