Not overly-sure about this one…but then again, I never am, and people seem to enjoy them – unless you're all just waaaay too nice, which I have an easier time believing :).
Hope you enjoy it! And sorry for the delay – Reality has a horrible habit of barging in on my muse when she's at work.
Afraid
I am afraid.
It is all around me. I cannot breathe.
I struggle, trying to break the surface, but it is to no avail – I do not even know which direction to move. Everything is black, inky and cold.
Oh so cold…
I can feel the iciness suffusing my face, my body…so intense is the cold that it sends a shock of agonising, freezing pain through my every nerve, drawing air from my lungs even quicker.
My eyes burn from the water, my nose stings as I suck it through my nostrils, desperately needing oxygen.
I cannot think. My mind is fading, the blackness replacing it.
I realize too late that I am no longer fighting. I cannot move at all now…only can I float here and wait for my death.
Watson. Where are you? Please…please help me…
The doctor is afraid.
He pulls his friend's limp body onto the shore.
"Holmes!" he screams, ignoring the fact that he is shaking violently from the freezing Thames water.
"Holmes! Dear God…" It is a prayer, not an oath, as he presses his hands against the thinner man's unmoving chest.
1,2,3,4,5,6...Breathe!
But the man does not.
1,2,3,4,5,6…I will not forgive you for this, if you don't!
Still he does not move.
Tears now sting his hazel eyes. One last time, he tries…
1,2,3,4,5,6…
"I will not lose you again, Holmes!" he says aloud, rage fueling the words – rage toward a heartless Fate that dared to take away the one thing in his life that is worth dying for.
And then the man sucks in a shuddering breath, following by several minutes of violent coughing.
"Thank heaven…" the doctor breathes.
"Watson…" Another cough.
"It's alright, my dear Holmes. You are all right." He helps his friend sit. "What the devil were you thinking, you fool? You could have died, do you understand that?"
"I'm…sorry. Thought…it would…work."
"So you honesty believed that dressing up as an old sailor and confronting the entire crew alone would work?"
"Does not…matter, Watson." Gray eyes flicker up to meet hazel.
Immediately, the anger leaves him.
"Thank you…old friend. Whatever…would I do – without you?"
And neither of them are any longer afraid.
Okay…not as good as it probably could have been…but is it presentable? Like, at all? :)
