A/N: Lemon Zinger liked my story and got the idea of writing chapter 2—same events described from Watson's point of view. She generously gave me her work to append to my chapter1—so what you see below is hers and all compliments should thus go to her.
February 1881
Watson
It was embarrassing enough to have collapsed at my club, causing the other gentleman great alarm when my legs gave way beneath me. I had been waiting to
take my turn at billiards, sipping my brandy, when I suddenly felt a flash of dizziness. I put my drink down and leaned against the table, relieved as it passed. William Morrison, a newly discovered friend, had asked if I was all right. I had nodded, only to find myself on the floor a second later.
He had helped me home, shooing away the other men who were crowding around me. He had fetched a cab and refused to let me pay the fare. I was grateful for his kindness, but when we reached 221B I was almost reluctant to go in. I hadn't known Holmes very long and hated to inconvenience him with my ailment.
Holmes answered the door rather quickly, looking a little annoyed. "Watson, what on earth happened?" he asked.
"It's nothing, Holmes, I'll be all right shortly," I said, my voice weak. I was beginning to be able to judge my illness based on the symptoms.
"He collapsed suddenly whilst we were playing billiards, Mr. Holmes," I heard Morrison explain. He introduced himself and helped Holmes get me to the settee.
It was a long walk, one I was glad was finally over. At least now I could rest for a minute.
"Will you be all right?" Morrison asked me.
"Yes, yes, William. Go on," I said, nodding to him.
"If you're sure," Morrison answered, and I was grateful for his kindness. He said his farewells and left. Holmes saw him out and then returned to me.
"Doctor, is there anything you require?" He asked. He was scrutinizing me carefully.
I was trying to stop shivering, but knew it was hopeless. "No… no," I said. "I don't think so."
"Doctor, are you certain?" he asked, one of his eyebrows going up. "You don't look at all well."
"Thank you, Holmes," I said, taking no real offense.
"Seriously, now, what is wrong? Shall I summon another physician?" Holmes asked. I was beginning to think he was a little more than concerned about me.
"No, no need for that," I sighed, and then I noticed how dry my mouth had become. I asked him if he would kindly fetch my bag and a glass of water.
He did so instantly, seeming glad to have something to do. He also brought a blanket and covered me with it. I took some quinine and drank some water before smiling at him to show my gratitude.
He suddenly looked nervous.
"This sudden illness of yours isn't contagious, is it?" He asked. I pitied him, having to worry about his health because of me.
I reassured him that he would only catch it if he borrowed some of my blood. "It's malaria," I told him of my diagnosis. "Another souvenir of my army career, I'm afraid."
He told me I was lucky to have medicine on hand, but I got irritated by him hovering around as if he were a doctor himself. I snapped back about always keeping some on hand.
When he apologised, I instantly felt guilty. "I should not have been so irritable," I said with a weak smile. I hoped he'd forgive me; I was merely becoming very uncomfortable. I was still suffering from a good deal from the symptoms and had little patience.
"It's quite all right, Doctor."
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. I did not hear him move for several minutes and realised he was still watching me. I opened my eyes and again snapped at him, asking him why he was staring.
"See for yourself, Doctor," he said, offering me a hand mirror. I almost hesitated to look.
I saw what I expected to see, my flushed, red face (which did look rather ghastly, I could understand Holmes' reaction). I decided to check my temperature so I could keep a record of how it fluctuated.
Holmes waited for me. I was growing continuously surprised at his concern for my well-being.
"Doctor? How high is it?" Holmes asked.
I ignored the temptation to ask him if he wanted to make a thorough examination of his own, and instead just told him the figure with a sigh.
"That's not so bad…" Holmes said.
He was right, but it was bound to get worse. I took another gulp of water and found I had emptied the glass.
"Is there anything you need?" He asked again.
I held up the glass. "Another glass of water, if it's not too much trouble," I said. I intended to rest for a little while and asked him if he would mind my being down here in the sitting room. I knew I couldn't make it to my room alone, but if he really didn't want me around, he could help.
"No, of course not," Holmes replied, handing me the refilled glass. I drank it all and thanked him. He finally went to find something to do and I heard him working at his desk. I spent a restless hour – never fully awake, never fully asleep – before I decided to check my temperature again.
"How high, Doctor?" Holmes asked, looking over from his desk.
It had gone up four degrees, thereby proving my earlier statement. I felt exhausted and wretched.
"Are you quite certain you do not want me to call another doctor?" Holmes asked again. I was too miserable to comment about how kind he was being. I again told him I would be fine in only a few hours.
To my astonishment, he brought me a basin of cold water and a washcloth, which I applied to my forehead. It cooled me somewhat, and I made sure to express my
gratitude.
I tried to sleep, but found that sleep did not come easily. A few times I opened my eyes to see Holmes looking at me, but he quickly turned back to what he was doing.
Two more long hours passed, and I finally decided to reach over for my thermometer and check my temperature again. I was feeling slightly better and was relieved when the red bar revealed a lower temperature.
"104, Holmes," I said, before he could ask.
He made some comment about my sweating, which I reassured him was normal. He continued to stay nearby all evening, and even left his bedroom door open when he retired. I managed to get some sleep overnight and the next morning was feeling much better.
When I woke, Holmes was setting food on the table. I wondered where our good landlady was, and then suddenly remembered her trip. Holmes must have made breakfast.
I went over to join him, smiling at the breakfast. It was nothing fancy, but still a very special gesture on Holmes' part.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
He continued to astonish me with his kindness, and I quickly told him I was feeling better.
"And, Holmes?" I asked, waiting until he looked at me. "Thank you. You've been most kind." I said.
He shifted uncomfortably and I realized I had made him feel awkward. I hurried to busy myself with breakfast when he surprised me with a retort.
"You are quite welcome, Doctor. You do, however, realise that I have a vested interest in your well being?"
"Oh?" I asked, surprised.
"I do rather like our current lodgings, and you are paying half the rent." Holmes pointed out.
We shared a laugh that melted the awkwardness. I was rather glad I had taken up rooms with my curious companion.
