Chapter Fifteen.
John Watson had never been inside medical consulting rooms like the one he found himself being shown into now.
Light, airy, freshly decorated in muted, soothing colours, fine art and pieces of marble statuary strategically placed in the hallway and waiting area.
It was perfectly designed to put the patient at their ease and make them feel welcome.
Unlike an NHS waiting room, which generally was painted in drab colours and gave the patient the impression that they should sit down, shut up and wait their turn, even if it was two hours of arse numbing boredom with very little in the way of satisfaction at the end of it.
There was plush, deep pile creamy beige carpet everywhere, and he just knew for a fact that it had never been exposed to any kind of bodily fluid, unlike most medical centres or hospitals he had ever been in before, and there was antique, comfortable furniture everywhere.
It reeked of money.
And air freshener and polish he noted, not puke and urine and disinfectant.
Definitely not the NHS then.
How the other half live!
Bloody hell...
Buckingham Palace all over again.
Well, almost.
I wonder if there are gold taps in the bathroom!
Had Holmes ever nicked an ashtray from here?
Sherlock Holmes was welcomed at reception and quickly ushered into the main consulting room by a squat, rotund man with piercing eyes and a kindly smile, and then as he walked deeper into the office, and took up the preferred seat, Holmes introduced Watson.
"My good friend," Holmes waved toward him.
Not my very good friend, Watson noted, but was relieved, for that would have implied a closer relationship between them, the kind he had been denying since the first day he had met Holmes.
At least he hadn't said colleague!
"John Watson, MD, Army man. Captain, formerly with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and recently retired after a stint in Afghanistan, where he was wounded."
"Pleased to meet you, my dear fellow!" Sir Frederick Penrose Gill was obviously impressed as he pumped Watson's hand vigorously and then directed him to the chair beside Holmes. "Please, take a seat."
"Thank you."
"Well now, Mr Holmes," Penrose Gill returned his attention to his patient as Watson made himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and casually glancing around the consulting room, noting the expensive furniture and medical paraphernalia that filled the large room, giving Holmes a pointed, questioning look.
"You may speak freely, Sir Frederick. John is aware of my predicament, and your diagnosis. I should, perhaps have warned you that he would be joining me, but there really wasn't time," Holmes explained, taking in the hungry, envious look on Watson's face as he no doubted coveted all the most up to date medical equipment that surrounded them.
"I asked John to accompany me because he will be responsible for my post operative care, once you and Sir Roger have had your fill of me," Holmes tried to make light.
"He will also be my guardian, advocate, whatever you want to call it, whilst I am non compos mentis. My voice. When the time is right I will make John aware of my wishes, and have no doubt, Sir Frederick, he will carry them out."
Holmes paused to take a breath and suddenly became aware of the look on Watson's face.
He was obviously touched by Holmes sudden, unexpected vocalisation of his wishes and the trust that he was placing in him, but this was tempered by the realization of their implications.
The fact that Holmes' life would literally be in his hands.
"He has my full trust, and you will treat him accordingly, please. He and he alone will speak for me, if things don't work out as you all expect. In fact, I intend to give him power of attorney over all my affairs, just for the duration of my incapacity of course, but I want it understood, once I have agreed to the surgery and have been admitted to the hospital, in matters pertaining to my health and my future, Dr John Watson will have the last word."
Watson was astounded.
"As you wish," Sir Frederick acquiesced without hesitation.
He could sympathise with Holmes the younger and his predicament, for if things did go badly, and his life hung in the balance, he clearly did not want any decisions about his future being made by his older brother, his life prolonged unnecessarily, or ended prematurely on the whim of a resentful, spiteful sibling.
"Well, then, shall we proceed?"
"Certainly."
With the wonders of modern technology at his disposal, right there at his fingertips no less, Penrose Gill was able to view Holmes recent CT scan on the large flat screen computer monitor taking up pride of place on his desk, and then he turned the monitor to position it so that both Watson and Holmes could also see the offending mass in Holmes' brain for themselves.
Holmes politely glanced at the black and white image on the screen, then allowed Watson and Penrose Gill to scrutinise the image, like a pair of art lovers swooning over an Old Master.
