Aftermath

A/N: Here is the conclusion to "Cracks in the Marble." Enjoy!

I had often gone days without sleep in the course of a case. It was different then to what I faced now, though, as then I had a case to occupy and fuel my mind. Now, sitting at Watson's bedside, desperate for a movement to tell me if he was ok or not, I found it hard to fight off my weariness. The only thing that ran through my mind was fear. Fear that I would never see my Boswell again, never enjoy his invaluable assistance on a case, never see perpetual astonishment light up his face as I explained some point or another of analytical reasoning. The word "never" threatened to shut down my rational faculties, and I closed my eyes to block it out. When I opened them I was surprised at the tear that leaked out.

I paid it no heed as I focused on Watson. He had been admitted to the hospital ten hours ago, and I had stayed with him throughout, oblivious to the doctor's warnings not to get in their way. They had removed the metal bar, set his arm, treated his concussion and all the numerous superficial cuts and bruises from the glass. It was now around one in the morning of the next day and the doctors had finally finished their ministrations, leaving me alone with a sleeping Watson.

I studied his face with a critical eye, alert for any movement or sound. The surgeons had told me he would not be awake for many hours, and even when he woke he would be in considerable pain. But they did not know Watson as I did. He had a hidden core of strength somewhere within him. How else had he survived the chandelier's crash when any lesser man would have perished?

I remember the look on the doctors' faces when I explained how he had come about his injuries. I had to have Miss Gertrude back me up for them to believe me. (Why the woman had come, I had no idea. Perhaps it was from some faint sense of guilt. I hoped to God it was a very acute sense, for if it was even one tenth of mine it would cause her unending regret.)

How many times in these hours had I replayed the events in my head? If I had moved quicker, reacted faster, could I have saved Watson? Pushed him out of the way as he had the widow? Somehow tricked fate into releasing his victim? I had come to one conclusion from repeated study. If I had saved him, the widow would have gotten her wish and died that night, and I would as surely be the one lying on the brink of death in a hospital bed. The thought that Watson had saved the life I would have given up caused twinges of guilt to pluck at my heartstrings. I had thought it many times before in our friendship, but I knew now without a doubt it was true: of us, Watson was the better man.

That is why I should be here, not you! I thought with some vehemence. Even though I knew it would do no good, I wished for the thousandth time that our roles were reversed.

I tightened my grip on Watson's hand, and for a moment, I imagined he stirred. Then his eyes fluttered, and what I thought was a grief-borne delusion turned into reality. I bent over him eagerly as his eyes finally opened. His mouth was set in a hard line, and he was obviously in pain. The nurses had given me strict instructions to tell them when he woke, but I could not resist taking this moment to ask my friend,

"Watson! Watson, thank god you're awake! Are you alright? Please, man, say something!" He did not move his head, but his eyes flicked to mine and he answered with a whispered,

"Yes. Holmes, it- it-"

"What is it?" I asked eagerly. I was thrilled to my core that he was alive, talking! His gaze never left mine.

"It wasn't your fault." Oh my. Oh my oh my, he hadn't been unconscious when I told him that if he died I would never forgive myself. His voice was just a whisper when he continued, and I strained to hear. "I made a choice… to save her… and accept the consequences. I wish you could… accept them too." The wretched tears were back again. "Holmes… are you… crying?" I blinked rapidly.

"Nonsense, old boy. You still aren't quite in your right mind. We'll talk later. For now, you must sleep." Watson nodded, and I could see clearly how badly he needed sleep as he immediately dropped off.

I took no cases for the months Watson spent recovering. He frequently admonished me for neglecting my practice, but sometimes, when he could not get up from his bed for the pain or could not manage his crutches with his bandaged arm, I saw how grateful he was for my help. It was nearly a year before he was finally able to accompany me on a case again. His limp was even more pronounced, but his arm was fully healed, and besides from the old annoyance of the Jezail bullet it gave him no trouble.

We were breakfasting, and as he came down his face was thoughtful.

"What is on your mind, Watson?" I asked. He sat across from me and said carefully,

"Holmes, you remember when I was in the hospital, the night after the accident?" My face immediately sobered.

"Of course. I do not think I could ever forget that night." Watson continued slowly,

"I asked you to accept the consequences of my actions and not blame yourself. I was wondering if you had yet." I avoided his gaze as I thought, and I responded with the honest, unpolished truth.

"Watson, if I had a choice, I would have switched places with you gladly, without a second thought. I believe that you committed a foolish, unnecessary act of bravery that day. The woman wanted to die, after all. I watched as the chandelier fell, and I thought for the longest time that I could have somehow saved you if I acted sooner." Watson looked up at me sharply, but I continued before he could. "But, I have come to realize that only an act of providence could have saved you that day. And I thank the same providence that it did." Watson was smiling at me, genuinely happy for the first time in a long while. But there was one last thing I had to know.

"Watson, please answer me this: Would you do it again?" It was his turn to look sobered. When he answered, I found it evasive, yet highly gratifying.

"If you mean would I still save the woman, yes. But for all the world, I would not cause you so much pain as I have these past few months, for I know, were I in your position, what I should feel. For that, I am truly sorry, and I would never do it again."

"Thank you, Watson." And with that, I smiled, and returned to my breakfast.