Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 25

"Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. Love is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weakness." ~Ann Landers

The world's only consulting detective took a deep breath, a warm and spiced aroma filling his nose. He sat up and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. A glass of red wine was before him, amidst the research scattered across his desk. Or rather, Watson's desk, as it were. The good doctor's office had once again become his spider's web.

"Someone has been a busy little bee while I've been away." He could almost see her familiar voice floating across the room from her soft lips to his ear.

"I've found ways to amuse myself in your absence, yes," he said, taking a sip of his wine. He turned to see Irene perched on the corner of his experiment table, her own glass of wine poised at her delicate mouth. "And you?" he continued. "One can only hope your trip was successful considering your early return?" Holmes crossed the room to where she sat, placing his hands on her hips. "Or did you just miss me?"

She kissed him softly and nuzzled his whiskers with her cheek. "Even though I did miss you," she said, pulling away with a sigh, "my trip was not a successful one. My contacts had no information. As far as they're concerned, James Moriarty is still dead. They were either telling the truth, or he's paid them handsomely to lie for him."

"Or he's holding something over them," he murmured more to himself than his wife as he turned back to his research.

Irene slid gracefully off the table and came to study the instruments and various vials and beakers filled with heaven only knew what. "What's all this, then?"

"I am very glad you asked, my darling," he said, moving to add one clear liquid to another and drop a thermometer in the beaker. "I may not be a man of medicine, but I am a man of science. If it takes Moriarty's mind to develop such a poison for our dearest Watson, then perhaps it will take a mind like mine to cure it."

"Perhaps it will," she smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek, and playfully tapping the stain of her red painted lips that lingered there. "Now, I am off to find our niece. I brought back presents and I am sure she picked up a habit or two from you while I was away that I will have to undo."

Holmes slowly turned to give her an amused look over his shoulder. "So says the reformed criminal."

She winked back at him. "Who said I'm reformed?"

~*~*~

Watson watched the wild beauty before him sleep, snoring softly. His memories of the past week were hazy at best, as though trying to recall a dream, but there was one thing that he remembered with astounding clarity. The feeling of her lips pressed to his, and something igniting deep in his chest he thought long dead. She was captivating. Every part of her was fascinating. Alluring. Even her name spoke of adventure. She was so different from anyone he had ever known, the complete opposite of Mary. And yet, he found himself quite unable to stop thinking of her. Ever since her return, was drawn to her more and more. But what could he possibly offer her?

Her dark eyes opened slowly, and he watched her wake, her gaze finally meeting his. She smiled, leaning forward to take his hand. He traced his thumb over the back of her knuckles, and asked, before the question had even fully formed in his mind, "Could you love a broken man?"

The smile never left her face, and there was no hesitation in her answer. "My heart is yours. I love you. Always."

Before he could reply, there was a brief knock at the door and Holmes burst into the room "Watson! I've done it, old boy! I've done it! Weeks of research and trials and I have finally, finally done it! Well? Haven't you anything to say? This is cause for celebration"

Watson coughed lightly and looked up at his friend with tired eyes. "I'd be more than happy to celebrate as soon as you've told me what it is you've done?"

Holmes blinked, then shook his head, realizing in his excitement, he had indeed forgotten to announce his discovery. "Quite right, quite right. As I've said, I've done it. I've found you a cure."

"You've what?" Watson cried, lurching up in the bed, only to be overtaken by a coughing fit.

Simza moved to allow him to lean against her, then looked to Holmes. "How did you do it?"

"With much trial and error, my dear," Holmes answered, sitting down on the bed and pouring a spoonful of his mysterious cure. "Hold steady, John."

Watson eyed him warily, but managed to quell his coughs long enough to choke down the offered potion. Holmes then held a damp cloth over Watson's nose and mouth, and gradually, Watson's lungs stopped seizing. For what felt like the first time in months, he managed several deep breathes. He looked at his friend, positively amazed and more than a little concerned. "How?"

"Not to worry. I consulted all your medical texts and your old journals from previous cases."

"Holmes, those were private! Between the patient and myself."

Holmes waved his hand in a dismissive fashion before continuing, "I deduced that in addition to your tuberculosis, your symptoms also pointed to a mild case of mercury poisoning."

"As you've said."

"Have I?" Holmes frowned, then shrugged. "Well, no matter. The point, dear Watson, is that the serum and the solution I have just administered are to treat your tuberculosis. And this," he concluded, brandishing a syringe filled with a clear liquid, "is to treat your mercury poisoning."

Watson frowned. "Do I want to know what they contain?"

Holmes tightened a strip of cloth above Watson's bicep muscle, and injected the needle. "Best not to ask questions, dear Watson. Looking a gift horse in the mouth and all that."

Watson shared a brief look with Simza. "And how often does one administer your cures?"

"Daily injections and up to three times daily for the serum and diluted solution."

"For how long?"


At this, Holmes frowned and deflated slightly. "The rest of your life, I'm sorry to say."

"Holmes," Watson said, reaching out a hand and placing it on his friend's knee, "if this works, you've given me years where I feared I had mere months. Possibly weeks. Three medications a day is a small price to pay for such a gift."

Holmes beamed. "Well, I'll go and whip up another batch then, shall I?"

"I would be very grateful to you."

"Not at all, Watson. Not at all." He took his leave, muttering something about tripling the measurements and the temperature of different rooms in the flat.

Watson looked to Simza, who smiled back at him. He gave her hand a small tug and she willingly moved into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her for a moment, stroking her hair and back before kissing her cheek. "I love you, Sim."

She kissed him then, and lay her forehead against his. "And I you."

For the first time in a long time, Watson dared to look forward to tomorrow.