"The image is extremely clear," Penrose Gill intoned and Watson nodded in agreement, awed and envious at the same time.
If only he had access to something like this for his patients.
"However, apparently this is not precise enough for Sir Roger. He would like you to have a head MRI scan, Mr Holmes. He claims that it will give him a clearer idea where the little blighter is and how to get at it without doing too much collateral damage."
"John?" Holmes turned to Watson for his opinion.
"He's right, Sherlock. An MRI scan, in this kind of situation, can be used to map the brain very accurately."
"Indeed," Penrose Gill nodded, a smile curving at his lips in admiration that the former Army man should be so knowledgeable.
"Fine. I am, after all, in your hands, gentlemen," Holmes consented.
He really didn't want to hear all the gory details, but it was important to him that Watson had all the information available to him.
"And very capable hands they are too, if I might say? Sir Roger Witty is the best in his field, but he is also a straight shooter. I know you appreciate candour, Mr Holmes, so I will say this, Sir Roger will not build up your hopes. He will undoubtedly tell you all the risks that are involved, but he will also be supremely confident to the point of arrogance about his skill and ability to remove the tumour without any further ill effect upon you in the future."
"It is not egotism; it is self confidence and self belief, which comes from years of experience. If he did not believe that he could do this, if there was one doubt in his mind that you would be left incapacitated, then he would tell you so, and allow you to make the decision to proceed or not."
I should damn well hope so too, after all it is my brain we are talking about, not a blocked drain! Holmes thought bitterly. I really don't want some incompetant nincompoop digging around in there just for the fun of it!
"He is not knife happy, Mr Holmes. He simply is the best, and he knows it."
"I will bear that in mind, Sir Frederick."
"So, Dr Watson, do you concur with the necessity to carry out an MRI scan?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I will make the arrangements for as soon as possible. Unfortunately, they only have the one Magnetic Resonance Scanner and appointments are at a premium, so it might be a couple of days before I hear anything."
A couple of days!
My patients often have to wait weeks, sometimes even months!
Oh God, I hope I didn't say that out loud!
"Now then, as to the actual surgical procedure, that is not my field of course. Witty will do the surgery, personally, and he will go through everything that you need to know when you are admitted for the surgery, which, he has already indicated to me he could slot you in at the end of next week. That will give him time to review the MRI and CT scans, select and brief his surgical team and the nursing staff and make the necessary arrangements for a theatre and ICU bed post surgery."
"So soon?"
"Is there a problem, Mr Holmes?"
"Sherlock ..." Watson glared at Holmes. "Button it!" He hissed, but his friend ignored the look and continued undeterred.
"Actually, we may need to be a little flexible about the timing, Sir Frederick. I am about to embark upon a case."
"Sherlock," Watson groaned, giving his friend a pained look, and Sir Frederick Penrose Gill looked somewhat flabbergasted himself.
"I know I came here seeking your help, and I do not want to appear ungrateful ..."
"Then don't be an idiot! Shut up and agree to the surgery, Sherlock!" Watson hissed vehemently.
"However, realistically, would a few days make that much difference?" Holmes asked in calm tones.
"A few days you say?"
"I cannot state categorically at this time, but, I anticipate that it will resolve its self in no more than a couple of weeks at most," Holmes stated confidently, although he felt anything but confident.
"It is important to me, Sir Frederick," Holmes declared emphatically. "After all, it might be the last case I ever get," he reminded solemnly.
Watson was astounded.
He hadn't looked at it like that.
"And I do so hate unfinished business," Holmes continued. "Someone is counting on me. I will not let them down because of my own problems."
"How long do you anticipate you will need, Mr Holmes?"
Sir Frederick didn't look happy, but realized that there was nothing that he could do.
The decision to have the surgery was Holmes' alone, and the decision when to go ahead with the procedure was also his.
After all, just over a week was precious little time to get his life and his affairs in order, should things go badly wrong.
"I am not sure yet. I will be able to give you a better idea after I have met with my client. We have an appointment scheduled for later today."
This was news to Watson, but he said nothing, regarding Holmes with narrow eyed suspicion.
This was Holmes show, for now, and there was no point arguing with him.
