Prompt: An Unexpected Response. Today, take inspiration from this line: "No, I don't know him. Should I?"
"Sleeping in that position cannot be comfortable."
The noise infiltrated from…somewhere, though my sleep-muddled mind refused to make sense of the sound. A strange pressure tried to catch my attention, then the world abruptly rotated. The immediate bout of nausea did wonders to push the darkness away.
"Doctor? Why are you sleeping in the entry?"
Though not my confusion. Aside from being entirely too loud, whatever had found me prodded in a manner decidedly unpleasant. I wanted to sleep more.
"Doctor, wake up."
Danger.
Something in me sounded the warning, shoving away the desire to sleep in the face of some problem I could not yet identify. I tried to flinch, to push myself away from whatever threatened, but my body refused to respond. Pain in my head became an all over ache that barely avoided escaping in a low groan.
"Doctor?"
What? The rough shake of my shoulder suggested the noise—voice?—addressed me, but I did not recognize the term. Why did she call me that?
And who was she?
"Open your eyes, Doctor. Mr. Holmes should have known better than to send you home with a head injury."
Mr.…who? Homes? And what head injury? I hurt everywhere.
I had no idea, nor did I think it prudent to ask. Another shake let me pry my eyes open instead.
"That's it. Look at me."
Rapid blinks slowly turned a muddled mess of colors into the concerned frown of a woman only slightly older than I was. Reddish brown hair gathered into a loose knot behind her head, the bright chain of a necklace glinted in the light of the window, and a dingy white apron tried to hide the rough skirt made for a cleaning day. Something made her frown deepen.
"Do you know where you are?"
On the floor. Stairs rose to another storey on my right. An exterior door interrupted the wall on my left. The wall behind me opened to somewhere I could not see.
"Doctor?"
What? She still frowned when I tried to focus on her.
"Do you know who I am?"
No, but that hardly mattered. It would come back to me eventually. Probably. More important to find the source of that danger. Were we somewhere strange?
I had no way of knowing. Not when I did not know my own name. What about a dangerous person?
Just the woman. I doubted she meant me any harm when she looked one wrong question away from hugging me. The click of the door echoed in my painful head.
"Watson! You will—"
"Mr. Holmes!"
Though the door had nothing on the newcomer's volume. Pain skyrocketed at his bellow, and the irritated hiss that followed did not help. Realization became remorse, then worry when I failed to smother a groan.
"Alright, Watson?"
The near murmur thankfully did not increase my pain, but I still made no answer. Several seconds passed in silence.
"Doctor, do you know him?"
Her gesture referenced the man now kneeling in front of me. No. I did not know him—or her—nor did I know why I should. When the pain eased back to manageable, I resumed trying to place where I was.
"What happened?"
"I found him propped in the corner," the woman answered quietly, hovering nearby as the man's long arm lifted me to my feet with ease. "Teased him about sleeping in the entry until he struggled to wake. He hasn't said a word, and I'm not sure he remembers his own name, much less yours. He has a knot on his head. Did you know he was hurt?"
A silent negative let us stumble toward the stairs. I would have preferred to stay in my corner, but protesting required too much effort. Maybe he would let me sleep at the top of the stairs.
"Santov laid an ambush. Watson took the first blow, but he regained his feet before I secured the cuffs. He told me he was uninjured."
Something about his tone—or maybe his word choice—indicated a layered meaning deeper than the words indicated. I fought to follow the inference, but we reached a cluttered sitting room before I could decide what he truly meant. His firm grip quickly deposited me on the settee.
"Here." The woman dropped a large black bag on the floor nearby. "Do you want anything besides tea?"
"Cold cuts. Cheese." A gesture suggested an unspoken addition. "And send Lestrade a telegram that we will be unavailable for a while."
She murmured something of an agreement, though I paid the conversation no mind, far more interested in the soft cushion and the blanket I found on its back. A hand squeezed my shoulder as I let my eyes close.
"Stay awake, Watson. You can sleep later."
No. I wanted to sleep now, not later. Iron already dragged my eyelids, and every muscle refused to move beneath its weight. Maybe some rest would let me put a name to the man now yelling in my ear.
If not, I could always ask him to tell me, but that was a problem for another time.
Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always very much welcome :)