Chapter Text
Holmes only made it a handful of steps away from the settee before his legs threatened to give out. With a wheezing cough, he caught the mantelpiece and struggled to hold himself up. The room spiraled around him, dizzying, and his vision blurred.
“Holmes! What are you doing up?” Rapid footsteps pattered across the room, and Watson caught his arm. Holmes tried to wave him off, but Watson would not be deterred this time. “You should not be standing. You are seriously ill.”
“Nonsense. I am not ill.” The words were thick on Holmes’ tongue, hardly cooperating. He struggled for another breath, and wheezed again. “You are perfectly aware that my illness was all a fabrication.”
His legs buckled, and his fingers slipped off the mantelpiece. For a moment, he thoroughly expected that he was about to crack his head open on either the mantelpiece itself or perhaps the fireplace, and then he would truly be in trouble.
Watson caught him with a pained grunt, almost fully supporting his weight as his body betrayed him. “Easy, old man. Come on. Back to the settee.”
“Oh, Watson, I have just spent three days on the settee.”
“I am aware.” A sharp edge crept into Watson’s voice, and his fingers dug into Holmes’ arm. “But you must be somewhere that you can lie down, and you are too weak to make it to your bed.”
Holmes opened his mouth to protest that he was not weak, but given his total inability to support himself at the moment, that was not an argument that he had a particularly high chance of winning. Instead, he focused on the necessity of breathing, and allowed Watson to help him.
It was very much a good thing that Watson had rushed to aid him, for Holmes found himself shaking violently by the time he sat. His heart raced, each rapid pulse pounding in his temples. He struggled to catch his breath, and found that he could not.
“You exhaust me sometimes.” Watson wrapped him in a blanket, then sat and put an arm around his shoulders. “I do not know how I am meant to care for you if you will not take even the slightest precautions.”
“You are free to leave,” Holmes snapped, jerking away from the touch. It was too much to endure when he was already in such discomfort. “I did not ask you to care for me, nor to restrict my activities. I do not need your fussing, Doctor, and should much prefer that you vanished.”
As soon as the words escaped, regret twisted his stomach. He should not have said that, particularly after the terror that he had just put Watson through again, and the trauma he must have stirred up.
“All right,” Watson said, very quietly. “I’ll leave, since you do not want me.”
“No, no. Please do not go.” The trembling grew even worse, and Holmes pressed a hand to his brow as everything spun. “Forgive me, Watson. I did not mean to…”
His teeth chattered, and although he was not infected with any strange fever, his muscles began to cramp. His head throbbed, and as the world went into an increasingly violent spiral he feared he might fall off the settee.
“Easy,” Watson murmured, hovering with his hand outstretched, ready to catch him if he fell. “I’ll stay, if you really wish it.”
“I do. I really am extremely sorry for lashing out at you, my dear fellow.” It was increasingly difficult to speak, the shaking so overwhelming that he could hardly think. “Watson…”
“It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean to snap.” The pain on his face fading, Watson moved closer. “Holmes, will it be too much if I hold you? With the way you’re shaking, I’m worried you’ll fall.”
It would be too much, but Holmes had no wish to sprawl on the rug, particularly as Watson would be the one forced to help him up. And Watson was sore enough between the stress and preventing his earlier near fall.
So Holmes leaned sideways, resting against Watson. Arms wrapped carefully around him again, and held him tightly as he shook.
The tremors only worsened, harsh and convulsive. The touch was indeed overwhelming, albeit somewhat mitigated by the blanket between them, but Holmes soon grew glad of it. Without Watson to hold him together, he feared that he might simply shake apart.
“Oh, Holmes.” Watson’s breath hitched, and he drew Holmes’ head to be solidly cushioned against his shoulder. That did stabilize things, at least somewhat. “Shh, it’s all right. Come on, try to breathe for me.”
“I am trying,” Holmes gritted. At the moment, he was primarily managing ragged wheezes. “Watson, I fear you may have been correct that I am a little ill.”
“You have put your body through a serious strain these past days, and your health was not at its best to begin with. You’ve pushed yourself too hard too often.”
“It was necessary.”
“I know.” Sniffling slightly, Watson held him close, steadying him through the latest wave of wracking tremors. “But it has taken a toll.”
Holmes closed his eyes, drained. “It has taken a toll on us both, I believe, as well as Mrs. Hudson. I know it caused you great pain, yet I cannot regret what I did.”
“You could regret it a little,” Watson muttered. Then he sighed and shook his head. “No, I know you can’t. But you are right that it caused both myself and Mrs. Hudson immense pain. She wept for you, Holmes. She could not stop crying.”
“Does it help if I say that although I do not regret it, I am certainly experiencing some degree of guilt?”
Watson gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. I want you to stop pretending to be dying or dead.”
