The Case of Erudition toward Reliance

(Taken from the Notes and Journals of Dr. John H. Watson, M.D; late of Her Majesty’s army in Afghanistan and Boswell to the noted Consulting Detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker St., retired)

It was the mid- April that I noticed Holmes’ behavior. We were sitting at the breakfast table. He had barely touched his food, nothing unusual, except that we were not on a case as far as I knew. He got up, rather stiffly, almost as if any movement pained him. I expected him to move to the armchair by the fire, but he moved back into his rooms, and shut the door.

I had watched all of this in silence. Holmes was not one to make a scene of his health, and I knew that my inquires would be rebuffed. Still the friend and doctor in me knew that he had not eaten hardly a morsel yesterday either. I quietly finished my breakfast, and headed up to get my medical bag. Holmes need to be looked at, and I knew he would never agree to any exam by another physician, or a hospital.

In just a few moments I was standing outside the room of my dearest friend. I knocked, and received no answer. I was getting more concerned. “Holmes, old boy, may I come in?” I was cautious. He was sensitive about his privacy.

“I’m fine, Watson. I’ll be out in a bit.” His voice was suffused with pain, and I knew that he was far from fine.

“Holmes, I’m just going to come in to talk. No sense doing this through a door.” I tested the lock. He had not locked it. If he had truly not wanted me to help he would have taken the extra moment to throw the latch. I entered, and the sight that greeted me was far from surprising.

Holmes was curled into a fetal position on his bed. His hands and arms firmly clenched around his stomach. He looked utterly miserable. I was calm as I approached. Setting my bag on the floor by the bed, I pulled up a chair, and sat. As much as I wanted to force him to accept my care I knew that Holmes would only shut down on me. “Holmes, what’s wrong? I may be able to help.” He looked at me through half closed lids, and I could see the pain glistening in those grey eyes. It killed me to see him like this, and just sit here.

“My stomach Watson, it has been hurting for a few days. The pain is near crippling. I did not want to concern you.”

His easy admission was as telling as any other. He just wanted me to relieve his suffering, and know that I wasn’t angry at him. I reached a hand out to move some hair from his eye. He didn’t shy, much to my amazement. “Oh, Holmes, I’m not upset, but you must realize that I was far more concerned at your odd behavior this morning.” He nodded, as another spasm of agony wracked his innards. He clenched his eyes shut, and tightened the ball he was in. I moved to sit on the bed beside him, and tried to comfort him as the wave passed.

When he started to relax a few moments later I was still rubbing his back. “I need to examine you. You’ll be more comfortable if you are in your night dress.” I kept my voice gentle and quiet. He nodded, and then looked at me with self-loathing.

“I believe you may have to help me, Watson, I have very little strength left.” He hated admitting his weakness, but I just smiled and nodded.

“Lay still, I’ll get you a fresh gown.” I moved to his dresser, got the requisite item, and moved back toward him. He tried to set up, but fell back. He yelped and the grimace and tear that trickled from his eye was enough to put me at his side in seconds. “Easy, Holmes, let me. You just relax.” He was breathing heavily, and I started rubbing his back again. At his nod I helped him shift to his back. He closed his eyes as I undid the cuffs of his shirt, and the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. I also undid the button of his trousers, and removed his shoes and socks. I removed as much as I could before I had to sit him up. I sat on the edge of the bed facing him. He was pale, and I knew embarrassed at his lack of control.

No sense in dragging it out, I eased all of his upper body into an upright position. Holmes could not suppress the whimper that escaped, as it hurt his stomach. I pulled him into my arms, and rested his weight against my chest and shoulder. I slipped his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt off in one motion. I slipped his nightshirt over his head, and he allowed me to remove his arms one at a time from his stomach and manipulate them into the sleeves. I then moved my hands to the tops of his trousers. I hesitated until I felt his nod. I quietly slipped his trousers and undergarment to his lower hip.

