Chapter Twenty Two.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Watson hissed in a low voice as he joined Holmes in the kitchen after concluding his phone call to his extremely annoyed wife.

Mary was usually very sweet natured, tolerant and understanding, and while he had got the impression that she was trying to be the patient, indulgent, charitable wife, he could tell from her voice that she was disappointed, and really angry and frustrated with him.

He felt like a louse for letting her down, and had told her so, but it hadn't helped.

He was still going to let her down, and they both knew it.

However, Watson was aware that there was nothing in the marriage vows that said she had to be happy about it.

You don't physically have to have a dog house, to be in the dog house!

At least there hadn't been any tears.

Watson had just about managed to restrain himself.

In the end Mary had told him not to worry, that he had to do what he needed to do and that she would try to find someone else to go with, after all it would be a shame to waste the ticket, after waiting so long for the unwanted returns to come back to the box office, and spending so much money on them, although at this late stage, that was doubtful.

As Watson had marched into the kitchen, Holmes had had his back to him, leaning against the kitchen counter, head bowed, seemingly engrossed in counting the sugar cubes in the bowl on the tray of tea things before him, waiting for the kettle to come back up to the boil.

Innocence personified!

Not.

As he waited for Holmes to acknowledge him, Watson suddenly recalled the conversation that he had had with Sherlock after Cassia Ingram's last visit, when she had first confided that she could feel what the killer felt, and about needing to get her back here pronto, his promise to be gentle with her, and Holmes determination that he needed her insight if they were going to make progress with the case.

Ah, the penny finally drops!

"You bastard. You want her to dream. You want that poor woman to go through that misery and terror, just so you can grill her and try to get the information you need about the bloody killer!"

Watson was incensed now.

"Bravo."

Holmes, who did not move, also kept his voice low, not wanting Cassia Ingram to overhear their conversation.

However, at that moment he could hear her soft voice coming from the living room and deduced that she was calling her friend to see how she was, to apologize for her actions and to reassure her friend that she was alright.

"You ..."

"Yes, yes, I know all that, John," Holmes cut him off in mid sentence, still not turning around to face his friend. "But it really is the only way to move forward. The sooner we find this man and put a stop to him, the sooner this stops for Cass too," Holmes insisted in a whisper, as the kettle finished boiling.

"It's infinitely better for her to do this under controlled conditions, and under the supervision of a doctor, don't you think?" He reasoned. "She's got to fall asleep sooner or later. Her body is starving for rest. Isn't it better that she does so here, amongst friends, with people who understand and who might just be able to help her to control her dreams in a direction that could be helpful!"

"You arrogant arse... You think you might be able to control someone else's dreams? Christ, Sherlock, the woman can't even control her own dreams!"

"Alright, control is perhaps too strong a word. Guide would be a better description. If I can guide her, make suggestions about keeping her emotions in check and where to look and what to look for..."

Oh...

Well, if you put it like that...

"I am not a bully, as you are thinking, nor am I completely without feelings or understanding, John, but time is of the essence here, and it is something that neither of us has much of. Cass can't take any more of this, physically or emotionally, and I am keenly aware of the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head, my surgery date, looming large before me. We may never get a better opportunity," Holmes added as he very carefully lifted the kettle from its base and poured boiling water in to the teapot, his hand suddenly shaking, blinking rapidly because his vision was unusually blurred.

"It's a giant leap, Sherlock, assuming that while she is asleep, she'll be even be able to hear you, much less do as you suggest, without actually breaking the dream and waking up."

"We have to chance it, John. Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but it has to be done, and I think Cass knows it too."

"Now you're a ruddy mind reader!" Watson muttered darkly, but he couldn't think of a suitable argument, after all, she had consented to stay, so she must be aware on some level of what Holmes was anticipating might happen, and was, therefore, prepared to go along with it.

"Am I the only one who's crystal ball has a ruddy great crack in it?" He added sarcastically, not wanting to let Holmes off the hook quite yet.

For his part, Sherlock Holmes was glad that his friend was distracted by his annoyance at him.

It was infinitely better than his sympathy any day of the week.

And Holmes really didn't want him to see him so unsteady.

John was far too good a doctor not to realize that something was drastically wrong.

This too shall pass.

He repeated silently to himself.

This too shall pass.

"How was Mary?"

Holmes decided to change the subject as he stirred the boiling water and tea leaves around, mixing them together in the teapot and then somewhat clumsily put the lid on with a clank of china.

"Pissed off."

