Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Autumn's Chill - (2 Parts)

[The Sneezster]

Clearly, the characters are not original. But they are out of copyright. With apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I present:

Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Autumn's Chill

It had been nearly a fortnight since I had last paid a visit to the Baker Street apartments of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes, and, having found myself one early frosty November morning passing by his door, I ventured to discern signs of his being about. Seeing his parlour draperies undrawn and a glimpse of movement that could only be the great man's habitual pacing, I surrendered to the impulse to call upon him.

I was admitted at his door and shown to his chambers. I was pleased to find my longtime mentor and companion clear-eyed and alert. He turned to greet me, but, before I had even spoken a word, he exclaimed "Good Lord, man! Come in at once and sit before the fire, before you catch your death of a chill!" He reached for my elbow, and pulled me into his parlour, steering me to his armchair before the grate. "Do open your topcoat to allow the warmth of the fire to restore you," he called over his shoulder, as he poured me a generous snifter of brandy. Handing me the brandy, he observed, "I do trust that your night's exhortations on behalf of your patient were well worth the risks that you've taken with your own health!"

Stunned by his uncanny insight, as well as by the flurry of activity centering on my well-being, I replied, "That's astounding, Holmes! I declare that in more primitive times than these, you would be tried for witchery. How in the world did you surmise that I've been tending to a patient all night? And that my own health is in peril?"

"Quite simple, my dear Watson. As you entered, I noticed faint marks on the bottom three inches of your trousers where the crisp press of the cloth has been disturbed. Clearly, you've gotten your feet quite wet, even up past your ankles, although they are dry by now. The pavement is quite dry this morning, since a brisk wind and sudden chill have caused all puddles to freeze to solid ice overnight. Therefore, you must have been walking in the heavy and chill rain that afflicted our fair London yesterday evening. That you have not yet changed your trousers indicates to me that you have not yet been home, thus you must have suffered the wet chilling of your feet for most of the night until they could dry naturally. You are not a man taken to carousing through the hours of the night. I have known you long enough, my dear friend, to know that only your dedication as a physician would keep you away from home and your wife. Therefore, dear Watson, I must deduce that you were called to attend to an ill patient yesterday evening, allowing you to get quite wet in the downpour, and were detained on this errand all through the night, remaining wet and chilled. Q.E.D. I further fear, my friend, judging from the altered timbre of your voice, that it is rather too late to hope that you have avoided catching cold."

"Amazing, Holmes! You are quite right, of course. I was called away just after the dinner hour, to attend to a patient who had suffered an apoplexy of the heart. I gave little thought to my own condition, being rather wet, as well as thoroughly chilled, as I laboured though the night to strengthen his weakened heart with careful preparations of opium and digitalis. The verdict was uncertain until this morning, when he seemed to regain some strength, his breathing and colour improving. A careful convalescence will be necessary, of course, but I pray that having survived the night, he will continue to improve. I, however, appear to be developing a catarrh of the throat." I took a draught of my brandy, which stung at my throat painfully, in hopes that it would be effective in dispelling my chills. Shivering, I drew my topcoat closer around me.

"Here, my friend," said Holmes, producing a lap blanket and a pair of his slippers, "take off your cloak and shoes and warm up." His cold and dispassionate demeanor was unexpectedly tinted with tenderness and concern. He knelt before me and removed my shoes and stockings. "Your feet are as cold as ice," he declared. He took my hand in his own, "and your hands as well." Holmes pulled the blanket closely about my shoulders, and passed his long sensitive fingers across my cheek. "The pallor that you exhibited upon first entering the chamber has become supplanted with a ruborous hue. You are quite exhausted and badly chilled, and I prognosticate for you, my friend, a siege with the fever. I cannot permit you to go abroad in this condition. I shall send word to your home that you have taken ill and will be residing in my care for the duration of you indisposition."

"But Holmes!" I protested, "Surely that is not necessary. As soon as I've warmed myself by your excellent fire, I shall be on my way."