He started to shift, and for a moment I held him to me. He understood that I didn’t want him to do this without help, and despite the humiliation he and I knew he would feel in a moment he stilled and allowed me to gently return him to laying on his back. The nightshirt slipped to his hip, and I finished removing his lower garments. I shifted the shirt over his groin to give him a modicum of privacy, at least for the moment. I took the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered him to the waist.

I sat back down. Holmes was breathing hard, was paler, and now sweating. I put my hand on his wrist. His heartbeat was pounding, but steady. I patted his hand, and shushed him until his breathing calmed. “I’ll be back in a moment Holmes.” He nodded his ascent. I removed myself to the common room. I picked up two tumblers. Filled one with a measure of whisky and the other I took to the water closet, and filled it half way with cool water from the tap. I sighed, and took both back to Holmes.

I propped him up against me and handed him the water. He took it gratefully, and drank deeply. He handed the glass back, and I replaced it with the whisky. He looked at me oddly for a moment. I smiled a sympathetic smile, “This will, probably, be … unpleasant.” He nodded, and threw back the whisky in a single gulp. I removed the tumbler to his bedside table, and laid him back on the bed, having removed the pillow as I got up. Holmes was now laying flat on his back, and I could easily see the distention in his abdomen.

I began with the standard things. I listened to his heart and lungs. His heart was strong and regular. There was no congestion in his lungs. His eyes were responsive to the candle I held to them. Now, to the hard part, for Holmes because it violated his privacy and me because I was the violator, I moved to his waist and stopped. I looked at him, and the only thing in his eyes was absolute unyielding trust and confidence in me. I folded the blanket to his thighs, and shifted his shirt to his chest. He could not see what I was doing because of his position, and the bunched up cloth on his chest.

I listened to his stomach, knowing that after two days of little food I should hear some noise, I heard nothing. I gently placed my hands on Holmes stomach and rested them there. I felt him take a deep breath and prepare himself for the pain we both knew was coming. He clenched his fists to his sides, and I pressed gently. He stiffed and his breath went short. I palpated his abdomen thoroughly, but as quickly as I could. I finished, and moved the shirt down and blanket up. His belly had been hard as stone.

I moved to sit near his shoulder. He was crying from the pain. The pain I had caused, and it ripped my heart. I took a handkerchief from my pocket, and wiped his face. I needed a few answers. I gentled my voice and spoke in hushed comforting tones. “Holmes, how long has it been since you moved your bowels?”

“Four-five days,” his voice was strangled. I was surprised. No wonder his stomach was so hard, and he was in such excruciating pain. I continued to soothe him with the kerchief and my voice.

“You have an impaction, old boy. I can help, but you will need several hours rest afterward.” He nodded.

“How can you help?” His voice was weak.

“I will need to administer a series of enemas.” I stopped at his reaction to the last word. He looked terrified. I hastened to reassure him. “They will be uncomfortable, but I’ll be here, and I won’t force you to take more than you can. I can easily do it here in your bed; we can protect your privacy that way. Besides once we’re done and you’ve rested you’ll feel better. You won’t be alone Holmes.”

Another wave of pain came, and he curled toward me like a child. I dabbed his face and rubbed his back. It was over in a minute, and he looked at me pleadingly. “Just make the pain stop, please, Watson. It hurts.”

I shushed him, and nodded. “I will, Holmes, I will. I need to prepare the bed.” He nodded. “Can you put your arms around my neck, so I can move you to the chair for a moment?” He tried, but the action caused his stomach to spasm in pain. “It’s alright.” I gathered him into my arms blanket and all, and moved him to the chair. He looked so young and fragile huddled there.

I worked quickly putting a protective pad and old sheets on the bed. I redressed it with a couple of warmer top sheets and duvet. I left these tucked in at the foot of the bed, so that they would not be soiled, but there later. I took Holmes back into my arms, and laid him back in the bed on his left side. I poured some water into the basin, and wetted a cloth from my bag. I put my hand on his hip. “Holmes, I need to clean your backside.” He just closed his eyes, and sighed. I lifted his hip and settled the shirt on his abdomen giving me a clear work area. I gently cleansed the area with water, and then I added a bit of alcohol to the cloth. “To disinfect the area, my boy, you’re okay.” I felt him relax under my hands.