Watson was as blunt as ever.

"She has theatre tickets and she's really been looking forward to it," he explained with a sour expression as he glared at Holmes back. "She's had to wait weeks for returns to the box office, and then I go and do this across her. She says it will take more than flowers and chocolates to get on her good side this time."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"She wasn't talking about me, Sherlock!"

"Ah... Me?"

"Yes, mate, you, and I wish you the very best of British luck with that!"

Holmes picked up the kettle, still half full of boiling water to replace it on its base, before he knocked it over, and suddenly felt a weakness and numbness come over his right hand and before he could safely replace the appliance, half its scalding contents were spilling all over the worktop, his left wrist and down his left thigh.

"Damnation!"

Holmes howled as the scorching liquid soaked into the material of his trousers, burning the tender flesh of his inner thigh and the delicate flesh on the inside of his wrist.

"Sherlock!" Watson was at his side in an instant and used both hands to turn Holmes around to face him.

"You idiot! C'mere..."

He pulled Holmes toward the sink where he turned on the cold water tap and stuck Holmes wrist, watch and all under the stream of icy water, then grabbed a cloth and began to dab at the darkening stain on the front of Holmes trousers.

"It's no use, they'll have to come off, Sherlock," and without hesitation he made to pull at Holmes belt.

"That will do, John. I can manage." Sherlock ground out between clenched perfect white teeth, suddenly feeling very sick, dizzy and weak, as he pulled his hand out of the stream of cold water and began to fumble with his belt with fingers that felt as alien to him as a bunch of bananas.

"Yes, I can see how well you manage, you tit, you've scalded your ruddy self," Watson muttered darkly, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour and allowed Holmes to undo the belt himself, even though he seemed to be taking forever, the simple mechanism of the buckle beyond him, or so it seemed, all the time aware that the longer the scalding water was in contact with his skin, the worse the burn would be, and then he dropped his trousers around his knees so that Watson could get a closer look at the deepening patch of angry red skin on his inner thigh.

Watson went to the fridge to see if he could find some ice to wrap in the cloth he was holding, ignoring as he did so, the severed foot sitting in the middle of the middle shelf, Holmes experiments long since lost their ability to shock him, although it did cross his mind to wonder why Holmes also seemed to have a couple of penises in a tupperware container on the top shelf at the back of the fridge.

Don't even bother going there.

However as he dug out the ice tray he found that there was none, so instead, he went back to the sink with the cloth in hand and soaked it in cold water, wrung it out as best he could then handed it to Holmes.

It would have to do for now.

"Here, klutz, put that on it while I get my bag."

He waited for a moment, watching as Holmes took the cloth in shaky fingers.

The poor young man looked almost white faced and had his teeth clenched in a tight grimace against the stinging pain in his leg and wrist, and Watson fleetingly wondered if Sherlock was going to go into shock.

"You look like hell, by the way."

It was true.

He looked washed out, like a French mime artist, blue/grey eyes squinting, lids blinking rapidly, a pinched, pained expression on his face, body quaking and swaying slightly from side to side, even as he leaned his backside against the sink unit to try to steady himself.

"That is a very accurate description of how I feel, thank you, doctor."

"Stings does it?"

Watson kept any sympathy he might have felt for his friend out of his voice.

"Yes!" Holmes hissed.

"Good."

Watson returned to the living room and found Cassia Ingram just finishing her telephone call.

"What happened? I heard..."

"Slight mishap with the kettle. He'll be fine. Big baby."

"Can I do anything?" She offered softly.

"No. I've got it covered, thanks. Can I get you anything?"

"Well, actually, I think I'd rather like to take a shower, if that's alright? My friend is sending some clothes around in a cab for me. I came out in rather a hurry," she rolled her eyes heavenward and then grinned softly at Watson. "If I could borrow some towels and a clean dressing gown until my things get here?"

"Help yourself. Holmes usually keeps a dressing gown hanging up on the back of the bathroom door, can't swear it will be clean though. But if you're willing to risk it, help yourself. Towels are in the cupboard on the landing next to the bathroom. Soap and shampoo live on the shelf under the shower head. There's toothpaste there too, if you like."

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll feel better when I've made myself look respectable."

"You never know, that tea might even be ready by the time you're done."

Watson snatched up his medical bag and headed back toward the kitchen and Sherlock Holmes, while Cassia Ingram rose from the couch, pulling the raincoat more tightly around herself, heading toward the living room door and then the bathroom further down the landing.