He looked at me closely, holding his hands before him with tented fingers as he considered my words. "My good doctor, I observe that your eyes are growing bright with fever, and although you are warmly covered and sitting before the blazing coals, you shiver with chills. You've adjusted the position of the chair to be facing away from the morning sun streaming through the windows - a growing headache, perhaps? As a physician, if such a patient were endorsed to your care, what would you diagnose; what would you prescribe?"

"Why, likely la grippe. The patient must be kept warm and in bed with careful nursing. But certainly I need not impose upon you for that. I shall engage a hackney cab to convey me to my home."

"I'm afraid, my dear Watson, that it would be most inadvisable for you to become further chilled by exposure to the elements. I shall be your nurse until such time as you find yourself restored to full health."

I opened my mouth to protest, but was stayed by an irresistible sensation from within my nostrils. Drawing my handkerchief from my waistcoat pocket, I erupted with a sudden HUUSCH followed closely by a somewhat more violent EH-HUUUSCH!

"Indeed, it begins," said Holmes, generously shoveling more coals onto the blaze. "I am obliged to be careful with your health, even as you refuse to be." I blew my nose into my handkerchief and coughed softly. "Indeed, it begins," he repeated.

As I felt myself growing increasingly indisposed, I felt it best to protest no further, and instead succumb to my friend's ministrations. I replied with a forceful HUUSCH into my handkerchief.

"Drink your brandy while I lay a fire in the bedchamber. As soon as the chill is off the room, you will be retiring to bed." I sipped at the brandy and nodded. I felt a waxing fatigue, and was soon overtaken by Morpheus.

I awoke, uncertain of how much time had passed, but noting that the angle of the morning sun had become steeper. The room was scented with Holmes's blend of pipe tobacco, and I heard the quiet strains of Holmes's violin. I turned my head to locate its owner. As soon as I stirred, the music ceased, and Holmes was at my side, laying his cool hand against my forehead. He looked into my eyes with a genuine sentiment of concern and affection.

"Watson," he whispered.

"Holmes," I replied hoarsely.

He shook his head. "How are you faring?"

I took inventory of my status, cataloguing my discomforts. "Not well, I fear," was my verdict.

"Your bed awaits," said my friend, offering his arm for support. I arose stiffly from the arm chair, and was beset by a vertiginous wave that caused me to sway and stagger. Holmes put an arm around me, and thus escorted me safely to the bedchamber. A brisk blaze glowed in the hearth, and the bed was piled with feather-beds and quilts, most invitingly. A nightshirt and cap, as well as Holmes's dressing gown were laid out upon a chair before the fire.

"Here, my friend," said Holmes gently, "stand before the fire and I'll assist you into these nightclothes."

"Holmes, I'm perfectly capable for dressing myself," I protested. The effort of the protestation launched me into a paroxysm of coughing that left me decidedly winded. As I reached for the back of the chair for support, I felt Holmes's secure arm steadying me.

"My dear friend," he said. I turned to look him in the eye. His concern was evident, colouring every feature of his ordinarily dispassionate countenance. "My dear Watson." Gently, he helped me off with my frock coat and waistcoat. As he removed my collar and unfastened my cuffs, I was again beset with shaking chills. Detecting the tell-tale signs, Holmes pressed his pocket handkerchief into my hand. Raising it to my face, I was beset by a powerful sternutation: HUUSCH! EH-HUUSCH!

“Gesundheit,” murmured Holmes. I nodded my acknowledgement and was again shaken by a paroxysm of the sinus: HEEUUSCH! HUUSCH! HEH-UUUSCH! My head throbbed painfully as I blew my nose wetly into Holmes’s handkerchief. He put his arm around my shaking frame, and, feeling peculiarly weak, I allowed myself to lean against his shoulder.

