Self-Destruct 2
by elfin


Stapleton's attempt on Holmes' life had done more harm than I'd at
first realised.

In the old Hall, sounds were muffled and their origins could easily be
mistaken.  Back in our rooms at Baker Street, there was no hiding, and
I soon came to know how deeply my dear friend had been wounded by his
ordeal at the madman's hands.

The night after our return, I was awoken from an uneasy slumber by
what I thought was a muted cry.  But I couldn't be sure I'd heard it,
and even though I lay awake for over an hour, I didn't hear it again.

On the second night, however, I could not find rest, and sat up for
sometime after Holmes had turned in.  Around midnight, I definitely
heard a cry emanate from Holmes' room.  It was sudden to break into
the silence and swiftly curtailed.  But I know what I heard.

In the morning, I asked Holmes if he had slept well, and he replied
that he had indeed had a long, dreamless sleep.  For a detective, he's
an extraordinarily bad liar when under my scrutiny.

On the third morning, he looked as death warmed over.  He had not
rested properly for days, and I worried for him.  But it was only
when, on the fourth day after the hellish events on Dartmoor, he
turned away a client without even hearing the case, did I become
overly concerned.

"This can't go on, Holmes," I declared, after reassuring the
distraught woman who'd sought his help that I would speak to him and
that I would be in touch.

"What can't?"

"I know you're having nightmares, or at least you were when you
bothered to attempt to sleep.  You need some rest."

"It's nothing, Watson," he brushed me off, stepping past me and
heading for his bedroom.

"I can help!"  I followed him along the short corridor.  "I can give
you something to help you sleep without the dreams."

Pausing just inside his room, he turned to me.  The expression on his
face was more brutal than I'd ever seen on those gentle features, and
he snarled the words, "And can you take my memories as well as my
demons, Watson?  Or does you hand not extend that far?"

With that odd accusation, he slammed the door in my face.

"Cocaine will only make it worse!" I yelled, but he ignored me as I
knew he would.  As he always did when it came to that particular demon.

Exasperated and stung, despite knowing deep inside that it was
exhaustion making him act this way, I grabbed my hat and coat and set
out to find more civil company.

~~~

After that outburst, I didn't see Holmes for almost two days.  I knew
he was in his room because I heard him at intervals.  I went out
several times, and came back on each occasion to find his door still
closed to me.

Once, I stepped up to it and was about to knock, when I thought better
of it and turned away.

I wish I had disturbed him, for when I saw him next he looked worse
than I'd ever seen him, even in times of illness.

He appeared one evening in the doorway of the lounge and stood
pitifully, looking to me with such pleading for some respite from the
torture.

"Oh, Holmes...."  I immediately rose and took his arm, leading him
silently back into his bedroom.  "Undress and get into bed," I
instructed him before going into my own room to fetch some herbs, and
calling for Mrs Hudson to bring up some hot water.

He said nothing as I made up a concoction to soothe his mind and
hopefully let him find some peace for a time.  Likewise, he drank in
silence from the mug that I handed him and handed it back to me empty.

It was a long time before he closed his eyes, even longer before his
breathing evened out.  I stayed with him until I was sure he was
asleep, and when I finally tiptoed out of his room I left the door
slightly ajar lest he should once again be taken by the imagined
terrors that haunted him.

I checked on him regularly through the night, resisting sleep myself
in order to keep my vigil.  Still, I must have nodded off in my chair,
for in the early hours of the morning, I was startled awake by the
sound of shattering glass.

Springing from my seat, grabbing the burning oil lamp from the table
beside me, I ran through to Holmes' room only to find him still fast
asleep.  His arm was hanging off the edge of the mattress.  He must
have knocked the glass of water from the tabletop as he shifted position.

Uncertain of what to do, not wishing to disturb him, I picked up the
bigger shards of glass and moved the rug - usually next to the fire -
to cover the remaining pieces until the morning.

For the noise to have woken me from my light slumber in the next room,
and yet not to have woken Holmes himself, I deduced that my medicinal
cocktail had done its job, and that his body was catching up on some
much-needed deep sleep.

Watching for him for just a moment longer than necessary, I eased the
door closed and went back into the lounge.

~~~

The next morning, by the time I'd bathed and dressed, Holmes was up
sampling the breakfast Mrs Hudson had laid out for us.

He looked every bit a man who had slept deeply and peacefully.

"Good morning, Watson," he greeted me cheerfully, eyes alight.  He
wore no collar, the bruising around his throat being too raw still.

"Holmes."  I hoped the smile on my face was reflected in my eyes.

"I must thank you for dealing with the broken glass in my room last
night."

"It's nothing, Holmes."

He shook his head and got to his feet, coming to stand close to me.
"It was something, John.  Thank you."

I know he was speaking of more than the glass.

The moment lengthened between us, and only later would I question why
neither of us was willing to break it.  But finally, he backed off and
stepped away.

"Now, my dear Watson, I assume you have some means of contacting that
young lady?"


fin part 2
elfin