Once the area was cleansed to my satisfaction I removed a tube of cream and a suppository. “Holmes, I’m going to give you something to help make the enemas easier.”

His voice held a note of fright. “What?”

“I’ll gently spread some cream into your rectum with my finger, and then I’ll insert a suppository. It is medicated, and as your body heat melts it, it will help dilate your opening. The enema tubing can then pass easier and you won’t have as much discomfort.” I gentled my voice like I was speaking to a child. “I’ll be gentle, and take it slow.”

I put some cream on my index finger, and separated the globes of his ass with my other. I started rubbing the cream in to the skin around his anal opening careful not to penetrate. When it was thoroughly rubbed in, I placed more on the index finger, and started to tease the rectal opening of my patient. He tensed. “It’s okay, you need to relax. It shouldn’t hurt. Take a deep breath, and as I push a bit in you push like you are having a movement.” He didn’t say anything, but I heard him take the deep breath, and as he did I placed a bit more pressure on the opening. I was starting to slip through, and then I felt Holmes push against my finger, and I was in. He gasped in shock, and I stopped. Letting him catch up to having my finger up his ass; when he relaxed again I started moving my finger around. I rubbed the walls of his anus as far as I could, and about three-quarters of the way in my index finger came into contact the edge of the fecal mass causing Holmes so much pain. I removed the index finger and quickly replaced it with a newly creamed middle finger.

Holmes was trying to relax, and I decided to help a bit more. I found the slight depression in the bottom of his rectum, and messaged it gently. He nearly jumped off the bed in surprise at first. “Good God, Watson, what are you doing?”

“Trying to help you relax a bit.”

“What are you rubbing in there?”

“Your prostate. If I press harder, I could actually make you ejaculate the fluid in it, but I just want to relax you so I’m being very gentle. Settle back, you need to relax before I can give you the suppository.” He rested his head deeper in the pillow, and I could feel his muscles relax around my finger. I inserted a second, and started to open him up a bit more, by scissoring my fingers. When he was wide enough I withdrew. “I’m inserting the suppository now. It’ll take about twenty minutes to work completely. You’ll need to lie quietly, and try to relax and rest.”

“Watson, I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, just let me help. You’ll feel better in a while. You ready?”

He nodded. I put a bit of cream on the tip of the suppository, and pushed it against Holmes rectum. It slipped in, and I pushed it about half the length of my index finger. I removed my finger, and placed a towel under his hip. I moved to the other side of the bed to look at Holmes. “Lie still, and breathe deep. You’ll feel it melt more than likely and some could leak out. You may start to feel like you need to move your bowels. Try not to, or we may have to do this again.” Holmes nodded. “I need to go prepare the solutions for your enemas. Mrs. Hudson will have to help with that, but nothing else. Call if you need me. I’ll be back shortly.”

He watched me pull the old blanket over his exposed ass, then followed me out of his room with his eyes. I went to Mrs. Hudson, told her of Holmes’ trouble, and instructed her in how to prepare the solutions I would administer to him. The first would be a half liter or so of warm oil, to loosen the impaction, the second, would consist of warm oil and water. I hoped that Holmes would be able to hold two to three liters at this point. The third would be a four liter of mild lye, it would be extremely uncomfortable, and the fourth would be four liters of water and lemon juice. It didn’t take long to heat the oil, and I took about half a liter and went back to Holmes.

His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard. I set the oil next to the basin, and went to him. “Holmes, why didn’t you call for me?”

He was sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Watson. I tried to hold it. I did.”

I placed his head in my lap, and stroked his hair. “It’s okay, Holmes. I’m not upset. I’ll clean it up, and see if we need to give you another. It’s okay. Be still, shh.” I talked nonsense for a time, and Holmes quieted. When he was relaxed and breathing normally again, “You ready for me to clean you up?” He nodded. I lifted his head out of my lap, and laid it back on the pillow. “I’ll be just a minute. I’m going to start a fire in here. You’ll be more comfortable.”