“Gesundheit! We must get you dressed and into bed at once,” he said, nimbly unbuttoning my shirt and helping me into the nightshirt, cap and dressing gown. Holmes had had a bed-warmer prepared, and passed it over the linens to warm them before helping me into bed. He placed a hot water bladder at my feet and drew the bedclothes up about my shoulders. Laying a cool hand across my head, he murmured “Too warm by far,” and then more firmly, “You must rest now.”

“Holmes,” I said hoarsely, “as I awoke in the parlour, I thought I heard you playing.”

“I was.”

“I could not quite place the melody; it was both familiar and novel.”

“Quite so. My own composition, a variation on the Paganini.”

“Pray, would you continue?”

Holmes smiled, “If it will ease you into slumber, my dear Watson, I shall.”

He gathered violin, bow and rosin from the parlour, and proceeded to continue the soft melody. My shivering eased, and I again was carried to Morpheus’s waiting arms.

[Kitty]

I love it - there is something psychotic about Sherlock in his deductions - rather fetishist in nature in as much as any of us would be on high alert to observe with that perverse intimate inner insight we all possess - ah ha that person is about to sneeze or this one will now become allergic or wait - even better - so and so will soon be catching a nice juicy cold - mores the 'erm' pity... NOT

[countless]

Sneezster is offering us a high quality story again.

Thanks !

[Sneesee]

LOVED IT!!! THANKS!

[Neesan]

Oh man. I think I just died. I'm such a 'tard for Holmes and this was so brilliant. Kept very in character and even the "apologies to Sir Arthur" made me giggle so much. Wonderful job!

[The Sneezster]

Watson has got such a crush on Holmes, I just have to get them in bed together! I'm still working on more of this one.

Well, la grippe (that's the flu to us!) is awfully contagious... therefore I deduce, my dear readers, that Holmes will be sneezing before the story's done!

[tma]

Hmmm... I really like this- the prose really works with the setting. And from what I know of the two- very in character.

Looking forward to more. *evil grins*

[count tiszula]

Brilliant, brilliant! I literally laughed out loud.

I think it's always a good idea to include a genuine line or two in any parody. And the integration fo the sneezes into the narrative is lovely. Of course that is exACTLY HOW Watson would sneeze.

Holmes would naturally have shown off by knowing precisely where the icy water came from; Clerkenwell, perhaps or the Kennington Road, as with the mud from outside the Post Office.

I'm sure that another tale will be forthcoming. The Game's afoot.

[The Sneezster]

Oh yes! Expect the two of them to land up in bed together before the Case is closed!

[Triosk1]

lovely stuff - really great read, and I can't wait for more.

[KawaiiKitty]

The way you use the language was very appropriate to the story, and made the whole thing "flow" very nicely. Are you sure you're not Arthur Conan Doyle's reincarnation or something!

[Guest writingnotes]

Oh, this is just lovely! And also hot. Ahem. The writing is really very well done, which is always nice to see anywhere, sneezefic or not, and Holmes! Watson! H/c! Swoon. I do hope you continue this. And that Holmes catches Watson's cold.

[The Sneezster]

Alas, I regret to report that my slumbers were less than restful, as I found myself beset by terrifying visions as will plague the fever patient in repose. Pursued in my fancy by venomous snakes, baying hounds, and cannibalistic primitives, I fought and cried out hoarsely, “Holmes!” My eyes sprang open, and I regarded him before me, his benign features transformed by my feverish fancy to a demonic mien.

“My dear friend…My dear Watson…” His voice sounded distant and distorted. “Your blood runs high with fever; the pressure agitates your brain.” He drew a dagger and approached, holding the blade high, intending to bleed the humours from me.

“No!” I cried, rousing myself from my fitful slumber, “No! No!” I thrashed and found myself restrained and entangled by twisted bedclothes. My cries summoned Holmes, who appeared at my side.

