He can't be dying

The Signs

221b
10:05pm

  I type on my Smith Corona, sighing in exhaustion as Holmes swarms about the sitting room doing, God knows what. I look up at the sound of a clank. He seems to be building some contraption of sorts. I shake my head and go back to my writing.

  I type for another minute or so, before finishing with a yawn and stretching my arms up behind my head. "Alright Holmes. I'm heading off to bed." I inform my very awake and hyper flatmate.

  "Goodnight Watson." He replies, not taking his eyes off of whatever experiment he's conducting. "Holmes." He takes a moment before responding, too focused on what he is doing. "Yes dear Watson?" "You should go to bed as well. When is the last time you slept?" He finally looks at me thinking about my question. "I can't quite remember. Maybe . . . . 3 days." He replies, then emediately goes back to work.

  I sigh, exasperatedly and disappointedly. "Holmes, you have to sleep. This isn't healthy." "Don't you feet. I will soon rest when my body alerts of it." "Holmes. You've been consuming nothing but coffee, tobacco and cocaine. You can not possibly rely on your body's natural instincts. God knows they're off balance."

  The only reply I receive is a cough. "My point exactly. You're making yourself sick." I give him my 'I told you so' smile.I eye him, as he coughs into his elbow. Soon, my smile fades when I notice how pale and thin he looks. Has he lost weight? He never really had any weight to lose!

  I walk over to him, stepping over books and crumpled clothing that lye about. "Holmes, you look terrible. Come on, I'll take you to bed." He looks at me annoyed. "I am not a child, Watson." "Well, the moment you stop acting like one, I will treat you as such." I quip. Holmes Huff's and looks down, defeated. "I suppose I am a bit tired." I roll my eyes at the statement. No he's not, he's just saying that so it looks like going to bed was his idea and he was gonna do it anyways.

  "Come on." I stubornly complies and let's me guide him to his room. When we enter the room, he is thrown into a huge coughing fit. "Holmes?" I say, worriedly as I watch the coughs wrack his body. I place a hand on his and one under his elbow to as comfort but also to make sure he doesn't keale over.

  After a minute, the coughing subsides and I guide him over to his bed. "You alright?" "Yes, yes. Don't worry Watson." He replies, quickly without meeting my eyes. I furrow my eyebrows in thought. He may be the greatest detective in the world and a great lier, but he isn't very good at lying to me. Never has been.

  "Are you sure you're alright? You do seem paler and thinner." He looks up at me and gives me a reassuring smile. "I assure you, dear Watson, I am don't. Just a little bug and the dusty air." He exclaims. I stare at him for a moment before deciding to let it go.

  "Alright, well . . . . Get some sleep, ol'boy." I say, as I walk towards the door. "I will. You as well." I smile,  then exit the room.

7:15am

I yawn and blink my eyes open, adjusting to the early morning  sun shining through my window. I get up and get dressed for the day, then head out into the sitting room, expecting to find Holmes up and about.

  When I see he is nowhere to be found, I start to go to his bedroom. "Good morning, Doctor." Mrs. Hudson greets, holding a tray with a tea pitcher and a cup. I stop my journey to his room and turn to her. "Good morning to you as well, Mrs. Hudson." I smile at her as she does back.

  "I thought you'd like a good morning cup of tea." She states and goes to set the tray down on a table. "Yes. That's very kind of you, thank you." I walk over to her. "Of course." She replies, kindly. "Is Holmes here?" "No, I'm afraid not. He left a good 30 minutes ago." "Do you happen to know where?" I ask, hopefully. She shakes her head. "No, I hadn't had the chance to ask him." I nod my head and go sit to drink my tea. "I'm sorry, Doctor." "No, don't be. It's not important." I assure her. She nods her head. "Anything else, Doctor?" "No thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I am quite fine." She smile and nods her head, then leave the room.

  I pick up my cup of tea as well as a news paper and begin reading it. After a few minutes i here grunting and whining. I furrow my eyebrows and lower the paper to see the source. I look down and see Gladstone standing in front of me, wanting my attention. "What is it, Gladstone?" As I look closer, I see he has something on his slobbery jaws. "What have you got there?" I set down my paper and reach for the object I'm his mouth.

  When I pry it from his mouth, I  see it's a handkerchief. Holmes's handkerchief to be exact. I know this, do to its size and color. It's also not mine, so else's would it be?

  I about set it on the table next to me when something catches my eye. A crimson stain, seemingly splattered onto it. I look at it closely. It looks as if someone has cough up blood into it. Well . . . . not just any someone.

  I stare at it, trying to come up with why there is blood on his handkerchief. Did he cough up blood? He has seemed a bit ill and coughing a lot lately but . . . . blood!? Surly he would've told me if he were, wouldn't he? Knowing him, maybe not. He can be very private and ignorant to his own health, as well as not wanting me poking and prodding him, trying to examine him.

  I sigh, and sit back into my chair, to ponder this dilemma. Should I say something? Should I even worry? "Ah. Good morning Watson." I look to find Holmes entering the room. I quickly shove the handkerchief into my pocket, without him noticing. "Good morning Holmes." He comes over and takes his seat beside me (which is angled a little towards my chair).

  "Where have you been, this morning? Another case?" I inquire, casually. He looks at me for just a second before replying. "Yes, precisely." He looks down and fiddles with his hands. I sigh, inwardly. "Holmes, you and I both know you aren't very good at lying to me." He looks up at me with a wry smile, then looks back to his hands, without another word.