Fathers and sons (chapter 6)
Four days had passed after the second accident, Watson was getting better and actually loathed to wait for something to happen without nothing to do. Holmes needed to go the village to send a telegram to his brother, but he would not trust anyone in the house to deliver it because he feared his message would had been altered, so he left his friend at home with the promise to stay in his bedroom (that he had checked carefully before leaving) and with his revolver ready, just in case. He had calculated it would had took him 30 minutes to go to the post office and then come back. When he was half way, he met the local doctor who offered him a lift with his carriage. He accepted without hesitation but when he felt a prick on his neck he understood he had been a fool. His vision blackened and he lost consciousness.
Meanwhile, at the house, Watson was waiting for Holmes to return but when he did not come back after two hours he knew something was wrong. Unfortunately he had no idea where to search him.
What would Holmes do in this situation? He would reconsider all the events and see if he had missed something. In the middle of this process, his mind recalled something: when he was in the library checking the documents, he found an envelope with some articles; he had not time to read them so he had put the envelope in the drawer of the writing table. Enthusiastic for his deduction, he went downstairs and entered the library then checked in the drawer and there he found what he was searching for. He returned in his bedroom, closed the door and had a look at his treasure: two articles about the death of his uncle's son and a black and white photograph of two men, his uncle and the local doctor, both several years younger, in front of a little house: on the back of the photo it was written "At the mellow". He left the house and went directly to the doctor's house. He was not surprised to see he was waiting for him.
"Doctor Watson, I was not expecting you until a few hours. Mr. Holmes is waiting for you downstairs, if you want to follow me…" he said, revolver in hand.
"It was you who took the documents away, doctor, am I alright?" Watson asked him.
"Nothing personal. I just did what I was instructed. Now please, someone in waiting for you!" he replied.
When Watson entered the basement, he saw Holmes bound to a chair. Despite he was not in his best appeal, he did not seem hurt and Watson was glad of it. Behind him, an old man with a grim expression on his shriveled face stood: the very much alive Uncle Horace. Watson could detect some similarities with his father in this man and the thought he himself could resemble him made him shiver. The doctor pushed him past his friend and forced him to sit on a chair in front of Holmes and bound him with ropes securely.
"I am glad you joined us, John!" the old man said to him. "So, did you like my home? And the village? Life here is particularly sleepy and an old man like I am has to find some way to entertain himself. I put on a brilliant act, don't you think?"
Watson did not answered him. He simply was at loss of words. He knew his uncle had had a hard time after his son's death and he had lost his mind. Better not to upset him with a wrong word. He waited for him to speak again.
"Come on, John, didn't your father teach you it is not polite to not answer a question?" the old man replied in a venomous tone.
"Leave my father out of this story!" Watson spattered out in a sharp tone, unable to restrain himself.
"Your father is the beginning of this Story… he is a murderer… he killed my son… but he died before I could take revenge on him, so that's why I came to you. You'll have to pay for his sin." he turned his head towards Holmes, who was looking at him with an alarmed expression on his face. "Why don't you explain your friend what did he do to my boy, John? I am sure he will find your story very interesting…"
Watson felt his uncle's bony fingers dig into his shoulder's skin, having moved to stand behind him. He swallowed hard, not wanting to dig out the past but he had no other choice.
"My father had an accident while he was driving a carriage with my uncle's son, one of the horses got scared by something on the street, the carriage was turn over and the boy hit his head on the pavement of the street. Dad tried to help him but it was too late. He probably died instantly." He summarized to his friend and waited for further instructions.
"Dad…" he laughed at the doctor. "Well, your dad, John, went on with his life and left me to grieve over my lost son, he tried to persuade me it wasn't his fault and asked me to forgive him… how could I even think of forgive him when he used to always invite me to his home just to show me how happy he was with his wife and his son while I was alone in the world? How dare he?"
The old man's face was just a inch from Watson's one. The doctor could not even think of breathing in front of him, his rage almost out of control. It was bad enough to be forced to face his uncle and his madness bound to a chair without the possibility to defend himself but the presence of Holmes in the same room, watching him and worrying for his well being, well, this was unbearable. If he was going to die, he wished he was alone. He did not want his friend to see him lose his temper and begging for his life, so he recollected all his courage and put on the mask of resolution in front of both men. The local doctor was still in the room, but he paid no attention to him because he seemed totally subdued by his uncle and was simply watching them with horror in his eyes. Watson felt pity for him.
