Watson finally happened upon a condition that fit all of Holmes' new symptoms. Cerebral aneurysms, although until recently only diagnosed post-mortem, could trigger a terrible headache, fainting, disorientation and blurry vision. Following Holmes' grave accident, it wasn't too far-fetched to think that he may have taken a blow to the head, causing the aneurysm.
However, this was not great news, as Watson was hoping. The only treatment choices were to wait and see if the swelling went down and the problem resolved itself, or to execute an intensive and intrusive surgery, the likes of which Watson had never even seen performed.
The doctor scribbled away at his case notes, looking for more and more information on brain aneurysms, as well as information that would contradict an aneurysm being the sole explanation for Holmes' symptoms. A knock at the door drew his attention away from his work. "Yes?" he called.
Piper came in quickly. "Sir, there's a boy at the door, says he has to speak with ya."
"All right, send him in, please," Watson replied. He assumed that it was a pageboy bringing a message. He was surprised to see Franklin, the red-haired Irregular walking into his study.
"'ello, Doctor," said Franklin.
"Mr. Franklin, so good to see you," said Watson, patting the boy on his shoulder. "What brings you here?"
"Nuffin' good, I'm 'fraid," Franklin said. "I seen it all just a few minutes ago, sir. Mr. Holmes was walkin' 'cross the street when su'enlly he started grabbin' his head and screamin'."
"What?" Watson cried. "He was outside? Just now?"
Watson didn't wait for the response. He abandoned his study and ran up the stairs to Holmes' room, calling the former detective's name in his vain hope of finding him safely upstairs. Franklin followed him closely, silently.
When Watson found Holmes' bed empty, he rounded on Franklin. "What happened? Is he all right?" Watson couldn't believe that he had been so careless! Holmes had walked right out the door and Watson hadn't the faintest clue. He wondered if he would have to keep watch on him at all hours of the day from then on.
"He fain'ed, Doctor," said Franklin. "A bobby called for a cart to take 'im to the 'ospital. Charin' Cross is what the bobby told the driver."
Watson went up to his bedroom to take up his coat and hat. He didn't expect to find Mary lying in bed, covered up to her neck in blankets. "Mary?" he said. "My darling, what's the matter?" Watson was torn between running off to see about Holmes and staying to tend to his wife.
Mary coughed and opened her eyes. "Oh, it's all right," she said. "I think I've got influenza."
"Oh, my dear," said Watson, taking her hand into his. "I'll have Cook boil up a pot of soup for you. I must go to Charing Cross. Holmes has suffered a great accident through a fainting spell and has been taken to hospital." He kissed her warm, glowing forehead. "I will be back at your side as soon as I am able, my love."
"Don't worry about me, John. I shall endure," she said, with a faint smile.
/
Watson found Holmes' previous doctor, Humber, scurrying down the hallway of the hospital. "Dr. Humber!" Watson called to him.
Humber turned around and gave Watson a distressed look, as if he were in too much of a hurry to stay and talk. "Dr. Watson, I am aware of the situation with Mr. Holmes," he said. He motioned for Watson to walk with him. "My team and I have assessed the problem. He was conscious briefly when he first came in. He complained of a headache, and dizziness. My colleague performed a lumbar puncture, which showed blood in Mr. Holmes' spinal fluid. A brain aneurysm is likely. We are preparing him for surgery."
They passed through to the surgery wing. "I had just begun to suspect an aneurysm this morning!" Watson explained. "I'm afraid I was too late to stave off the worst of the symptoms."
"We may be able to save him yet," said Humber. A nurse met them at the next corridor and began to assist Dr. Humber in dressing for the surgery. "If you would like to assist me during the procedure, Dr. Watson, I would welcome you."
Watson nodded immediately without thinking. He later realized that seeing Holmes on the operating table, his head skewered open, might not be a pleasant experience. However, he felt that his presence could increase Holmes' chances of hanging onto life. Perhaps hearing Watson's voice would strengthen his resolution to survive.
/
The surgery progressed slowly. Watson mechanically passed instruments to the capable hands of the surgeons. Holmes lay unresponsive, unable to feel the devices meandering inside his head. There was excessive bleeding initially, but after some diligent work, Dr. Humber was able to staunch it. Holmes' head was wrapped in bandages and he was sent to the recovery ward. Watson collapsed in the bed next to him.
