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“Well,” Holmes said in the lightest tone he could manage while trying not to panic. “That’s rather unfortunate.”
The water lapped at the stairs below, entire basement of the large house flooded. This was why, in his opinion, basements were a terrible idea, and an even worse idea as a location to hide stolen jewels. Unfortunately, Americans seemed to disagree.
“By Jove, that’s a flood!” Watson took one more step down the staircase, ducked down, and peered into the basement by the insufficient light of a lantern. “And it’s flooded all the way.”
“Of course it is.” Pressure crushed Holmes’ chest, cutting off his breaths as surely as inhaling water. “Anything else would be too lucky.”
Watson came back to his side at the top of the stairs and touched his arm. “Holmes, are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine, yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Heart pounding, he regarded the water. No doubt it would continue to rise as the rain fell. “I’m about to go for a stroll in water that is, at the least, waist high. Clearly, there is no possible trouble in that scenario.”
“At least you feel well enough to be sarcastic.”
“It’s that or succumbing to fear,” Holmes said cheerfully. “And as a matter of principle, I am deeply opposed to succumbing to fear.”
Or at least, to admitting it. Even to Watson, who knew how much water haunted his dreams. Especially water that might, at any moment, turn into the relentless oceans of the Abyss.
Despite his attempt at humor, however, he did not appear to have entirely fooled his companion. Watson was studying him with more than a little concern. “I could go down and search by myself. There’s no reason you have to do this.”
Holmes held up a hand. “No, no. That too would be succumbing to fear. We shall go together.”
And in addition to that concern, there was another. Although thus far there had been no sign of strange cults or whispered voices or gods from below the waves, one could never tell when such things might appear. These days, cases that appeared perfectly normal often manifested sudden horrors. He would not let Watson walk into such a situation alone.
Watson moved slightly, as if about to take his hand, and Holmes marched down the stairs before he could. If he could not maintain control on his own, then he had absolutely no business working. It was unfair of him to expect Watson to help him through every little difficulty.
Even so, Holmes found himself breathless and trembling by the time he stepped into the water. Holding onto the wall, he proceeded down the stairs regardless. It would do little good to panic now.
“Holmes, wait up!” Watson splashed into the water behind him. “Please do not go on ahead by yourself.”
The anxiety in his voice sent a stab of guilt through Holmes. He slowed at once, letting Watson catch up. “Of course. Are you all right, Watson?”
“I just don’t want to let you out of my sight, that is all.” Clutching the lantern in a trembling hand, Watson joined him. “I have lost you too often in the dark.”
“All my apologies.” Even without the whispers of strange beings, it was Holmes’ instinct to rush into the darkness. But that darkness was much easier to brave with Watson close by his side. Easier to brave for both of them. “Will your leg be all right, John? I know that cold and damp upsets it, and this is rather more than cold and damp.”
The instant he thought of it—of the fact that he was standing in water reaching his stomach—Holmes’ chest seized with panic. He forced himself to keep breathing, and to focus on Watson beside him. Watson, who would no doubt be in pain, and yet bravely ventured forth anyway.
“Well, it is aching, but that is all.” Watson sloshed forward a bit, turning from side to side as he went. “You’re sure this is where the thief went once he arrived here?”
“Quite certain. It was clear that he proceeded down the stairs, based on his…” Holmes made the mistake of glancing down at the water, and his breath caught. He cleared his throat, and continued. “Based on the now-dried mud of his boot print. Square toes, with that cut on the right side of the sole. It is unmistakable.”
Nodding, Watson looked around. “Do you think he’s still down here?”
“It is a possibility, but I believe it’s far more likely that upon arrival in America, he merely delivered the jewels to what ought to be a safe place. And then this horrific storm struck before they could be picked up.” The water level was still rising, and Holmes tried his very best not to pay any attention to it. “Still. Be prepared for anything.”
They proceeded into the flooded basement, which was becoming more flooded by the minute. At first, Holmes held onto his control despite the anxiety. The water was nowhere near his face, after all, and he was well distracted by looking for a safe or other secure place for storing jewels.
It grew harder as they continued, though, and he shivered not from cold, but from fear. Terror, really. Old memories intruded, both of that unfortunate childhood incident and other regrettable little encounters. Water, it seemed, was determined to get him in the end.
That was a thoroughly irrational thought. He could not permit it.
And yet, even once he spotted a safe, communicated that fact to Watson, and set about breaking into it, he could not deny the rising conviction. Perhaps the water was not water at all, but the liquid form of some grotesque being. He had certainly seen worse and stranger things since first encountering the Elder Ones.
Despite his panic—and it was panic now, his insistence on accuracy would no longer allow him to deny it—he opened the safe. And there were the jewels that had been stolen. A sparkling tiara, a bracelet, a necklace. Tracking them had been challenging, and even now he felt the brief warmth of satisfaction. “Ah! See, Watson?”
“Amazing, Holmes!” Watson gave him one of those looks full of admiration, the sort that made his spirits soar. “Well, shall we get out of this awful place? The hotel looked like it had a very good menu.”