While these thoughts crossed Watson's mind, his uncle had waited for him to speak and, because he remained silent, he hit him hard on his head with the back of his hand. He was caught by surprise by the strength the old man still possessed and let out a small cry of pain. Holmes shouted at him to stop but he simply was not listening to anybody because he hit him again and again until he was satisfied to see blood on his face and lips.
"Leave him alone, you psycho… Take me instead of him!" Holmes shouted angrily at him.
The man turned to face him and actually smiled to him.
"Mr. Holmes, I have no intention to touch you. I want you to watch this man you're so fond of begging for his life, I want you to watch him suffer and pray for his death and when he will be gone, I will leave you to grieve over him and live your life without him. Now, I suggest you to shut up or any other words from you will cost him more suffering. Was I clear?"
Holmes could not think straight at the moment, his heart being torn apart at the words he had just heard. He nodded to the man and was rewarded with a caress; the sensation of cold sweaty skin on his face made him shiver.
Watson's head was bent down on his chest. His uncle returned to him with a knife in his hand. He pressed it on his forearm until blood spilled out of the cut. Watson was brave enough to not give him the satisfaction to cry at the pain but his breath was heavy and his whole body tensed. The mad man repeated the process on his other forearm but again the poor doctor endured the torture in silence. Clearly annoyed by the stubbornness of his nephew, he decided to try a more painful spot: he strapped his shirt to reveal his bare shoulders and with his cold fingers he touched the scar over his bad shoulder. Watson understood what he was going to do and could not suppress a small sound of anguish and fear.
"This is going to hurt, John! But it won't kill you, I want you to be alive to play some more with you!" he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
He pressed the sharp head of the knife in the centre of the scar and pushed it in the muscle until the blade went clean to the shoulder, then twisted it in the flesh causing a large amount of blood to flow all over Watson's chest. The poor man tried his best to remain silent but the pain in his shoulder was unbearable and he let out a scream that made Holmes shivering and his uncle laughing. When the knife was removed, a larger stream of blood soaked his shirt and trousers. Watson knew with such a wound he had very little possibilities to survive. The pain in his arms, shoulder and his head and the blood loss made him dizzy and he almost passed out, only to be taken aback to the present by other deep cuts the old man inflicted him in other parts of his body. He lost consciousness a couple of times. His uncle was kind enough to wait for him to come back before administering his medicine to him. At the end, his voice was rough from screaming and he was ready to beg for his life or for a quick death, despite his intention to be brave for Holmes. When it was clear the poor doctor could not stand it anymore, his uncle put the knife to his throat and yanked Watson's head backwards then looked directly at Holmes, who was horrified and anguished for his friend. He actually smiled at him and pressed the blade in the tender skin but could not finish his work because a gunshot echoed in the room and the old man fell to ground dead. Watson's head fell on his chest again. Holmes watched as the local doctor quickly cut the ropes that secured Watson to his chair with the bloodied knife and gently held his colleague's weak body lowering him to the ground, then hurried to free Holmes.
"I need your help, we need to take Watson upstairs where I can treat his injuries. We don't have much time." He explained.
Holmes was confused and could not understand why this man was now helping them, but he was right, they could not waste time and so he did as he was instructed. Watson was totally unresponsive at this point, he moaned when the doctor checked his shoulder and cried out for the pain but gave no other sign of consciousness. When the doctor had finished to dress his wounds and gave some morphine, he held his limp hand and spoke to him until he felt a weak flexing of Watson's hand in his and tired blue eyes focusing on him. The detective felt tears in his eyes.
"It's alright, Watson, you're safe. Your uncle is dead, you're going to be fine" he said, more to his relief than to Watson's.
"Is he dead for sure?" his friend whispered with the little voice he had left.
"Shot in the head. I saw him myself. He will not hurt you anymore!"
"Good. I want to go home…" he rasped weakly before losing consciousness again.
Holmes softly caressed him and held him close. Before devoting himself to his fallen companion, he made sure the doctor would not leave them by cuffing him to the stairs. Many things needed to be cleared.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 7
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