December 21: "Garlic and a mummy." (from Ennui Enigma)
A/N: Good old Watson's POV today.
"Holmes, what are you doing? And why does the sitting room smell like garlic?" I asked as I approached the sitting room doorway, unsure if I really wanted to know the answer.
"Step back!" Holmes commanded from the settee. It appeared he had completely wrapped his legs in white bandages, and was now in the midst of wrapping his torso. "Don't disturb the garlic!"
I sighed and crossed my arms, and remained in the doorway. "Let me rephrase my question. Why are you covering yourself in bandages, and why is there a line of garlic around the perimeter of the sitting room? You know that will be terribly difficult to clean up."
"It matters not!" Holmes exclaimed, waving his arms. I made to step into the room again, and again he shrieked, "Step back!"
I marched into the room, despite his vehement protests. "Holmes, this has gone too far! I am taking your temperature. No, no! Settle down, nothing you say can change my mind. You are obviously not yourself!"
Holmes let out a low growl. "How would you know?"
"As your friend and doctor, I think I should have a pretty good idea," I replied, digging in my bag for a thermometer.
"Pah! Egyptian pharaohs have no need for friends or doctors!" he exclaimed.
"You are Sherlock Holmes, not a pharaoh," I returned as calmly as I could. He was truly beginning to scare me.
I approached him with a thermometer, and he leapt from the settee and tried to scrambled away from me and hid behind a chair.
It was at this unfortunate moment that Mrs. Hudson bustled into the room.
"Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson! What in the name of goodness are you doing?!"
"Step back, woman!" Holmes shouted. "You have no power here!"
"He's not well!" I cut in before she retort. "Feverish, more than likely, if he'd stay put long enough for me to check!"
"Hmph! Doctor, what's that on the table?" she asked, pointing. "I didn't make this, and I haven't seen it before."
I glanced at the table. A fruitcake lay there, along with a crumb-covered plate. I was no Sherlock Holmes, but it was clear that my friend had recently eaten a piece.
"Doctor, do you know where this came from?" she asked me.
I shook my head. "No, but I would be willing to bet that something in the fruitcake is what is causing Holmes to behave in this manner. Leave it for now, we'll figure out where it came from after we get Holmes to the hospital. This could be very serious."
"Yes, it could," she replied, her forehead creasing in concern.
"Holmes, please, at least let me check your temperature," I said as I approached him, my voice pleading.
"No! Step back!" He leapt up again, his eyes bright and wild. The next moment, he was crumpling to the ground unconscious.
I barely managed to catch my poor friend before he hit the floor. My thermometer was not so lucky; it fell from my hand and shattered.
"Call a cab," I told poor Mrs. Hudson, who looked as though she might faint if I didn't give her something to do.
She nodded and rushed from the room to do so.
I half carried, half dragged Holmes to the settee and ripped at least most of the bandages off his trousers and waistcoat. The poor fellow! I very much suspected that the fruitcake had been deliberately poisoned, and the thought made me feel queasy.
Who would do such a thing?
I book on the ground caught my eye, and I snatched it up. It appeared to be a guide to beginning research about the ancient Egyptian language. I knew my friend had an interest in linguistics when the fancy struck him, and the book would explain the Egyptian theme of his delusions.
Poor Holmes's hands were getting quite cold and his pulse was lower than it ought to be. I dearly hoped that he would be able to recover from this, and that we would find out who was behind this and bring them to justice.
I will never permit anyone to do something of this nature this to my dearest friend without answering to me!
A/N: Don't worry, Holmes eventually recovers, and they catch the criminal behind it. And Holmes stops Watson before he damages him too badly.