Work Text:
I am in London.
I am with Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes is recovering from his head injury. He is still experiencing headaches, but he progresses well. There have been no ill effects from mistakes made during the surgery–no infection due to contaminants, or seizures indicating incomplete removal of the clot.
He must rest. I cannot burden him with the effects the adventure of the Boxer’s Glove had on me.
I can still feel the Afghan sun in my neck. I can hear the gunshots. I can feel the sand. I know I am safe in London, and yet my mind keeps wandering.
I am worried. I cannot become as unwell again as I was when I returned.
I cannot do that to Holmes.
221b Baker Street
I woke in the middle of the sitting room today. Holmes was standing before me, his hands on my shoulders. He looked at me with such concern. He asked whether I was with him, and I could only nod. He led me to my chair and helped me sit. I only noticed then that I was shaking, and that without his support, I would have fallen.
I did not admit this to him, despite his questions after my wellbeing, but I have no memory of how I came to stand in the sitting room, or much of the day before that. From the position of the sun, I could gather that it was early afternoon. I was not hungry, so I must have had breakfast and lunch at some point before that, but I cannot recall. I recall nothing before waking, with Holmes’s hands on my shoulders. I tried to find out how I had spent the day, and whether Holmes had noticed anything, but it was hard without disclosing my confused state.
I must contact my old doctor.
I am scared.
I must conduct some research. I am only next door. Call when you wake. SH
Holmes kept vigil by my side tonight. I did not sleep much, but every time I jerked awake from a nightmare, often screaming, he was there, soothing me, wiping cold sweat from my forehead, reminding me where I was and that I was safe. He looked exhausted. I cannot let him lose sleep over caring for me, his health is too important, and still delicate.
Dr Gillespie, Edinburgh
Dr Motaine, Paris
Dr Hauser, Baden-Baden
Dr Portman, London
Choose whichever you wish, I will make all arrangements. SH
Holmes is refusing clients because of my mental state. I am certain of it. I came into the sitting room yesterday early afternoon, where he was with a gentleman. Instead of launching into the usual introductions and summary of the case so far, Holmes immediately rose and informed his visitor that he had no current capacity for new cases, and that anyway, he would find his missing watch in his wife’s bedside drawer. Then, he told him to show himself to the door and instead turned to me, attentive as he has been over the past weeks.
I know for a fact that he is not pursuing a case at the moment. He must not fall into the melancholic mood that boredom always brings him. I will speak to him, I refuse to be a cause of distress for him. Why would he reject a case in the first place? His work is precious to him and if the care for my fractured mind is weighing on him too much, I must take steps.
I must.
My dear Watson,
I am so very sorry. I know how objectionable you find the use of laudanum on yourself, and how much you try to avoid it. Yet you had become so frightfully upset last night, I feared for your heart, so I dosed you, and then saw you to my bed to rest. I do not expect you to have much memory of what transpired beyond that. It is one of the reasons I am leaving this beside you, in the case I am not available when you wake, or you wish to take the information in slowly. I do not wish to leave you in the dark for even one moment, my Watson.
You had joined me in the living room and we were speaking of nothing of great importance when you suffered another lapse into memory. You became convinced that you had just been wounded, likely due to your leg and shoulder causing increased pain in the wet weather we have been having. You were pleading for help, for your injuries to be cleaned and treated. I tried to rouse you from this episode, but could not do so, so the next logical step for me was to provide you comfort in any way I could. I called for Mrs Hudson to bring warm water and a cloth, and with these items acquired proceeded to bathe your wounds as if cleaning them from blood and debris. Despite my attempts to be as gentle as possible, you clearly found my ministrations painful, flinching and crying out repeatedly. I did my best to comfort you, and, after I had washed the ‘injuries’, I contemplated bandaging them for your comfort. However, by that point you had become so agitated that, as I said before, I was worried for your wellbeing, and instead chose sedation.
Now, while we were speaking, you asked whether I would have you committed, insinuating that I would tire of caring for you in your current state.
My dearest man. If I ever gave you the impression that the care you currently require is a drain on me in any way, or that I regard you with anything but the utmost fondness, then I must apologise from the bottom of my heart for this grave miscommunication. I would and will never wish for you to be anywhere but by my side. I do think a stay in a more quiet environment than Baker Street would be beneficial to you, but I will not abandon you, my dear Watson. We will travel together like we have so many times before, and I will be by your side should you require my assistance in any way. This I swear to you, my Watson.
If I am not beside you when you finish reading this letter, please do call for me. I promise I will be nearby.
Yours, SH
Baden-Baden is a lovely town. Close to the border with France, it has been a spa town of some renown for a century. I am still getting used to the taste of the waters, but the remaining treatment of swimming in the heated baths and long walks in the fresh air is very enjoyable. We arrived here about a month ago, though I admit I am not quite certain of the exact dates. Holmes took care of all arrangements, including introducing me to Dr Hauser, himself a student of Dr Breuer in Vienna, where he was a colleague of Dr Freud. I have written of these sessions elsewhere as I was instructed and will not repeat this here, but I am very glad about the improvement I am making. My episodes have become much less frequent, and even the nightmares have significantly diminished. Much of this, I am certain, is down to the care that once again, Holmes is showing me. He is as stalwart a companion as one could wish for, sleeping by my side to be on hand should I need him, and never straying far. He honours me with the time he spent with me, I am sure he could find much more diverting entertainment here, but he refuses to even countenance this when I offer. I owe so much to him, I am not sure how I will ever repay this kindness and generosity. Without Holmes by my side, I would have lost my mind entirely, and could have very well lost my life. He has everything—my thanks, my adoration, and my heart.