Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 19

"I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out." ~Ally Carter

Taking the pipe from between his teeth, Watson let the smoke escape through his nose as he sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair as he had multiple times in the last twenty-four hours. His hands had since steadied, only to be replaced by a fierce pounding in his head, for which laudanum had done nothing. He was not entirely sure it was an improvement over the shaking. "First those men threaten Mary and Irene, and now Simza..." he trailed off with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you make of it, Holmes?"

Holmes shoved his hands deep in his pockets and continued staring out the window at the quiet street below. "I'm sure I don't know."

Watson was properly shocked by the confession, uttered so softly the doctor nearly missed it, but before he had the chance to form a reply, Holmes turned to face him with a tight smile. "At least, not yet. But I have a hunch we are on the verge of something far greater than either you or I ever anticipated."

Providing no further explanation for his grim proclamation, Holmes departed, leaving Watson alone with his patient and the thoughts rattling around in his aching head.

~*~*~

It was later that evening that Simza finally began to stir. Watson had hoped that when she did wake, she'd do so peacefully. It seemed though, as Simza's features contorted into a frown, that that was not to be. A strangled cry escaped her lips as she began to thrash, struggling against the unseen force haunting her subconscious. The doctor was quick to move to her side, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Madame Simza," he called softly, not wanting to startle her. "Can you hear me?" She only struggled harder, tangling herself up in the bedclothes in the process. Afraid she may somehow inflict further injury upon herself, Watson braced her by wrapping his large hands around her upper arms. "Simza," he called again, desperate now, as tears began cascading down her cheeks, to bring her around to full consciousness. "Sim, wake up! Simza!"

With a tremendous gasp, she jolted awake, charcoal eyes flitting about the room in confusion as the last remnants of her dream faded.

"You're alright," Watson soothed, still holding her arms, though much more gently now. "You're safe. It's alright."

Her eyes flashed and widened when they landed on him. Chapped lips parted as she worked to form the words. "Y-you're alive!" she choked, fresh tears filling her eyes.

Watson frowned. "Yes, of course. Why would..."

His reply was abruptly cut off by Simza launching herself into his arms and wrapping her own around his neck. "He told me you were dead," she sobbed, her breath hot against his neck. "He said... He said they'd killed you!"

"Who did?" he asked, but Simza only clung to him tighter, her fingers clutching at his waistcoat. Watson sighed. Now was not the time to be pressing her for information. Likely, it was simply the result of a trauma induced dream. Nevertheless, simple as the prognosis seemed, a trauma had undoubtedly occurred, and Watson was determined to see whomever had brought her so much pain be properly judged for his crimes. His mind whirled with questions, and anger coiled in his gut, but he forced it down and silenced his racing mind when he felt his dear friend trembling against him. Watson brought his arms up more fully around Simza, curling one about her waist while the other came up around her shoulders, stroking her raven tresses as he whispered gently, "Hush now. It's alright. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. Hush. It's alright."

They were silent for a moment as Watson did his best to give her the comfort she sought, rocking her back and forth and starting to lose track of just what exactly he was telling her. After a while, Simza composed herself and pulled away from the embrace. "There," he said, doing his best to offer a small smile of encouragement as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, "better now?" But the gypsy woman would not meet his gaze, instead fiddling with a tear in her skirts. "Simza?"