His voice cracked, and although Holmes was still extremely unsteady, he untangled one hand from the blankets and rested it upon Watson’s thigh. “I am perfectly alive, and very much intend to stay that way. I shall even allow you to dictate medical necessities to me.”
“Now I know that you really do feel guilty.” Again, Watson sniffled. A tear landed on Holmes’ neck, and he shivered. “You frightened me terribly today, Holmes. Years ago when you vanished, I… did not cope well. Today, all of that came rushing back.”
“I know. And I do wish that it could have been avoided, both for you and Mrs. Hudson.” It would have been a simple enough matter to blame this on Watson’s desire for him to apprehend Culverton Smith, but he would not allow himself to do so. That would be cowardly, and Holmes was no coward. A terrible partner, perhaps, but no coward. “If there is anything I might do to comfort you, I will gladly do it.”
“This helps.” Watson swallowed hard. “Being near you. I’m glad you decided not to send me away.”
“Yes, I am dreadfully sorry for that. I was merely overwhelmed.” He was still overwhelmed, but finally shaking a little less. It was, at least, an improvement. “I am glad to have you here, and will cooperate with your instructions.”
“You really must drink something.” Carefully, Watson moved back and eased him to lean against the pillows. Holmes attempted to regain his balance. “You’re severely dehydrated. This might have easily killed you.”
“Nonsense. Not when I have my Watson to tend to me.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, old man.” Watson picked up a glass and pressed it into Holmes’ hand. He did not let go. “Drink some water. We also have tea, if you’d rather have that.”
“Water will do.” And at the moment, Holmes was even thirsty. He had drank quite a bit after his three days of no food or water, but it did not seem to have been enough to offset the strain.
He found himself shivering again almost at once, which was deeply irritating. Chills shuddered through him, as if he was wearing only his nightshirt rather than that, his dressing gown, and a blanket. His body had indeed been severely taxed by this little adventure.
“I am very tired,” he said as Watson poured another glass of water. “I have dozed a great deal these past days, but true sleep eluded me.”
“You’re not moving to bed. You may sleep on the settee,” Watson said firmly. He helped Holmes take another drink, then held out his hand. “May I see your wrist?”
Holmes had little wish to be prodded at further, but he surrendered his wrist for Watson’s inspection. He was fully aware of his own pulse, erratic as it was at the moment, but Watson would not be content until he had checked it for himself.
And perhaps not then, either. Watson shook his head, expression disapproving. “Hmm. I had hoped to find you more improved than this, now that you have eaten and drank.”
“As you said, I have put a serious strain on my body.”
“Yes, you have. And your body is very displeased.” Watson gave him an unusually stern look. “You must rest, Holmes. And not go running about anywhere, not even to your room.”
“Yes, yes. I shall behave.” He had little wish to lie about on the settee for even longer, but it was much better than collapsing in an attempt to reach his bed. “Might I smoke?”
It taxed him greatly to ask rather than simply picking up his cigarette case, but he was rewarded by the immediate softening of Watson’s expression. “Yes, of course. Provided you sleep after.”
“I cannot promise sleep, but I can promise that I will do my best to rest.”
“You always do your best.” Watson let out a shaky breath, then came to help him get out his cigarette. “Perhaps that is why I find it so impossible to stay angry with you, even when you confront me with my worst memories.”
Holmes winced. “All my apologies.”
“I will be all right now. So long as I am here and can see you, I’m all right. I do not need any more apologies,” Watson murmured. Holmes’ hands shook too badly to be much use for anything, and so Watson struck a match for him. “But Mrs. Hudson, Holmes. She is badly shaken. You must try to reassure her.”
“I fear I am quite terrible at reassurance.”
“You have done well enough in the past. She told me what happened when you returned to London all those years ago. You hugged her.”
Holmes twitched a quick smile, then returned his attention to his cigarette. Yes, he had hugged Mrs. Hudson that day, despite his distaste for touch. She had needed it. “I fear I am not feeling strong enough to administer any necessary hugs today, Watson.”
“You are not obligated to hug her. Or me, for that matter.” Apparently in need of more fussing to do, Watson poured still more water, then went to the bedroom. He came back with additional blankets. “I think she’s very likely to come back upstairs before she retires for the night, no matter how upset she is with you.”
“I cannot blame her for being upset. I did hear her crying, Watson.” And he had not been able to go to her, not without upsetting all his plans. “I would not blame you either, if you were still furious with me.”
“I know.” Watson came to him and bent, brushing a careful kiss to his brow. “But I am not furious with you.”
“Merely worried and exhausted, not to mention frustrated?”
“At the moment, mostly relieved.” Watson gazed at him for a moment, and there was no denying the tenderness in his eyes. “I am so relieved that you’re still here with me.”
