Chapter Twenty Five.
While Holmes slept, Cassia Ingram, now dressed in a pair of comfortable grey sweat pants and a short sleeved white T-shirt, hair, newly washed and brushed, falling around her shoulders in soft waves, and barefoot, as she sat cross legged on the couch, offered to stay with Sherlock and keep an eye on him, while Watson took some time out to go home and see his wife, briefly, promising to call him immediately if Holmes seemed worse and when he made to protest, weakly, she had reassured him that she was far too wound up and nervous to fall asleep while he was gone.
Watson was grateful for the offer, and in truth, he didn't need much persuading. It would give him time to go back to the practice and make sure the agency had a Locum lined up for him, maybe even help out with evening surgery, but first he wanted to kiss and make up with Mary, and so decided to take Cassia up on her offer, promising to bring food back with him when he returned, and they settled on Chinese takeaway all round.
He was torn between his need to stay with Sherlock, and his desire to mend some fences with Mary.
He also wanted to ring Sir Frederick Penrose Gill to fill him in on this new development in Holmes condition and check what else he might need to look for in the next twenty four hours.
He also wanted to set the wheels in motion, so that the minute the case was over, he could get Holmes straight to the hospital and the specialized care that he needed, and know that they would be ready for him.
After Watson had departed, Cassia tidied away the tea things in the kitchen, and generally made things look a little more respectable, and then, returning to the living room, to fill the time, and take her mind off the ordeal that she surely knew was coming later that night, she retrieved the overnight bag that her friend Maddie had sent around in the cab, along with her handbag, and pulled out a large artists' sketch pad and a set of charcoals and began to draw.
Soon she had a very respectable head and shoulders sketch of John Watson jumping off the page at her, and she smiled softly in satisfaction.
Drawing had always soothed her.
In an ever changing world, her art was the one thing that she could always rely on to relax and calm her and centre her mind.
That truly was a gift, not a curse.
At around four o'clock, Cassia heard someone labouring up the stairs, and looked up from her sketchpad to find Mrs Hudson standing in the doorway, a plastic shopping bag of groceries dangling from her hand.
The older woman was breathless, and a little startled to find Cassia Ingram sitting on Sherlock's couch, but then she remembered that they had met the other day, and she gave the younger woman a shy smile.
"Hello Mrs Hudson, let me give you a hand with that."
Cassia set aside her sketch pad and rose from the couch, following Mrs Hudson into the kitchen.
"Where are the boys?" Mrs Hudson asked, scrutinizing the now clean and tidy kitchen, recognizing it as the work of another woman's hand and turned back to look approvingly at Cassia Ingram as she joined her in the kitchen.
"John had to go out for a while, but Sherlock's here. He's sleeping."
Mrs Hudson suddenly looked crestfallen, as though she had just remembered something terrible and turned away quickly and began to busy herself with the bag of groceries.
"He'll be alright, you know, Mrs Hudson."
Cassia came up behind the older woman and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, stilling her in the process of putting a tin of baked beans in the open cupboard above her.
"Little sod, he's more trouble than he's worth..." Mrs Hudson grumbled, but there was a catch in her voice.
"I know. That's why they don't want him over there yet," Cassia smiled wryly, and this drew a curious, tearful look from Mrs Hudson.
"He'd be too big a pain in the backside. Always arguing. Always so damned sure that he's right all the time, sanctimonious and arrogant and belligerent. They don't want him disturbing their peace just yet, Mrs Hudson. Besides, he still has too much work to do here," Cassia assured and now Mrs Hudson was regarding her with understanding.
"You have the second sight, dear?"
"Something like that."
"I had a cousin once," Mrs Hudson confided as she returned her attention to placing tinned groceries in the cupboard. "She could see, you know, things, that other people couldn't, knew things before anyone else. Some people don't believe in that sort of thing, but I've seen Betty in action, and I know that there is something to it. She was never wrong. Gone now, of course, but I still remember..."
Cassia knew what was coming next, but she didn't mind.
She knew that it would be infinitely less traumatic than what Sherlock Holmes had in store for her later, and it would help to pass the time.
"Do you think you could ...?" Mrs Hudson asked as she turned her head and regarded Cassia somewhat sheepishly.
"I can give it try. Let's have a cuppa and a chat and see what happens, eh?"