-
Several hours later, Watson awoke in a fog. He blinked at the sterile and silent environment in which he found himself. Seconds later, his brain caught up with the rest of him and he had secured an observation post for himself next to Holmes' bed.
Holmes was still blissfully unconscious, in the deep absence of mind provided by the heavy drugs. The right side of his head had been shaven for the surgery. Watson ran his hand through the remaining hair on the assaulted skull and realized that he would have to shave off the rest of it.
The complications of the aneurysm and the surgery were still unknown. Once Holmes awakened (or didn't), they would be able to discern more about the damage done. Watson couldn't help but fear for the results. Would Holmes' brain damage be worse? Would he lose more of his functioning abilities? At a certain point, Holmes' life would cease to be worthwhile. If Holmes lost his ability to speak and understand words, it would be like taking care of an infant for twenty or thirty years.
On the other hand, maybe Holmes would get better because of the surgical intervention. Perhaps the aneurysm was responsible for some of the harm affecting Holmes' mind. Watson didn't dare cling to this hope too tightly. He had hoped for months that Holmes would have a spontaneous recovery, and everyday that he didn't, Watson's heart sank further.
Watson kept his vigil, waiting and praying for Holmes to wake up.
/
Watson left Holmes' sick room for only a handful of reasons over the next two days. He dispatched a telegraph to his household, to inform them that the surgery had been successful and that Holmes was resting. He took a walk around the hospital grounds once or twice a day, to stretch his legs. He visited the water closet and he ate sparse meals in the doctor's lounge. Otherwise, he could always be found at Holmes' bedside, with either a book or Holmes' own hand in his.
He briefly entertained the notion of sending a telegraph to Mycroft, but decided against it.
Holmes continued to slumber under light sedation to insure that he fully rested.
Watson blamed himself for not seeing the symptoms earlier. Holmes' terrible headache should have given him an indication that he was severely ill. Then, of all things, Watson had been too preoccupied to notice that Holmes had slipped out of the house and into the busy street! Watson wished, as he often did, that he had the spark of observation in him, like Holmes did. If he had, he probably would have been aware that Holmes was going off into a dangerous situation alone, all those months ago. If he had paid Holmes any mind, his dear friend could have been perfectly well, his mental faculties intact.
The doctor vowed that he would do all in his power to pay attention to Holmes and his needs from then on. He would do his best to make sure that nothing slid by him, undetected.
/
Holmes groaned. It was a lovely sound to Watson's ears. He sidled closer to Holmes' hospital bed and grasped his hand tightly. He felt Holmes' fingers flinch at the touch.
"Holmes?" Watson whispered. "Can you hear me?"
Holmes' eyes twitched subtly. He moaned and then yawned. Watson squeezed Holmes' hand in encouragement. Finally, slowly, Holmes' eyes opened and he took in his surroundings. His gaze settled on Watson and then their joined hands.
"Holmes," Watson said, reverently. "How are you feeling, old boy?"
Holmes blinked and then reached up a hand to probe at his bandages. Watson stopped him with his free hand. "Holmes? Are you feeling all right? Do you have any pain?" Watson asked.
"Tired," was Holmes' response after a beat. "What happened?" he said.
"You had surgery, my boy," Watson replied, relieved that Holmes at least had not worsened. "It was touch-and-go but quite a triumph by the end. Such surgeries have not reported much success."
"Surg-ree?" Holmes slurred the unfamiliar word. "I don't…Watson, where am I?"
Watson swallowed. Against his better judgment, he had been holding out for Holmes' mind to have a miraculous improvement after the operation. He steeled his nerves, deciding that his best option was to make the best of the resources that he still had. "We're in the hospital, Holmes. You were very sick and the doctors had to help you."
Holmes thought about that for a moment. "But, you're my doctor," he said.
"I never said I didn't help you," Watson teased. "I couldn't do it all by myself, though." After a moment's pause, he asked, "Are you hungry? Would you like to have some lunch from the kitchen?"
Holmes nodded, and said, "I do want that."
/
Marill: the literature on brain aneurysm treatment is, ahem, "fuzzy" for this time period. Soooo, if I'm completely off, then I'm sorry. But they did have lumbar punctures! They totally did! Woot!