Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 23

"When darkness overtakes you, I won't leave you alone. I will come and find you, and bring you safely home. You'll feel my hand clasping yours in the gathering gloom. I'll follow you into the darkness..." ~ John Mark Green

It was the early hours of the morning and Watson could not sleep. He wasn't sure if it was the dull pounding in his head, the churning of his stomach, or the way every heartbeat positively vibrated through his body as though he would shake right out of his skin, but he estimated he had not slept more than twenty minutes the entire night.

He looked over at Simza, asleep in the chair beside his bed. The stars sparkled through the window, bathing her in an ethereal beauty. He dearly wished to lift her into his arms and carry her to a bed, or anywhere more comfortable than that stiff chair, but he knew he lacked the strength to do so. He watched sleep, her eyes darting behind her lashes. She may be asleep, but it was not peaceful. Considering recent events, it was no wonder. The very least he could do was cover her with a blanket. He could manage that much.

Or so he thought.

The very moment he was upright, the world shifted around him and he fell to his knees. The loud thud startled Simza awake. He heard her ask him what was wrong, or perhaps what happened, he wasn't sure. Her words were blending together into a low hum and he struggled to make sense of it. His chest felt tight and he tried to bite back a groan, but it forced its way past his pale lips. He thought he heard Simza again, but his vision was fading, and when he blinked, she was gone.

Holmes was fairly certain he'd never seen their Simza so distressed as when she ran into Watson's old office, breathlessly describing the scene she'd just witnessed.

Rushing back to the doctor's room, they arrived just in time to see him collapse completely to the floor. Holmes and Simza rushed to his side. A quick assessment of Watson's condition had Holmes stopping Simza from further attempting to aid him. "Don't," he cautioned, staying her hand. "Notice the unnatural stiffness of his arms and legs. Touching him now would only make things that much worse."

"What's happening to him?" she whispered, never taking her eyes off Watson.

"To put it simply, a fit."

No sooner had he spoken those words than Watson cried out. Soon his whole body was violently trembling, each muscle spasming at perfectly timed intervals, over and over again. Holmes and Simza helplessly kept watch, the detective's white knuckled fists gripping the fabric of his trousers to keep himself from touching Watson. Silent tears fell from Simza's eyes as she waited for the fit to subside.

Watson's head smacked off the hard wood floor with every tremor that rocked his tall frame. Unsure of whether it was the right thing to do, but unable to stomach doing nothing any longer, Simza slid a hand beneath his head, providing some cushion between him and the unforgiving floor. "Ticho, drahý," she soothed, her heart breaking each time a cry left his taught throat, "Dýchat. Prostě dýchej. Budete v pořádku. Teď, drahoušku."

Although Holmes knew it to be purely coincidental, it was when she finished that Watson's shaking form began to still. Slowly, but surely, his body calmed, and Holmes let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Simza gently lay his head back down, instead running her fingers through his hair and humming softly. Holmes fetched a damp towel.

"He is not waking," Simza said, anxious dark eyes flitting from Watson's face, to Holmes, and back again.

"He will," Holmes reassured her, dabbing at Watson's brow and mustached lip where beads of sweat had formed. He then used the towel to wipe away the saliva from his lips and chin. It was then Watson's eyes blinked open. He looked from Simza to Holmes, focusing on the detective.

"Ah," Holmes grinned triumphantly, "there, you see? I told you he'd come back around to us. How are you, old boy?"

"L-loud," Watson groaned, squeezing his eyes shut once again.

"Apologies," Holmes said in a softer tone. He gave Watson a moment to compose himself before asking, "John, do you know who I am?"

"Sherl-" he swallowed, licking his lips before trying again. "Sherlock."

"Well done. Now, can you tell me where we are?"

"Home," he managed, his dull gaze drifting about the room until he spotted Simza. He frowned, his mouth opening and closing a few times before turning back to Holmes.

"That is Madame Simza. Our dear Sim. How's about she and I help you get back in bed? Much more comfortable than the floor, I dare say."

He gave the slightest nod of permission. Holmes and Simza eased him upright, giving him some time to adjust to the new position before easing him back to bed. He leaned most of his weight on Holmes, but the detective shouldered it without complaint. Holmes draped the quilts around Watson, but the doctor worked his hand free and grabbed a fistful of Holmes' sleeve.

"Yes, Watson? What is it?" he asked, his voice and manor as gentle as Simza had ever seen. She felt as though she was intruding on a very private moment but was far too worried about Watson to go anywhere.

"Sorry. Not again," he frowned and shook his head.

"Take your time, Watson," Holmes hushed, working his friend's hand free from his shirt and instead gripping it tight in his own. "Take your time."

Watson sighed. "You... You shouldn't have to. Not again. Sorry."

"Think nothing of it. Get some sleep, hmm?"

Watson nodded, allowing his eyes to drift shut. Holmes remained where he was, afraid to so much as look away from his friend in case something else happened. "Just when I thought I'd isolated his symptoms," Holmes muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

"This has happened before," Simza said. An observation, not a question.

"Yes. Only once to my knowledge. The day after we buried his wife. The strain was too much for him. The last time was worse than this, if you can imagine," he mused with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees, lost in the moment of that terrifying day. "He hit his head when he fell and bit his tongue during his convulsions. There was blood everywhere. I dislocated his shoulder trying to hold him still, which is why I could not permit you to touch him. When he awoke from the fit the last time, he did not know where he was or what had happened."

"But he knew you?"

A half smile pulled at his lips. "Indeed. After that, I made it a point to study the phenomenon in Watson's medical texts in order to be more prepared should it happen again. I am glad for it now."

"As am I," she agreed. She sighed, looking from the doctor to the detective by his side. "Stay with him," she said, though she doubted he had to be told twice. "I'll see to Mary, then make some tea."

"Coffee, Sim. Coffee," he said. "I don't anticipate either of us sleeping tonight."