He stood quietly, his very presence soothing my terrors. I fell back upon the pillows. “Steady now, my friend. Your fever has inflamed your brain, leading to nightmares. Illusions, my dear friend. I shall allow no harm to come to you.” He laid his sensitive fingers against my fevered brow and shook his head. “Your fever rises,” he said, “we must reduce it.”

My throat was sore and parched, and ached horribly. “Water,” I croaked.

“My landlady has prepared some beef tea. Do you think you could stand to take some?”

I nodded, feeling the horrors of the unconscious state recede. Holmes produced a tray with the restorative draught, and assisted me to a sitting position in the bed. At the change of position, I felt an impending paroxysmal attack. I groped for my pocket linen, whilst trying to communicated my most urgent need, “I – uh – eh – I – ah!” Holmes produced his handkerchief and pressed it to my nose. HUUSCH! EH-HUUTSCH! The force of the sternutations pitched me forward, and I placed my hands over Holmes’s and the linen square. HUUTSCH! HUUSCH! EH-HUUSCH! As the paroxysms passed, I again fell back on the pillows, only to be seized by a fit of coughing. I held Holmes’s handkerchief over my mouth as the paroxysm overtook me. Exhausted and dyspnoeic, I shuddered and placed a hand to my head, which ached unbearably.

“Pray, take a draught, my friend,” said Holmes, concern and affection warming his cool analytical mien, as he again offered me the cup. The warm broth aided in soothing my irritated throat, and I finished the cupful. “Can you take another?” Holmes asked. I shook my head, feeling exceedingly weakened and exhausted. Holmes removed the tray and considered me silently. He murmured to himself, “Camphor, I think…yes…in a strong vinegar tincture. And a preparation of laudanum…yes, that’s what’s called for…” Removing his tablet and pen, he proceeded to write he prescription. “Excuse me for a few minutes, my friend. I must attend to this.” Assuring that I was well-covered with the bed linens, Holmes excused himself. Too enervated to find easy repose, I inventoried and catalogued my complaints.

Most prominent was a fierce headache, which even the slightest movements exacerbated beyond endurance. A catarrh of the head, chest, and throat, with associated sneezing and coughing was growing ever more severe. A febrile state, which left me enervated and exhausted, chilled with ague and a peculiar rheumatic misery. Indubitably, it was la grippe, precipitated by chill and exhaustion. Slowly, a realization crystallized in my febrile and sluggish brain. La grippe! That which the Italians refer to as “influenza” was notorious for its contagion. My very presence was placing the health of my dear friend in peril! I summoned what strength I could muster and threw off my coverings and prepared to don my clothes and absent myself from these quarters. I stood and swayed with vertigo. Holding to the back of the chair for support, I was again overtaken by a paroxysm of the sinus. HUUTSCH! HEE-UUTSCH! HUUSCH! This led into another fit of coughing, which racked my body. My legs trembled and my knees weakened with the effort, and I felt myself buoyed up by Holmes’s firm arm around my back. I shook my head in protest. Once I had regained my breath, I hoarsely protested, “No, no – stay back!”

“Watson, why are you out of bed? You are too weak to be up unassisted.”

“Please, I beg of you, stay back!” I weakly resisted his support, but he held me firm against his side.

“You are in a fevered state, my friend. I do not understand what fancy has seized your mind, but I can assure you that I shall stay by your side and keep you from harm.”

“No, Holmes! No! I must go, and at once!”

Holmes regarded me, “What do you fear, my friend?”

“Your health!” I rasped.

Supporting me, he steered me toward the bed and deposited me therein. “I believe I understand, my friend. Fear not on my account, as my constitution is naturally more robust than your own. As I have already been quite exposed to the contagion, you can do me no further harm. It is up to nature and Providence as to whether I shall succumb.” He looked upon me and shook his head. “You are in no state to be abroad. In bed you are and in bed you shall remain.”

I fell back upon the pillows, shivering, and nodded my assent.

