Watson's fingers nimbly reached for the cuffs on Holmes' wrists. A cold flash of relief came across Holmes' face, as he realized that he would be able to convey his small improvements to his doctor. Holmes grasped the fact that he wasn't fully recovered, but he knew that it didn't take him nearly as long to remember things or to comprehend words. He was even making some minor observations that had eluded him in the past month of convalescence. Maybe if Watson saw that he was getting better, he wouldn't be sent away. Outside of that hope, Holmes knew he still couldn't reason with Watson on any significant level.
Just as Watson pulled at one of the buckles, however, a great shrill cry came from the next room. "Doctor! Doctor, come quick!" It was Miss Winney, her voice breaking in harsh sobs.
Watson's heart beat against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. He abandoned Holmes, who lay in the bed, his mind piecing together the only reason that would cause the housekeeper to shout like that.
Holmes tested the constraints on his wrists, finding that they hadn't loosened. Watson hadn't quite gotten to the task. The former detective sat up and strained his ears to hear what was happening in the next room. He heard Watson cry out Mary's name, then two thuds sounded in rapid succession. Holmes could hear murmuring, swiftly spoken words without any thought behind them. The housekeeper wailed in distress. The house girl ran up the stairs to assist her master. Then, she cried out in fear and anguish. Watson's voice took on a higher pitch, and a louder volume and Holmes could make out a few words: "God, Mary…please, please…can't…you can't…God, please…"
Tears fell from Holmes' eyes at the agony in his friend's voice. How he wished that Watson had freed him if only for the ability to comfort the doctor through his tragedy. Holmes pulled at the cuff Watson had been loosening, nearly ripping it from the bed in his determination. He forced himself to stop, realizing that his wrist might break before the thick strap did.
So, Holmes waited for Watson to return, so that Watson could undo the bonds and they could embrace. He would convey his love for Watson and for Mary with the strength and care of his touch. He would comfort him and hold him until Watson was spent from grieving. Then he would help his friend to pull through.
/
Holmes waited all night, but Watson never came back.
Holmes didn't realize that he'd fallen asleep until he was woken up by the clinking of a glass pitcher on the side table. Startled, he looked to his right side to see Piper pouring some water into a glass. Her face was faded, exhausted, her cheeks tear-stained. She turned to him, sniffling softly.
"Here, 'ave some water, Mr. 'olmes," she said, quietly. The young girl put the glass to Holmes' lips, allowing him to carefully take a few sips. He didn't resist, knowing that the moisture would soothe his injured throat.
Once she set the glass down again, he croaked out, "Watson?"
Piper looked at Holmes, her eyes welling up. "Dr. Watson is…not ta be disturbed, Mr. 'olmes…Missus Watson slipped away yesterday evenin'…"
Holmes nodded, trying to convey that he had gathered that much. "Please…" he said, his voice cracking with pain. "Watson…I need…"
"Dr. Watson sent word for your brother to take you to tha train station this afternoon," Piper went on. "The doctor wants you ta be taken care of and 'e's no longer able. I will miss ya, Mr. 'olmes…" Piper fled the room, not seeing Holmes' desperate attempt to gain her attention as his throat failed him completely. The young girl was too overcome with emotion to notice Holmes' futile gestures.
Holmes rocked in place on the bed, determined to free one of his wrists, even if he did snap his own joint in two.