Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 5

"A true friend never gets in your way, unless you happen to be going down." ~Arnold H. Glasow

A few weeks later, an urgent note was sent to 221 Baker Street addressed to Holmes from Inspector Lestrade.  It seemed that Watson had been arrested at the bar he'd been frequenting.  Something was said about drunkenness, gambling, and a brawl, but Holmes didn't really pay much attention.  Watson had landed himself in prison, for once it was not Holmes' fault, and that was really all he needed to know.   He immediately donned his own coat and then began to bundle up Mary, despite Mrs. Hudson's protests, and took her with him downtown to the jail house.  He naturally had a plan, and the child in his arms was of vital importance. 

Holmes met Lestrade at the gate.  "Hold this," he said simply, handing Mary to the thoroughly baffled head of the Yard.  Holmes then sauntered up to the bars, a hard expression on his face.  That is, until he actually caught sight of Dr. Watson, or rather, what was left of his friend.  Watson's hair and beard were both in desperate need of a trim.  His clothes, usually kept in the most pristine condition, were dirty, torn, and rumpled.  Holmes' heart ached at the sight of him.  "Watson," he called out.  The other prisoners ignored him, but the doctor's head shot up, his eyes bloodshot and encircled by dark shadows, his cheeks hallow and pale.  Holmes cringed as he watched his friend limp over to the gate.

"Holmes," Watson slurred slightly with a slow smile.  "Thank God! Let's go home."

Holmes took a deep breath, fairly certain his plan would work.  Honestly, he was out of ideas, which was quite a new situation to find himself in.  But he had tried everything else to bring the old Watson back to life, and this was the last and only option.  He only hoped that one day Watson would be able to forgive him for this.  "There's someone else here who would like to see you before we go," he said, motioning for Lestrade to bring Mary forward.  Taking the girl in his arms, who had awakened during the transition between the two men, he turned back to where a confused Watson stood waiting.  If possible, he grew even paler when he saw his daughter.  "This is your father, my dear," Holmes said, willing himself to continue on in Watson's best interest. "When she found out where I was headed today, she insisted upon accompanying me.  You see, Watson, she was wondering who you were.  Lord knows, I tried my best to explain, but she simply could not make the connection between the honorable man I was describing and the drunk bastard who has taken his place.  So now she will be able to recognize the man who has done nothing but cast her aside since the hour of her birth as if she were nothing more than a nuisance to be ignored.  Yes, my dearest girl, this pitiful excuse for a man is your father."

As his friend's cruel but honest words fell upon his ears, and his daughter's wide eyes seemed to look straight into his broken soul, Watson felt his heart shatter into a million pieces even though he had been sure that it was already beyond repair.  He stared down at the ground and watched as tears stained the cobblestones of the prison yard beneath his feet.  For the first time since Mary's death, he realized with a pang of regret just how wildly out of control he'd allowed his life to get.  His own daughter, his precious baby girl, was over a month old and the only time he'd ever even touched her was when he cleaned her up and wrapped her in a blanket just before Mary had breathed her last.  Pushing past all the hurt, buried deep beneath his crushing grief, was a memory filled with more joy than he had ever imagined he could feel.  The memory of holding his daughter, of seeing her face for the very first time.  The fact that she was seeing him in such a state now...

Watson crumpled to his knees before Holmes, choked and harsh sobs erupting from his chest.

Holmes sighed with relief.  "Let him out, Lestrade," he ordered as he shifted Mary a bit to ease the ache in his shoulder.   "I do believe our dear Dr. Watson is back at long last."

*~*~*

Arriving back at 221 Baker Street, Watson sank down into a chair in his office, rubbing his temples in hopes of riding himself of the horrible headache he'd developed.  "Drink this," Holmes demanded, barging into the room and handing his friend a glass a third full with some sort of clear liquid.  "Best plug your nose."

Watson did as instructed without question, letting Holmes know just how out of it the doctor truly was, swallowing the concoction in one go.  He coughed a bit and slammed the glass down on his desk.  "Holmes!" he cried, still coughing a bit.  "Tell me that was not what I think it was!"

"Alright," Holmes sniffed, sitting in a chair opposite him.  "I won't tell you."

"Holmes!"

Pulling out his pipe and filling it with his favorite tobacco, Holmes shrugged.  "I've found no better curative for extreme intoxication than formaldehyde."

Sure enough, Watson jumped up and ran to the washroom to empty his stomach.  Holmes chuckled to himself as he lit his pipe and amused himself by blowing several smoke rings into the air.  A trick he'd have to share with little Mary once she got a bit older.

A few hours later, once Watson had recovered from the debilitating effects of the formaldehyde, bathed, shaved, and changed his clothes, Holmes found him leaning over his daughter's cradle.  He sat down across from him, for once in his life having the tact to remain silent.  Watson was the first to speak.  "I'm sorry.  I can't believe I let this happen.  My own daughter," he whispered, his voice nearly breaking as he reached down to gently stroke his finger against her soft cheek.  "She's grown so much already, and I missed it.  The poor thing doesn't even have a name yet..."

"Actually," Holmes said casually, "I've been meaning to discuss that with you."  Watson tore his gaze away from his sleeping daughter to look at his friend with one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Well, since you were in no condition to do so, and I had no idea when you would regain your senses, I have found a name that suits her quite nicely.  Don't worry, I made no decision without consulting her first."

Holmes expected the doctor to be angry, or to roll his eyes in frustration, or, well... something other than the accepting nod he received.  Watson simply looked back down at the baby and asked in a very calm manner, "What is her name, then?"

Reaching his hand in and letting her tiny fist close around on of his fingers, Holmes smiled and said, "Mary Irene Watson."

Watson nodded again and shut his eyes against the burning tears.  A life without Mary was no life at all, but here lay his own little Mary.  His angel.  His saving grace.  "It's perfect. Thank you, Holmes."

They fell into a comfortable silence, both watching Mary sleep peacefully, surrounded by more love than she had ever been in her short life, save the actual hour of her birth.  "I am sorry about Mary, Watson," Holmes said suddenly.  "She was a remarkable, extraordinary woman."

"Thank you," Watson said softly.  "And Holmes... I'm sorry about Irene. Truly."

Holmes nodded, unable to speak for the second time that night.  It was an odd feeling, having one's tongue tied, and he did not like it at all.  Apparently sensing this, Watson cleared his throat lightly and said, "You know that name you've given my daughter, it's lacking something."  Holmes looked confused.  Watson explained.  "Mary was convinced it was a boy, you know.  She was so convinced, in fact, that we only ever discussed names for a son.  And do you know what she had her mind set on?  The name she insisted upon for our son?"

"I should say I haven't the slightest idea," Holmes conceded.

"Sherlock," Watson said with a smile.

"Yes?"

"No," Watson chuckled.  "She wanted to name our son Sherlock Edward Watson."

Holmes was astonished and immediately searched Watson's face to see if his friend was in fact serious.  Nothing indicated that he was telling a falsehood.

"So, if you would not mind, I should like to honor Mary's wishes by adding to my daughter's name.  Mary Irene Sherlock Watson."

Holmes smiled. "A fine idea, my dear Dr. Watson."