“I have sent off to the chemist’s for spirits of camphor and such other preparations necessary, and they will be delivered presently.” I nodded. Holmes took my hand in his own. “Your hands are like ice. Me must draw the fever from your head into your hands and feet.” He withdrew from the chamber and returned a few moments later with a hot water bladder, which he placed at my feet, and a steaming mug of beef tea, which he placed in my hands. “Drink this, Watson,” he instructed, sitting beside me and supporting my head.

Over the next three days, as I fluctuated between prostration and agitation, Holmes remained at my side. My recollection of the passage of time is confused, as if perceived through a dense fog. I recall the strains of Holmes’s violin, his sensitive hands bathing my head and chest with a flannel, nutritive and restorative broths being urged upon me, the sharp smell of camphor, and the bittersweet taste of laudanum, as well as a succession of fancy that must have been the product of my delirium.

On the fourth day of my confinement, I awoke feeling exhausted, but more sound, heavy of limb, but with a peculiar lightness in my head that I took to be the lifting of the fever. My throat was parched, and I craved a cool drink of water. Holmes was at my bedside, asleep in a chair, with his head leaning upon the bed. His pale countenance and sunken eyes bespoke an exhausted state. He had clearly neglected his own rest in attending to my illness.

“Holmes,” I rasped, and touched his arm. He stirred slowly and righted his austere figure, wearily. Drawing his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, he turned aside and coughed quietly. I regarded my friend with concern.

“How fare you, my friend?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep, and, I feared, an impending siege of illness.

“I find myself somewhat improved, but I am alarmed at your state. Tell me, Holmes, are you quite well?”

“He coughed again, and shook his head. “Perhaps not, my friend. I fear I am succumbing as well.”

“We must get you into bed, then. You have the signs of exhaustion upon you, I fear.”

“Quite right. I shall absent myself to the other bedchamber, unless…” He paused and regarded me.

“Unless you would rather share this bedchamber. And my sickbed?”

Holmes held my gaze, and then tenderly stroked my cheek. “John…”

I took his hand and pressed it to my lips. “Sherlock…”

He stiffened and pulled back, clasping his handkerchief to his face, then suddenly pitched forward sharply as a powerful HUH-CHUFF blasted forth from his nostrils. He shuddered, reared back and again pitched forward with a violent HUH-CHUFF! He blew his nose, and murmured, “I do feel peculiarly weak. I fear I shall make a poor nursemaid for you.”

“Do not fret on my account. Even as you succumb, I feel as though my crisis has passed, and I am commencing my convalescence. I shall endeavor to care for you.”

“You must not exhaust yourself and risk relapse!”

“Assuredly. But you must be put to bed at once.” I stood up and felt a wave of vertigo and lightheadedness over take me. I placed a hand on Holmes’s shoulder to steady myself until my head cleared.

“Watson? Are you all right? The colour has quite drained from your face!”

I held up one hand and murmured, “A moment…” The room turned and grew foggy, then gradually came back into clear focus. “I’m quite all right now. A moment’s vertigo – a trifle.”

“Yes. Your colour is returning. I feared a fainting spell.”

“Remove your suit of clothes and put on your nightclothes, and I shall ask Mrs. Hudson to bring tea.”

Holmes nodded and stood, then swayed on his feet, leaned heavily on me, and fell back into his chair.

“Or perhaps you are in need of assistance, my friend.”

“A peculiar weakness…a heaviness of the limbs…” he observed.

“Quite so,” I agreed, “You must allow me to assist you.”

Slowly, and with not a few false starts, I assisted Holmes into his nightclothes and into the bed. He fell back, exhausted onto the pillow, and shivered with rigors. I drew the bedclothes close around his long and gaunt frame, and laid my lips upon his fevered brow, stroking his cheek. In his close attentions to my welfare, he had neglected his own habits, as was evident by the growth of beard upon his chin. Despite his frailty, the coarse growth made his acetic features more masculine, and, despite my own indisposition, I found myself warmed by his presence in the bed.