I moved into the water closet again, and got several towels, and some soap. Holmes was still upset, and his eyes were rimmed in red and bloodshot. “Close your eyes for a bit, my boy. I’m just going to clean you up.” He nodded, and closed his eyes. I moved to the fire place and set a fire in the grate. Soon the room was warming, and I placed the oil in the kettle to reheat, and turned to clean Holmes backside.

I moved the blanket off to the floor, as it was soiled. He had had a bowel movement, and was quite dirty, the mess had got trapped in his between his legs and covered his testicles and bottom of his penis. I soaked a cloth in the water and then rubbed the soap vigorously on it until a nice lather was worked up. “Holmes, I’m about to touch you. We’ll get this cleaned up in no time.” It took a few minutes but the mess around his backside was clean. I replaced the messed cloth at his hip, and looked to see if he needed another suppository. He did.

“Holmes, I need to give you another suppository, and then I will finish cleaning you up. It’ll only take a moment. Just continue to relax.” I prepped another suppository, and slipped it in. Holmes was mortified at such a loss of control. I leaned over his shoulder, to whisper in his ear. “Stay still, man, I’m going to roll you on to your back. You have a bit on your genitals.” He gave a quick nod. I rolled him gently on to his back. He shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong, Holmes?”

“Stomach cramp,” it came out in a gasp.

“May I?” He was my patient. More importantly, he was my friend, and he was scared. He nodded. I slipped the night shirt up to expose his abdomen and groin. I applied a gently pressure in a circular messaging motion. I could feel the cramp, and as I worked could feel it dissipate.

“Thank you, Watson.” His voice was weak with relief.

“You’re welcome. Let me finish cleaning you up. You’ll feel better.” He was tired, and I could not imagine how much more he would be after the enemas. I shifted down a bit, and began to spread, and lift his legs, bending them at the knee. He allowed the manipulation, and kept his feet in the mattress where I placed them. His testacies and penis were covered in a mixture of liquid feces and oil. I gently cleaned him up. By the time I was done the twenty minutes had gone by, and he was ready for his first enema.

I got the bed pan from under his bed, and had it ready. I removed the now warmed oil, and prepped my douching kit. I helped Holmes lower his legs and turned him on to his side again. “This will feel strange, fellow, take deep breathes and stay as relaxed as possible. If you start to cramp tell me, and we’ll pause for a minute or two. This is just a warmed oil to ease the impaction. You ready?”

He nodded. I creamed the tubing, and slowly started to feed it into Holmes’ bowels. He squirmed, I kept feeding it in and told him to lay still and focus on breathing and relaxing. He continued to squirm, and I knew that I would have problems because the tubing was not quite half way in. I paused, and removed a complete set of restraints from my bag.

“Holmes, I know it is uncomfortable. Do you want me to restrain you?” He nodded.

“I just want to get this over with, Watson.”

I set the douching kit behind him and set about restraining him so that he could not move. I had to place him on his back. I put his legs back the way they had been, and put anklets on him. I tied them to the side of the bed frame, and then placed two folded towels under his hips. He was completely exposed. I then pushed his knees out toward the bed. I then strapped them down in this position, and placed another strap across his pelvis. His lower body was now secured to the bed. He would not be able to move more than a few centimeters. I looked at him as I took the tubing up again. He nodded.

I continued to feed the tubing. Holmes instinctively pulled against the restraints, and I steeled myself. Once the tubing was in, I held the syringe upright, and started to slowly pour the warm oil in. I could only do about a quarter liter at a time. When it was filled, I depressed the plunger forcing the oil into Holmes’ body. He gasped and tears were streaming down his face, but he knew better than to stay quiet if he couldn’t handle it. So I continued. I slowly refilled the syringe with the last of this enema, depressed the plunger, and soon all of the oil was within Holmes’ bowels.

