A/N for the final scene in this chapter: Dr. Watson's war wound is a topic for lively debate amongst Sherlockians and Holmesians and Baker Street Irregulars. In A Study in Scarlet, Watson recounts his experiences as an Army Surgeon during the Second Anglo-Afghan War, specifically the Battle of Maiwand, and says he was wounded by 'a Jezail bullet' in the shoulder. In The Sign of the Four, he is nursing a wounded leg, which had had a Jezail bullet through it. Lastly, in The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor, he mentions 'the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign.' Sam gets a first-hand glimpse as to the answer to this mystery.

Chapter 6

Sam's POV

The young maid who had retreated in disgrace had been given an opportunity to redeem herself by carrying up a tray of hot tea and sandwiches, and offering to light the fire, tidy the room and take away the ruined clothes. The last service was declined, but the others gratefully accepted, and the maid departed in better spirits than she had entered.

Sam was surprised to find that it was past noon and, despite the distressing circumstances, that she was rather hungry. She was finishing a second cup of tea when a soft tap at the door brought the young desk clerk in, enquiring if he might be of assistance.

They stood talking quietly in the sitting room for some moments, until Sam invited him to sit on the settee and she turned out the chair at the writing desk.

"What do you make of this, Miss Stewart – just a spot of bad luck, or –?"

"Well, I'm not going to make anything of it until I hear the full details from him."

"Of course. I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to imply–."

"No, it's alright. I'm sorry. That sounded rude. I, er – I really don't know what to make of it. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Mr. Foyle's very good at his work, very clever and very experienced. He doesn't make mistakes."

"It's very loyal of you to say so."

"It's not loyalty – it's the truth, Mr. McKay."

"Well, perhaps these criminals are playing for very high stakes – more determined to prevent any interference with their success. This looks like the result of a desperate act, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes. Quite desperate." Sam was thoughtful, then looked up at the man with a forced brightness and changed the subject.

"You're not a native 'Brummy,' Mr. McKay. What brings you to this part of the country?"

"Please, call me Kenneth. It's my aunt, actually. Her family owns this hotel and, after I was invalided out, she offered me the chance to learn the business from the ground up, so to speak. If we're all still standing at the end of the war, it will be a very good position for me. And how long have you been with the MTC, Miss Stewart?"

"Joined up in 1940. This is my second assignment after training. The less said about the first, the better."

"Oh, but now you've piqued my curiosity." He smiled.

"Well, I was first assigned to a Deputy Secretary in the Ministry of Aircraft Production, but he expected rather more than my training had prepared me for. We hadn't done hand-to-hand combat." She said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose that sort of thing does go on. But no trouble in this assignment, I trust?"

"None whatsoever. It's a privilege to work for Mr. Foyle."

McKay gazed at her somewhat wistfully.

"Still, a pretty girl like you, Miss Stewart, you must have rather a lot of attention to contend with, with all the men travelling through the country in these times."

"Well, yes. The truth is, I've just turned down a marriage proposal."

McKay stared in surprise.
"Good lord, Miss Stewart–!"

"From an American."

"Ah, I understand."

He smiled.

"Look, if you feel it's alright, why don't I sit with Mr. Foyle for a while and you can take a break? Things are pretty quiet downstairs."

After checking that all was unchanged with the patient, Sam gratefully withdrew and went to her own room. She had only just sat down on the edge of the bed when she surprised herself by bursting into tears. She sobbed helplessly for a few minutes before she could bring herself under control.

'Stop it! Stop it this instant, Stewart!' she commanded herself sternly, but relented a little, accepting that this was only a natural reaction to the stress of the circumstances. She lay down on her bed but found it impossible to truly rest and so, after freshening up and changing her uniform shirt, took herself outdoors for a quick walk around the grounds of the hotel. The fresh air and exercise helped, and she returned to the sick room with a book tucked under her arm.

Through the doorway Sam saw McKay sitting in the chair by the bedside, contemplating the sleeping man. When he heard her enter, he rose and came out to speak to her.

"He's hardly moved a muscle, but his breathing is strong and steady."

"Thank-you, Kenneth. This is very kind of you. I'm sure you'll want to get back to your regular duties now."

"It's my pleasure, Miss Stewart."

"Samantha – Sam."

"My pleasure, Samantha. Call on me for anything at all, I insist."

She settled into the chair at the bedside again and opened her book.

An hour later the doctor returned. He made his examination, shining his penlight into the patient's eyes, listening through his stethoscope to lungs and heart, and checking for signs of infection around the lacerations and wounds. While he worked quietly, Sam found it impossible not to stare in amazement at the man - a figure she had always thought of as fictional having apparently stepped out of the pages of books to become a living person who had clearly led a full life and grown into a vigorous old age.

He closed up his medical bag and signaled her to follow him out of the bedroom. In the sitting room he spoke quietly, ignoring the obvious curiosity in her expression.

"Jolly good. He is doing well, and should make a slow but full recovery. The important thing is that he must not try to do too much too soon – he must rest to give the fractures a chance to knit together. Otherwise there could be further damage. I understand you came up by car."

"Yes, doctor."

"Well, I fear he would find the return journey very uncomfortable indeed within the next fortnight. It would be wise to find other means to travel by, if possible."

"Very good, sir."

"You have been trained in first aide; I can confidently leave you to change the dressings. Do you have any questions, Miss Stewart?"

"How long should I expect him to remain unconscious?"

"Oh, he is merely sleeping now. He will wake when he is ready. I'd like to call again tomorrow when he is awake. I should like to meet your Mr. Foyle properly. Anything else?"

Sam hesitated before asking shyly,
"Did you... really work with... Mr. Holmes, doctor?"

He smiled indulgently and nodded.
"Indeed, I did. It was many years ago."

"What was he like?"

"Exactly as I describe him, though perhaps not quite as unfeeling as I made him out to be. A wise man, a decent man, the best I ever knew."

He inclined his head in a slight bow, took up his hat and walked out. It was only then that she noticed the slight limp in his gait, and smiled to have an answer to one of the persistent questions that arose from discrepancies in his published case accounts.

TBC...