He turned his head and coughed, then moaned quietly. “Quiet, my friend. I shall bring tea and cooling medicine for you.” He closed his eyes in assent, and I donned my dressing gown and went to fetch the Mrs Hudson, the landlady.

I paused in the parlour, quite overtaken with fatigue, and fell back heavily upon the settee to muster my strength before I was able to complete my task. After some minutes of repose, I was able to arise and summon the landlady. She returned with a pot of tea and two stout mugs of broth, and found me again on the settee, racked with a paroxysm of coughing. My coughs found their twin from the bedchamber, where Holmes lay, similarly consumed. Mrs Hudson briskly set down the tea tray and absented herself from the apartments, quite rightly fearing the contagion within.

Once I was able to regain my breath, I returned to the bedchamber, to assume the dual role of convalescent and nursemaid to Holmes in his indisposition. He was severely weakened from his fit of coughing, and required my assistance to sit up and take his tea. He took the spoonful of spirits of nitre I proffered, but would not take the broth, turning his head aside when I offered it. Exhausted, he fell prostrate upon his pillows, in a shaking ague. I piled the bedclothes over him, and then regained my position in the bed next to time. He reached blindly for me, and I pressed the length of my body against his, to ease his shivering fit. With no ready handkerchief in hand, he burst forth in a paroxysmal HUH-CHUFF! HUH-CHUFF! against my shoulder. The unnatural heat of his sternutations against my skin bespoke of his rising fever. Racked with regret on what I had wrought, I held my dear friend close to my bosom, and stroked his hair. In such a manner, we fell into an exhausted slumber.

My sleep was deep, heavy, and restorative, but, sadly, before many hours had passed, I was awakened by Holmes in a restless agitation, his fevered brain taking to horrors and fancy. He flailed and cried out hoarsely, clawing at the bedclothes, and shrinking back from my touch. I eased his agitation and his worsening cough with spirits of laudanum. Although his capacity for the drug was uncommon, requiring several doses before achieving a beneficial effect, he was, at last, able to obtain a peaceful, if stuporous, slumber.

Thus becalmed and his cough suppressed, Holmes remained insensible for much of the day. Myself greatly weakened and exhausted, found the bed to be the most comfortable venue of my convalescence, and thus we spent the day together, our arms not infrequently entwined, with my head as likely to be found in repose on Holmes’s shoulder, as his fevered brow was found to rest on mine.

The shadows were greatly lengthened when Holmes again awoke. He stirred in bed, moaning, then burst forth with a powerful HUH-CHUFF! into the bedclothes. Moaning, he buried his face in my neck only to have another HUH-CHUFF! escape his nostrils. I handed him a linen square from the stack I had laid in upon the bedside, and he cleared his nose. “Water,” he rasped, “I beg of you!”

I poured a glass from the pitcher, and assisted Holmes to sir upright. I supported him with one arm behind his back, and he leaned heavily against me. He took a large draught of the water, and winced as his inflamed throat protested the insult. “Slowly, my friend,” I encouraged, “Drink slowly.”

“Oh Watson!” he rasped, “My head! It is beyond bearing!” He half-swooned against my arms, and I firmly supported his flagging frame. Holmes was beset again with rigors, quite strenuous, and the color drained from his face. HUH-CHUFF! A violent paroxysm escaped his reddened nostrils. I pressed a pocket linen to his mouth, in time to contain two more HUH-CHUFF’s. He blew his nose wetly, and then bent double in a prolonged fit of coughing. The coughs racked his weakened frame, and left two rising spots of unnatural colour upon his cheeks. His eyes burned brightly with fever as he sank back into the pillows. I was not a little concerned, for I had never before seen my dear friend, ordinarily of such sound humours, so stricken. I again administered a dose of cooling medicine and spirits of laudanum to ease his fevers and cough. Holmes’s constitution required an eight-fold dose of the spirits before responding to the remedy, but at last his rigors desisted, his cough abated, and he again sunk into an exhausted slumber.