Holmes chuckled and slipped the jewels into a pouch. “I fear that I failed to notice the menu, but I suppose that a celebratory dinner would not be entirely objectionable, even if—”
He turned around, and it was as if the world fell apart all around him. His ears rang, and voices whispered. The waters were rising, a torrent of them flooding down the stairs, about to drown him.
“John!” he cried, nearly losing hold of the jewels. “Jon, help me!”
His legs gave out, and he fell. A wail of panic burst from him, and he braced to plummet into the crashing waves.
Arms caught him, held him. “Sherlock!”
He struggled, gasping desperately for breath. The water poured in, an endless flood of it submerging him. Rising, splashing at his face, going into his mouth—
“Sherlock!” The arms around him tightened until it was painful, a sudden crushing sensation that felt wholly different from the crush of water. “Sherlock, it’s all right. I’m going to help you. I swear, I will not let anything hurt you.”
Shuddering, Holmes came back to himself. He was not underwater. He was sagging in Watson’s arms, trembling and gasping for breath. Water came up to his chest now, yes, but no higher.
“Watson?” he asked, the name coming out weak and terrified. “What’s happening?”
“You were overwhelmed.” Watson’s voice was kind, his arms strong. He held Holmes close, not letting him fall even as his legs buckled again. “I do not know if it was a memory or a hallucination, but you reacted as if you were drowning.”
“I am… I am not certain either.” Bitter, he clenched his jaw. He had always prided himself on his ability to see the world clearly. Yet even on a case that had no clear signs of the unearthly, his mind could not be trusted. “Forgive me. I did not mean to crumble to pieces again.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Watson made a quiet noise of pain as he helped Holmes straighten up, but he remained steady. “Look, I even have the jewels. All is well.”
“Yes. Except that there is a considerable walk through chest-high water ahead of us, and I am no longer even slightly reliable.” What right did he have to be working, when he harassed Watson with such nonsense? “Your shoulder and leg cannot bear another burden.”
“You are not a burden,” Watson said stubbornly, despite the clear evidence to the contrary. “Let me help you, Sherlock. It is my greatest joy and privilege to do so.”
He had little choice, no matter how shameful this was. “I am hardly worthy of such devotion. But as I fear I shall simply remain frozen here and drown without assistance, I should welcome your help.”
Even with Watson at his side, so steady and reliable, it took all of Holmes’ courage to venture a single step forward. The water still seemed to be rising at a rate that was likely inconsistent with reality. He could not trust his own mind, his own thoughts, even his own sight.
But he could trust Watson. So long as he focused on that, on his most reliable companion, he could endure even this flood.
Still, he fell apart as they waded through the water. First his breath raced out of control, and then he lost all ability to respond to Watson’s steady encouragement. The ringing in his ears worsened, until all was simply a dizzying buzz, or perhaps a roar like falling water. And finally, tears began to slide down his cheeks, an inevitable flood of them.
“It’s all right, Sherlock. I’m here, let me help you.” The words reached him as if from far away. But Watson was right beside him, pulling him up the stairs, and finally to a dry landing. “Sherlock? Can you hear me?”
Holmes managed a faint, affirmative whimper, and then sank to the ground. His entire body shook, and he could not catch his breath. He could not speak, could hardly even think. He had lost all control over himself, as he had after that horrible lighthouse.
“It’s all right. I have you.” His own breaths shaky, Watson gathered him close and held him tightly. “I have you. I am right here, and I am not going anywhere. I will not leave you alone.”
“Thank you, John.” Holmes was hardly aware of having spoke the words, hardly aware of anything except that he had practically climbed into Watson’s lap in a desperate attempt to get as close to him as possible. It was, quite frankly, ridiculous. “I’m fine now.”
Watson gave a soft, skeptical snort, but did not directly challenge him. He simply rocked from side to side, holding Holmes close. “We must get you back to the hotel and into dry clothes. The very last thing you need is hypothermia.”
“You are very warm, for which I am most grateful.” Tentative, Holmes looked around. The world was still foggy, but the waters of madness seemed to have receded. He could see clearly once more, and understand where he was, and that he was not in danger. “A thousand apologies, my dear John. I fear I became a little anxious.”
“A little,” Watson said kindly, smoothing his hair back.
“Are you all right?” Still unsteady, Holmes touched his fingertips to Watson’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry. I did not mean for you to need to support me.”
“I need a good drink of brandy, and then I will be just fine.”
“That is hardly what I asked.”
Watson smiled, gazing at him with such tenderness that Holmes could hardly bear to look at him. “Sore, but it is well worth it to have helped you. I could not have left you down there.”
“No. No, I know you would not.” Calmer now, Holmes curled against him. “Well, that was an interesting experience. I shall certainly owe you a celebratory dinner now.”
As expected, Watson’s smile brightened even more. “I would like that, so long as you join me in eating.”
“I will.” Holmes had very little appetite at the moment, true. But after all the kindnesses that his Watson had shown him, he could certainly endure a meal. “We shall eat together.”
And by doing it together, that would make the situation far more bearable. That was certainly one lesson he simply kept learning of late. He could not always avoid succumbing to fears, nor keep his mind from falling to pieces. But so long as he and Watson were together, they would find a way to face any challenge.