I left the plunger depressed, and tubing in his rectum. “Are you cramping Holmes?” He nodded. “Here let me help.” I moved back to his waist, and started to message his stomach. “Only fifteen minutes Holmes. Then you can empty your bowels. I don’t want you out of bed though, so I’ll help you on to a bed pan.” He looked even more mortified if this was possible. “Please, Holmes, I know that this is degrading for you, but I’m doing what I think best. To move you to and from the water closet will be much too tiring in your current state. I don’t mind taking care of you, Holmes, but you have to let me.”

“Sorry, Watson, I’m being difficult, and you have thought only of making this as private, dignified, and easy on me as possible.”

“It’s alright, old man, I don’t blame you. How’s the cramping?

“Nearly gone, I have to really go though.”

“A couple more minutes. If you can Holmes.”

He nodded. He was having trouble, and I knew that despite the message he would start cramping again soon. I quickly removed the towels and put the bed pan in their place. I propped Holmes against my chest, so he was sitting up in a semi-reclined position, and then in one smooth motion I removed the tubing. A gush of feces and oil was immediate. I held Holmes, in my arms. He started to strain, and I relined toward the headboard pushing him a bit into my chest to take him with me. Telling him, “Don’t force it Holmes. Let the pressure build again, and then relax. There is no hurry. Just relax into me, and rest.” He did as I asked, and soon we were sitting up again while he expelling more. We sat like that for about ten minutes.

“I think I’m done, Watson.” I nodded. I kept him leaning against me as I replaced the bedpan and towels. I was wiping sweat from his brow.

“How do you feel, Holmes?”

“Tired, but my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You can rest for a few minutes while I go get the second enema ready. I’m glad that you’re not in as much discomfort now, but we need to finish the series.”

Holmes nodded. It seemed he had decided to give himself completely into my care and judgment. He dozed as I slipped from beneath him again, and laid his head on the pillow. I went to the kitchen were Mrs. Hudson, God love her, had the warm water and oil measured out and ready. I took it and moved back to Holmes. He was still dozing when I walked back in.

I got ready for round two. There would be at least eight depressions this time, and the last ones would probably cause Holmes to cramp. I looked at him, and he nodded. I started to feed the recreamed tube into his rectum. He didn’t squirm this time, and I decided if he could keep fairly still while I administered the enema then I would remove his restraints. The first four depressions went without a hitch. Holmes didn’t stop me until the fifth syringe was in him.

“Watson, that was uncomfortable.” I nodded. I stopped and soaked a cloth in steaming water, and placed it over his abdomen.

“This will help a bit, Holmes. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.” He did it, and nodded. I filled the syringe for the sixth time. I stopped to make sure he was still okay. When he nodded I gave him the seventh syringe. He was clearly uncomfortable after this, but nodded for me to instill the last one. I did so, and he cried out in pain. I was at his abdomen in moments. He was fighting his bonds horribly, and I gently rubbed his abdomen and replaced the cloth.

“It hurts again Watson make the pain stop.” He was pleading like a small child. He had expelled so much he shouldn’t be in this much pain from two liters. Then it hit me.

“Holmes is it your stomach or pelvis that hurts?”

“Pelvis,” he ground out in tears. I could have kicked myself. He had such a large impaction that he hadn’t been able to urinate properly either. God I was stupid. I continued to rub his abdomen with one hand while fishing in my bag for my thermometer and catheter kit. He needed relief in both areas. I shook down the thermometer, and waited for Holmes to calm before I shifted.

I gently slipped the thermometer under his tongue. This made his eyes shoot open. “I need to take your temperature, and help you relieve your bladder Holmes.” He was too exhausted to argue. He tensed for a moment, but then let it happen. I waited the three minutes, and then removed the thermometer. He was running a fever. Probably an infection from all the waste in his system that couldn’t escape.

I dabbed his forehead, and looked at him. He was too exhausted to even cry at the pain anymore. I knew that I would have to give him morphia to get him through the rest of the series. “Holmes, you’re running a fever. Probably from the waste build up; I’m going to give you a catheter that will help the pelvic pain. I need to dilate your urethra with a thinner version of the suppository I gave you earlier. I’ll try and make it as quick and painless as possible.”