Despite the twisting guilt, Holmes returned the smile. “As am I.”
He settled back and smoked for a time, his nerves soothed by the familiar ritual. The familiarity of it was as helpful as the tobacco, in truth. And after these past three days, he greatly needed that familiarity.
This little endeavor might have all ended in catastrophe, and it was only now that the danger he had put himself in truly registered. Watson was right that he had often driven himself hard, and had been often ill. This stretch of time with no food or water could have easily proven fatal had his body decided it was done being mistreated. And he would have broken Watson’s heart in the process, along with Mrs. Hudson’s.
He was very nearly dozing when he at last heard her familiar steps on the stairs. His stomach clenched, and he steeled himself for the emotions that would no doubt come.
“Doctor?” she called softly. “How is he?”
“He’s resting, but you may come in.” Watson went to her, his own steps hitching. His leg was paining him. “He’ll be all right, Mrs. Hudson. And how are you?”
She drew a long, shaky inhale. “I don’t quite know, sir. My nerves aren’t what they used to be.”
“You must try to rest. You’ve been under a serious strain as well, and have been through quite a shock.”
“I was so very terrified for him.” Her voice broke, and she sniffled. “And so soon after you were hurt, Doctor! And Mr. Holmes was sick before that…”
“I know. It has been a great deal of stress and worry for you.”
It was not in Holmes’ nature to wish that he could change things. He endeavored to see things clearly, and to move forward without regrets. But this, like his disappearance after Reichenbach, had caused much pain. It could not be undone, but perhaps soothed.
He drew a deep breath, gathering his strength, and forced his eyes open. The room went into a spin again. “Mrs. Hudson.”
“Oh, sir! You ought to be resting.” She rushed over to the settee and gently rested her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, you’re trembling so. You go back to sleep, and the doctor and I will be quiet.”
“No, no. I shall sleep soon, but not just yet.” Holmes hesitated, uncertain what to do. He truly had no skill at comforting anyone. “I wished to apologize first.”
Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened. “Mr. Holmes…”
“I owe you a great many apologies, as well as my thanks. Your timely insistence on bringing Watson did save me, you know.” He was also unaccustomed to speaking so plainly of his own vulnerabilities, but he must do something. “I was very ill, even if not as ill as I pretended.”
She patted his shoulder, her lip trembling. “You scared me very badly, sir. It brought back an awful lot of bad memories.”
“I know, and that grieves me greatly.” He hesitated a moment longer, then raised his unsteady hand and laid it across hers. “I am very sorry to have caused you such pain, Mrs. Hudson. I shall endeavor to be a better tenant in the future.”
She gave a soft little sob, but a smile crept onto her face. “There’s no one I’d rather have under my roof, Mr. Holmes. I’m so relieved you’re all right.”
Holmes flashed a quick smile and patted her hand again, but he had utterly run out of energy to do more. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson seemed to recognize that. She squeezed his hand, then gently laid it back on his chest and crept away.
She and Watson paused together at the doorway to confer, and Holmes did not try to listen. They were likely either commiserating about their shared terror, or just as likely making plans to fuss extensively over him. Instead of listening, he chose to rest.
For while he had done all that he could for Mrs. Hudson at the moment, he had little doubt that Watson was in desperate need of more reassurance. He could not hug Watson either, not at the moment, but perhaps a little conversation would help.
“Well, my dear Watson.” Holmes’ head swam, and his chills grew more violent again. It seemed that his body objected to any exertion at all. “How was that for… er.”
His mind went thoroughly fogged over, and his thoughts slipped away. There was something he had intended to say to Watson, to ask him about, but what? Ah, yes. Mrs. Hudson.
“I’m sure Mrs. Hudson feels much better now that you’ve been able to talk a bit.” Watson moved slowly to the settee, his steps stiff, and spread another blanket across Holmes. He rested his hand on the side of Holmes’ head, just for a moment, and then smoothed his hair. “You need to rest now, old man.”
“Oh, Watson. I’m quite all right.” It was quite inconvenient that he could hardly think, admittedly. But perhaps if he pushed himself a little harder. “Really, you need not…”
“I need worry a great deal,” Watson said firmly. “And you must rest. I will not hear any argument from you, Holmes.”
Holmes was very much in the habit of arguing with absurd claims that he needed to rest. He was perfectly capable of collecting himself and carrying on a coherent conversation. Most likely.
However, it would worry Watson, and he had agreed to submit to any medical instructions. So once Watson helped him take another sip of water and once again fussed over his blankets, Holmes closed his eyes and attempted to doze.
No doubt after a little sleep, he would be well on his way to recovery. And then he could do his best to reassure Watson and Mrs. Hudson, and perhaps mitigate some of the distress that his resolution to the case had caused.