Just you wait, Sherlock.
There will come a time when your arse is mine!
Sir Frederick Penrose Gill emitted a long, deep sigh, but there was a look of admiration on his face, that his patient could be so selfless at a time like this.
Watson recognized the look.
He'd seen it often enough in the army, when some young whippersnapper had given his life on some misguided, gungho attempt to go out in a blaze of glory.
Selfless my left foot!
He just wants one last chance to show off!
"Tell me, how have you been? Have you become aware of any change in the severity of your symptoms? Any new symptoms? How are you managing the pain?"
If there had been a dramatic change for the worse in his patient's symptomology and the pain was worse, then he would have no qualms about categorically refusing to go along with Holmes request for a short delay.
"No change," Holmes lied, able to read the older man's thoughts etched into his face.
John Watson rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation but remained tight lipped and silent.
What would be the point anyway?
Why waste the breath?
Holmes would do his own thing and be damned!
"The pain medication that Sir Roger prescribed is adequate."
"I can write a script for a top up to see you over."
Penrose Gill looked resigned now.
In his position, he had learned long ago that it was always best to go along with the whims of his very rich, influential and very spoiled clientele, or risk being black listed.
He hadn't got where he was by treading on the wrong toes, and he was not about to start now.
He had a reputation to uphold too, after all.
And, for what it was worth, in his opinion, there really didn't seem any harm in it.
The tumour wasn't going anywhere, and the predicted rate of growth was such that to leave it for a few more days would cause no more damage to major nerves and arteries or vital areas of the brain.
Holmes was lucky that he had decided to seek help relatively early in the progression of the disease.
They had a little room to maneouver.
"Very well. We can still go ahead and schedule the MRI," Penrose Gill acquiesced as he returned his attention to the computer screen, brought up the letter from Witty that his staff had scanned into their system and checked the medication and dosages that the Neuro surgeon had prescribed, satisfying himself that his patient did indeed have enough sleeping medication for the time being, then he began typing at his keyboard and a few seconds later a prescription form began to print.
"I don't suppose a few days will make all that much difference at this stage. Witty won't like it, naturally, but he'll just have to lump it, after all, you're the one paying the bill," he retrieved the printed document from the printer tray and scrawled his flamboyant signature on the prescription then handed it across the desk to Holmes.
"Not I," Holmes clarified, taking the prescription and folding it, placed it in his jacket pocket.
A look of understanding fashioned its self on Penrose Gill's face.
"Ah, the usual arrangement."
"The usual arrangement," Holmes concurred.
"Splendid, we seem to have that all sorted out then. I will be in touch with that MRI appointment as soon as I hear anything, and Mr Holmes, if you notice any change in your condition, come back and see me straight away. Straight away, mind."
Holmes nodded in silent assent.
"Dr Watson," Penrose Gill reached out across his desk, offering Watson his hand once more. "Good to meet you, Sir. I'm sure you know the pack drill. Try to keep him calm, make him rest as much as he can."
Ask me to do something easy why don't you!
Now how am I supposed to do that, short of shooting him full sedatives!
I'm a doctor not a ruddy miracle worker, and this doctor obviously has a fool for a patient!
Penrose Gill turned his attention to Holmes then.
"And you, Sir, you need to follow your doctor's orders. You must try to eat and rest, as much as you can, to keep up your strength, Mr Holmes, but if you find you still can't tolerate food, I suggest you try glucose tablets, or there are, of course, plenty of high energy drinks available on the market these days ..."
Are you kidding me?
Watson could well imagine Holmes tanked up on Red Bull or Relentless.
He was already hyperactive.
Feeding him that stuff would turn him into the Ever Ready bunny, on speed!
"And try to avoid coming into contact with anyone with any kind of virus or infection which might delay the surgery even further."
Holmes merely nodded silently and rose somewhat unsteadily from his seat, indicating that he considered the meeting concluded, and Sir Frederick Penrose Gill responded accordingly, rising from his seat to shake Holmes hand across the desk.
"Good day to you, gentlemen."
Dismissed!
Sir, yes, sir!
Watson thought sourly, resisting the urge to salute, and followed Holmes out of the office.