I moved to my bag and took out a regular hypodermic and a bottle of morphia. I drew up a careful amount, and placed the band around Holmes upper arm just above his elbow. He looked at me sadly, as if he had failed. “This is my choice, Holmes. You need the sleep. When you wake it’ll be over, and we can concentrate on getting you over the infection.”

“Watson, I…I,” his voice cracked and gave out. His eyes said what his voice could not. He was scared.

“I’m not leaving, Holmes. I’ll take care of you. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” I slipped the beveled needle effortlessly into a vein, and injected the morphia. While it was taking effect I inserted the two urethral suppositories. He was soon resting, and I noticed it was time to remove the enema. Just as if he had been awake, I moved behind him, sat him up, and replaced the towels and bedpan. When I removed the tube a torrent of water, oil, and feces came out. I rocked him gently back and forth, so the internal pressure would build. One of the nice things was that the pressure built and released naturally thanks to the relaxing effects of the morphia and the dilation suppositories. I held him until I was certain most the solution was out, about half an hour.

Once I had things cleaned and put to rights for the third round, I checked his urethra. It was fully dilated, and so I decided to empty his bladder before I gave him the lye. The catheter slipped in easy, and soon a stream of bloody, pussy, urine joined the used enema solution. It took a several minutes, but when no more urine drained, I removed the catheter. I cleaned him, and pulled his gown between his legs again. Then I left just long enough to get the mild lye solution. Sixteen depressions and fifteen minutes; it seemed like an eternity to me, and I was intensely grateful that I had drugged Holmes into a stupor.

He didn’t react to the tube insertion, or the first several depressions of the solution. Around the tenth, though, he whimpered. I could tell that it was starting to soak in, and cause the intense cramping that lye causes. I continued knowing that the sooner I instilled it the sooner I could get it out of him. He was unconsciously pulling at his bonds, screaming, and crying by the time I was done. It was not even a strong lye solution, but given his body’s weaken state it was agony for him.

I held him in my arms waiting with tears streaming down my own face for the requisite fifteen minutes. I hated myself. It was time to remove the tubing, and I did quickly. It didn’t come out with any blood for that I was grateful for beyond measure. I rocked him back and forth talking quietly to him, it took about an hour for the lye solution to leave. He had long been quiet against me, and I checked his pulse in growing terror. It was weakened, and he still had one enema left.

I decided to do it as quickly as I could. I set up in ten minutes, had it instilled in less than twenty, and Holmes was laying on top of me again as we waited the half hour for the lemon juice to neutralize the lye. I gently removed the tubing for the last time, and set it aside, as a torrent of lemon juice and water left my dearest friend’s bowels. I rocked him as had become my custom in the last hours, and it was finally over an hour later.

I removed the bedpan one last time. Then I undid and put away the restraints. Holmes was stiff from the extended confinement and physical exertion. He moaned as I gently moved his legs into a more natural position. He would be sore for a day or two. I turned him on to his side and cleaned him again. His anus looked a bit abused, and like his legs, it would be sore for a few days, but I could discern no permanent damage.

I fashioned a cloth undergarment for him. He could have drainage for the next day or two, and there was no sense in soiling his undergarments. I would have to apply salve several times a day to his rectum and keep in check his urination for the next couple of days, anyway, might as well make it as simple as possible. I did check his fever, again, after I secured his temporary undergarment. It was about 102, higher than I felt comfortable with.

Pulling the blankets up I covered him, and left. I assured Mrs. Hudson that the worst was over, and we needed only wait for Holmes to awaken, lower his fever, and let him regain his strength. She was visibly relieved. She handed me a bowl of cool water and a fresh cloth. She truly was a saint. I returned to my vigil.

