Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 20

"Wars are not won by evacuations." ~Winston Churchill

When he once again awoke, it was to the sight of Simza hovering over him and the name of his daughter on his lips.

"She is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson," Simza murmured keeping her voice low.  In answer to his unasked question, she said, "She saw nothing."

"Thank God for that," he sighed, allowing his eyes to slip closed again.  Though his body craved rest, his thoughts betrayed him and questions with no answers assaulted his weary mind.  Choosing one of the most pressing, he asked, "Did I... Did I hurt you?"

"No."

Again, Watson sighed in relief.  He could vaguely recall seeing her run into the room when the pain in his head had reached monstrous levels, bringing him to his knees.  He feared he'd hurt her again, but thankfully that had not been the case.  Still, he was terrified of what he couldn't remember.  "Where's Holmes?"

Before Simza could reply, the man himself came stomping into the room, struggling to pull a new shirt on, oblivious as always to society's rules of propriety- including not being in a state of undress before a woman who is not your spouse- while mumbling obscenities about the "wretched woman" and the "damnable cloth".  He finally managed to pull the material over his head and get his arms through the right holes, but not before Watson caught a glimpse of the smattering of bruises across his left side and right in the center of his chest.  Watson cringed.  What in God's name had he done?

"Ah!  He awakes," Holmes said with a tight smile as he sloppily shoved his shirttail into his trousers.

"So it seems," Watson sighed, attempting to sit upright, but settled for leaning against the pillows instead when he began to feel light headed.  He took a deep breath before looking his friend straight in the eye.  "Holmes, what happened?"

Holmes pursed his lips in what Watson could only assume was one of the rare times his companion seriously considered his words before speaking them aloud.  It only served to further heighten Watson's worry.

Simza took his pause as her cue to leave, assuming he and the doctor wished to speak privately.

"Stay, Sim," Watson requested rather suddenly.  At her look of confusion, he added, "Please.  I- There's much I can't seem to recall, and perhaps you could help."

Simza nodded, reclaiming her seat once more.

Pulling over his own chair, Holmes sat beside Simza and across from Watson with his hands clasped before him, elbows resting on his knees.  "I can only tell you what I saw myself.  Perhaps, as you say, Simza can help fill in the gaps, as it were.  You emerged from the madame's room demanding to know if Moriarty was dead."

"I had told you of Moran's attack, and his," Simza muttered, her throat closing as the memories surfaced yet again, "his threat."

"Yes," Watson scowled.  "Yes, I do remember that."

"As to your question, is Moriarty dead?  Until a year ago, I believed he was, and upon discovering the truth of who was behind the recent attacks, both here and at the gypsy encampment, you flew into a rage.  Highly justifiable in my opinion."

"No, Holmes."  Watson shook his head.  "The bruises on your chest and neck- yes, I saw them.  There's no excuse for what I've done."

"I admit, I cannot say I would not have done the same, had our roles been reversed."  Holmes stared down at his hands as he continued, "I must beg your forgiveness, John.  All that can be said in my defense is that I did not wish to involve you a second time.  Especially because of Mary.  Watson, you must know I'd give my life before allowing any harm to come to her.  I see now that, in trying to protect everyone, I was only placing you in greater danger.  And for that, you have my sincerest apologies."