Having tended to my patient, I turned my attentions to the waning fire and added a generous shovelful of coals to the blaze. The exertions led me to my own paroxysmal coughing, and the soot from the grate yielded three powerful HUUTSCH’s from my irritated sinuses. Wrapping myself in a shawl and blanket, I sat before the grate, taking my own draught of water and dose of cooling medicine, for I found myself, as well, to be plagued with a growing headache and chills. For myself, I felt it best to forgo the laudanum, for, along with its salutary effect, it tended to leave the patient in a stuporous state, and I wished to remain alert in order to care for my friend.

I rang for Mrs Hudson, who found me wrapped in dressing gown, shawl, and nightcap, but steady on my feet. She inquired as to my health, and I admitted to being much improved. “Holmes, however, I am saddened to report, has quite succumbed. His fever rages. In a man of less hardy constitution, I would fear for his prognosis, but he is of sound humours, and I predict that his crisis will pass either this night or the next.” I pressed my handkerchief to my mouth and coughed harshly.

“A nasty cough!” Observed the landlady. I nodded, temporarily rendered mute. As I regained my breath, I requested some broth and a blanc-mange. “I have both already prepared, as well as barley-water. I knew that they would be called for before long. I’ll send it up presently.”

I nodded my thanks, and resumed my place before the fire to dispel my chills. Presently, Mrs Hudson knocked, bearing a tray of tea, broth, blanc-mange and barley-water. Of tea and broth I was able to take a cupful apiece. A very few mouthsful of the blanc-mange, however, seemed plethoric to my sensitive stomach, and I left the remainder uneaten.

Thus fortified, I turned my attentions to Holmes. Although resting peacefully, his colour was poor, his breathing shallow and tachypnoeic, and the pulse at his wrist was rapid and thready, belying the strain that the high fever was bearing upon him. Indeed, his head and chest were hot to the touch, his hands and feel pale and icy. The cooling medicine was having little effect, and I endeavoured to draw out his fever. I placed a hot water bladder at his feet and chafed his icy hands between my own. He stirred slightly at this treatment and coughed weakly. Holding his head, I administered another table-spoon of the spirits of nitre, which he swallowed with a grimace. I prepared a basin of cool water and bathed his head and chest with a flannel, and then with a camphor and vinegar tincture. As the strong vapours of the camphor pierced my nostrils, I felt a growing irritation therein, culminating in a powerful HUUTSCH! that pitched me forward forcefully. My sternutation was echoed by Holmes’s HUH-CHUFF! HUH-CHUFF! The colour rose in his cheeks, and he threw off the bedclothes as his fever began to break and he grew flushed. The flushing seemed to exacerbate the congestion and irritation of his sinuses, and he began a paroxysmal series of HUH-CHUFF’s. I pressed a linen square into his hand, but he would not employ it, allowing his sternutations to fly unimpeded. When, at last, the fit abated, Holmes shuddered, exhausted, and permitted himself a quiet moan. I wiped his reddened nostrils with the handkerchief, and resumed bathing his forehead, which had blossomed with beads of perspiration. This laudable perspiration was a positive sign of receding fevers, and I was heartened that my dear friend was rallying. To further draw out the fevers, as well as to prevent any reactive chill, I poured Holmes a portion of brandy, and supported him as I held the glass to his lips. After taking the draught, Holmes again sank back in a near swoon. His breathing was more even and his pulse beat more steadily in his wrist. He had overcome his crisis.

“Watson…” he murmured.

“I’m right here, my friend.”

“I feel so singularly peculiar. So…light, so…lightheaded. And rather faint.”

“Your colour is improved, and your heart is steadier.”

Languidly he murmured, “So peculiar…” He closed his eyes in repose, and I sat at his side. Suddenly, his eyes shot open. “Doctor!” he cried hoarsely, “Watson! Dear friend!”