After two days of fever, and forced liquid feedings, to prevent dehydration, and six additional catheter sessions on top of the initial one, Holmes woke about 10:00 p.m. He was weak, and could barely lift his hand to touch me. I noticed, settled on the edge of the bed, and took his hand gently in both of mine. “Welcome back, my dear Holmes. I was getting concerned. Do you think you could drink some water if I assisted you?” He nodded weakly. I slipped behind him, as I had done so often this week, and held a glass of cool water to his parched lips. He tried to guzzle it before I could stop him, and he aspirated. I held the pan as he vomited and held him tightly against me to ease the jostling of the coughing fit.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“No need. Let’s try again when you get your breath. Try sipping this time. The water won’t go anywhere, and you can have as much as you want.” He nodded sheepishly, and let me hold the glass as he drank slowly. When he had had his fill, I set the glass back on the bedside table. I moved to get up, but he stopped me.

“Watson, please, stay. I feel… vulnerable as faint as I am.”

“I was just going to draw you a bath. I’ll be back.” He was mentally a child, at the moment, not uncommon when one was severely ill. I smiled, and walked back to him. “Alright, there is a stool in there. You want to come?” He nodded.

I scooped him up resting his head on my shoulder, and carried him into the water closet. I set him on the stool and leaned him against the wall. I wouldn’t have to leave the room as I had been dressing Holmes in his bed by a fire to keep him from getting chilled. I drew the tepid water for his bath, and assisted him out of his shirt. I bent to the task of the pins holding his makeshift undergarment on. He looked down startled, but didn’t question it. He let me carry him, and place him in the water. He started at the coolness, but he was still unnaturally warm and the shock quickly turned to pleasure.

I bent down with a cloth and soap in hand. “May I assist you?” We both knew he was too physically weak after a several days of illness to accomplish the task at hand, but I had to give him the option of refusing.

“Do you mind? I am already feeling… shaky.” He was becoming more comfortable letting me see the very human side of his psyche. The trust implicated in that revelation caused a giddiness in me. I would have laughed, as this whole affair was ridiculous, but I just shook my head.

“No, I don’t mind at all. You can rest. I’ll take care of you.”

“I know, Watson. Will you rouse me when you finish?” His voice gave me room to say no if I felt it was not in his interests. Yet, another testament to his newly apparent trust in me.

I smiled, “Of course, I’ll wake you.”

He settled back, and was asleep before I washed his hair. Luckily, I had done this enough both on Holmes in the last days and in general to not have a problem finishing. I removed him from the tub, resting his head on my shoulder and setting him on my bent knee, while I pulled the stopper. I reached for the large towel and wrapped it around him, and then I picked him up, and carried him back to his bed.

Mrs. Hudson had changed his sheets and started a roaring fire in the grate while we were in the water closet. I was about to lay him down, but instead I set down in the chair with him in my lap. I am still not quite sure why, but I took a blanket from the bed, and covered him. “Holmes, Holmes, your bath is done.” He moaned, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Watson…” he was very drowsy.

I couldn’t hide the smile from my voice. “Yes, Holmes, I’m here.”

“Your lap?, he asked as he nuzzled my shoulder.

“Yes. Would you like me to get you ready for bed?”

“Hmmm… I don’t think I could stay alert long enough, even if I had the strength.”

I laughed, for the first time in more than a week I laughed. He smiled, and nuzzled my shoulder again. I laid him on the bed. He protested, “I was contented.”

“You can have my lap back, once I get you ready for bed.” He gave me a lethargic glower.

I patted him dry, and placed a new undergarment under him. He needed one—hopefully last—assistance in relieving his bladder before bed, but again I asked. “Holmes, do you need to use the bathroom?” He laid there for a second and thought.

“It would not go amiss.”

“You’re still pretty groggy. You mind if we just do what we’ve been doing? I’ll start helping you tomorrow to the water closet, after you get a decent night’s rest.” I was cautious. Holmes really shouldn’t be straining to do anything this soon, but I could not force him into such an invasive procedure since it was no long an emergency. He looked embarrassed for a moment, but then nodded.

