Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 15

Sensitive topic warning: Chapter contents center around a miscarriage.  Please skip ahead if this is triggering for you.  My heart to those who have suffered this.

"A person's a person, no matter how small." ~Dr. Seuss

Watson had only just gotten into bed when there was a fierce pounding at his door.  Two weeks had passed since his illness, though he continued to have trouble sleeping.  Still, he hurried to open the door before the offending noise could waken his daughter.  He was greeted with the sight of a quite frantic Sherlock Holmes.

"Watson!  Thank Heaven you're awake!  You must come quickly!  Bring your bag."

The good doctor did not think to question him.  There was something in his friend's dark eyes. Holmes was truly terrified, shaken to his very core.  Seldom in their long years of friendship had Watson witnessed Holmes in such a state.  He followed Holmes to his bedroom where he found Irene curled up on the bed, her eyes closed tightly as she took deep, measured breaths.  Salty tears were streaming down her cheeks.  "Dear God," Watson gasped, hurrying to her side.  "What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure," Holmes barely managed to whisper, nearing a state of pure panic.  "She awoke with an unbearable pain radiating from her middle.  She would not permit me to fetch you until now."

Irene moaned, and Watson reached out to stroke her sweat dampened locks away from her pale face.  "It's alright," he soothed, beginning to pull back the quilts to check her over, but Irene clutched them tightly about her slender frame.  Watson opened his mouth to protest, but Irene gave him such a pleading, desperate look that the words died on his lips.  She shook her head ever so slightly, her gaze drifting toward her husband.

All at once, Watson understood.  "Holmes," he said gently, "I think it best if you waited outside."

Holmes scoffed.  "Don't be ridic-"

"Please Holmes," Watson urged more firmly, knowing Irene would not concede to his help until Holmes left, and time was of the essence in matters such as this.  "I'll need someone to watch over Mary while I tend to Irene."

Just when it seemed Holmes was going to argue, he sighed in defeat and nodded sadly, placing a kiss on his wife's forehead before leaving the room.

The solid door clicked shut and Watson turned back to his patient.  "Now, let's have a look, shall we?"

When he drew the bed clothes back, Irene averted her gaze so she would not have to witness his reaction.

Watson felt his breath leave him.  His heart all but stopped.  There was so much blood.  So very much blood.  "Irene," he said in a soft tone, needing to confirm his conclusions, "were you expecting?"

"Yes, but I only just began to suspect," she whimpered.  "I was still not entirely sure, so I didn't tell him.  Then tonight...  John, I just couldn't let him see.  I didn't..."

"No," he said, with a sad smile, "you don't have to explain yourself to me.  I understand.  Don't worry, we'll fix you right up."

~*~*~

Holmes checked on Mary, and, determining she was in fact asleep and would not be waking any time soon, entered the parlor area.  Moonlight streamed in through the open window, casting an eerie glow about the room.  Holmes felt an all too familiar panic rising in his chest.   With his wife lying ill in the next room, it seemed all the work he had done was for naught.  The darkness had once again become his enemy.  He quickly turned up a few lamps, banishing his foe to the farthest corners of the room.  A trembling sigh passed over his lips.  Splaying his fingers out, he raked them through his hair.