Title:
Close callAuthor: med_cat
Rating: K+
Characters: Holmes, Watson
Word Count: 519
Summary: An expansion of #38--Wash--from KCS's 50-sentence series
A/N: Cross-posted to watsons_woes and ff.net. For KCS :)
Tthis is her sentence: #38--Wash:
Watson did not realise just how close the call had really been, until a week after the fact he was woken from morphine-induced slumber to discover a white-faced, half-asleep Sherlock Holmes at the closest water-basin, trying frantically to scrub invisible blood off shaking hands.
It was the sound of splashing water that awakened me. I opened my eyes to discover a white-faced, half-asleep Sherlock Holmes at the washbasin nearby, trying frantically to scrub invisible blood off shaking hands. I could only remember snatches of the last few days… mostly white-hot pain and crushing fatigue…how long has it been, exactly?
I shifted upon the bed, attempting to get more comfortable, and could not suppress a moan. That brought Sherlock Holmes stumbling post-haste towards me. His face was drawn and exhausted, its pallor more pronounced than usual. His always steady hands appeared to have a fine tremor, in addition to looking reddened, as if from prolonged and overly thorough scrubbing.
“Watson! By heaven, it is good to see you awake. How do you feel?”
“Tolerable, all things considered. Certainly I have had worse. But it looks like I should be asking you the same question. My dear fellow, whatever is the matter? Come and sit down; you’ve already chafed your skin raw—any more of that scrubbing and your hands will start to bleed.”
Holmes more collapsed than sat onto the chair at my bedside; when I glanced at him, he was surreptitiously biting his lower lip as if to still its trembling or to stifle a scream. Needless to say, I was quite shocked to see such a lapse in his usual near-impeccable control.
“Holmes, what is it? You need to tell me—you look quite ill yourself—you weren’t shot when I was…were you?”
His lips twitched in his usual quirk of a smile at that.
“No, Watson, I was not…I am perfectly fine, I assure you.”
“No, you are not. I know you far too well to believe your last statement. Please tell me whatever the matter is—I honestly haven’t the strength right now to be arguing with you about it.”
Holmes bowed his head. “I am sorry, Watson…it is just that…when I picked you up, unconscious and covered with blood, I—I was afraid of the worst…” he trailed off as his voice cracked.
Oh…that is what it was…I suspected as much.
“Holmes,” I said in as firm a voice as I could summon at present.
He looked up in some surprise.
“Don’t you remember your Shakespeare?
‘If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.’ Not that I am in such a hurry to see the ‘undiscovered country,’ as he put it, but when the time comes…well, I would rather it be assisting you than any other way.”
I could see him struggling to say something in response. “Holmes,” I continued gently, “there is nothing you need to say. But I would greatly appreciate it if you would attempt to get some rest; you look like you've hardly slept for a week.”
He quietly got up and left the room, returning momentarily with a pillow and a blanket and settling back into the chair next to my bed. I smiled and closed my eyes, feeling contentedly drowsy myself.
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