“I’m right here, Holmes.”

“Peculiar. I felt as though you had left me. Do not leave me alone – I could not bear it!”

I assumed my place in the bed and held him close, soothing his fevered fancies that he might rest. He calmed and rested his head on my shoulder and soon achieved a naturally restful slumber. Fatigue son clouded my senses, and a fog of drowsiness overcame me, as I, too, slumbered in Holmes’s arms.

The next two days and nights passed fitfully, with Holmes waning and rallying as his fever fluctuated. I discovered that if I allowed myself to become too fatigued in my exertions on my friend’s behalf, my own convalescence would falter as my fevers returned. Once his crisis was past, however, Holmes quickly rallied, regaining much of his energies, even as I struggled to regain my strength, and I was forced to exhort him to rest.

“I’ll not be made the valetudinarian!” he protested, as I wrapped a shawl around his shoulders. “My constitution is sound!” His protestations caused him to belie his words with a fit of harsh coughing that racked his chest.

“Holmes,” I said mildly, once he regained control, “observe the evidence before you.”

“Indeed, doctor. You are of course, correct. But, dear friend, join me before the fire on the settee.”

I gratefully took the seat offered, shivering slightly, despite the warm fire.

“Move closer to me, and cover yourself warmly,” he invited, draping half his shawl around my shoulders and leaning towards me.

A week’s convalescence found us both fit and sound, and I reluctantly removed myself from my dear friend’s company to rejoin my wife and married condition, leaving Holmes to his solitary situation.

[silentdreamer789]

Okay, so this fic has motivated me to come out of my lurkerism. Absolutely brilliant! Really well done, and very true to the characters as well, from what I remember. Definately going on my favourites list...

silentdreamer789

[count tiszula]

Beautifully written, again, and a wonderful story; you got them into bed!

Spirits of nitre? Sounds downright dangerous.

[Guest Fabala]

Okay, so this fic has motivated me to come out of my lurkerism. Absolutely brilliant!

Same here.

You capture the characters brilliantly, and your language is simply amazing. -swoon!-

[arrowswift]

I've been a Holmes fangirl since I was nine. Naturally, I'm 'tarding out over this fic. I can't even begin to express how much I love it.

[Neesan]

Wow. Your writing is absolutely beautiful and well constructed and puts you there back in their time. Oh man, absolutely speechless! I need to read this at least a hundred more times today. Uhhhnnn, I loooove Holmes with this unnatural obsession. Purrr! You made my forever.

[Guest wouldyoucatchme]

Amazing. BEAUTIFULLY AND BRILLIANTLY WRITTEN.

What a great story and what an absolutely amazing writer you are. I really don't know what else to say except...

I love it. Thank you SO much for sharing!

[countless]

What more could I say ...

Thanks for continuing this jewel !

C

[Aljana]

Brilliant!! I also am a Holmes fanatic (mourned the fact that Doyle is dead and thus there will be no more). So I was thrilled to see this pop up, and even more thrilled to find how absolutely fabulous it is. Truly wonderful. You seriously give credit to the characters. I always wanted to do a Holmes fic but I would never manage to do it justice, You have and it absolutely tickles me!!!!

Aljana

[Guest omfgED]

Excellent! when i read the first part, i thought you were quoting from a peice of the novel, but then i read on and was like "omfg this person is a genius!" this was freaking great and your use of words was so good! you should write novels or something! i need to start reading some of the books now

[DougInUk]

This story totally rocks! I grew up reading all of the Sherlock series...this was a wonderful wonderful read!

Thanks!

D

[Guest UncommonCold]

OMG I love all the Victorian-ness in your language. I love all things Victorian and your story is beyond fantastic! It must have taken quite an effort. You rock!

[Jules]

Wonderful indeed!! So glad this one has moved to the forefront again, as I missed it previously. Thank you for sharing.