“Would you like to be propped up? So you can see what I’m doing.” He had never been all that interested in the medical aspects of anything, but I was about to take away control of his own bodily functions. I would not have offered it to just anyone, as that is something that most don’t want and can’t handle seeing. He seemed interested.

“I don’t think I can do much Watson.” The need for sleep was catch up with him again.

“You don’t need to just lie there, breathe deeply, and stay as relaxed as you can.” I helped him adjust himself into a semi-reclined position, and then got to work. Even though I had thoroughly bathed him I cleaned the area again. Telling him what I was doing as he fought to stay conscious. My warm hand on his penis made him start, and he stared at me wide eyed for a second. “No need to be alarmed Holmes I just need to insert the catheter. Take a slow deep breath while I insert it.”

His head lulled in a half conscious nod, and as he took a deep breath I placed the tube in his bladder. It was uncomfortable at first, as Holmes told me, “Watson I really have to go.”

I patted his thigh to get his attention. “Just relax Holmes and let it go. You have a catheter in at the moment.” He nodded and sighed as he relaxed. When he was finished, I cleaned everything up for that and turned to applying his salve. He started to turn on to his side, and I helped him. He was nearly unconscious and despite my warning, he tensed momentarily as I spread the cool ointment.

I put some salve in and around his anus, working slowly, after I finished I cleaned my hands, and pinned his undergarment. His anus was healing nicely and he could probably return to his regular undergarments tomorrow. I bundled him into a light sheet and the throw from earlier, and picked him up again. His head found with a bit of coaxing the hollow of my shoulder, and he was asleep as I settled in the wingback by the fire for the rest of the night. My last thought before hugging my dearest friend closer to me was I was suddenly intensely glad that Holmes was so light. Something I was even more grateful for upon arising as we had stayed in the position well into the morning.

Over the course of another week Holmes regained his strength. As promised, I assisted him to the water closet the next morning, and except for physical weakness, for lack of proper food, and fatigue, for the lingering infection and treatment, he had no problems. He seemed much more open with me about his health, telling me albeit shyly at first when he was getting fatigued or started having pain, and I could only pray it lasted.

What shocked me most was that even if he had not told me that he was hungry or tired he would let me tell him when to eat and rest. I made him stay in bed, except to go the water closet under assistance, for the first two days after he woke. He never once fought me. He would ask to do something occasionally. I would think about it for a bit, and might say yes or no depending on his physical state at the time, but I never failed to explain my reasoning, and after listening, he would sigh and nod. The most stark examples came on the first day I allowed him out of bed.

This was no more than to move to the sitting room and either to the couch or the chair, but he was out of bed and mobile. The mid-morning post came shortly after we had him settled. We put him at the breakfast table, and covered his legs. I had Mrs. Hudson prepare something fairly light; scrambled eggs, tea, and toast. I had tried to keep Mrs. Hudson’s presence to a minimum until today, for Holmes’ privacy.

She came in with the breakfast things and post; setting them down between us. Holmes smiled at our land lady, and in a rare display of physical emotion she hugged Holmes. The poor woman had suffered as much as I had but in different ways. I smiled as Holmes returned her hug with a great fervor very uncharacteristic of him as well. “Now, Mr. Holmes, you need to eat, but if you don’t finish it no worries. Take as much as you want, and if you get hungry again later just let me know.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I will. Are you well?” He was genuine in his concern, and it took my unaware, because he usually treated others health as his own. He ignored it, sometimes as we had lived through in the last days, to his determent.

“I’m fine, Mr. Holmes, and am much better seeing you on the mend. Be sure you follow Dr. Watson’s instructions.” She was never one to be cajoled by Holmes. I was about to jump to Holmes defense to let her know that he had been very conciliatory, but he held me with a gesture.

“You have my word, Mrs. Hudson. I will allow our good Dr. Watson to ply his trade upon me until such time as he feels I am mended.” She nodded, and swept out of the room. He tucked in to his plate cautiously, afraid as I was, that after so many days of not eating and then a liquid diet, his stomach would rebel. I started sorting the mail, as I kept an eye on Holmes to make sure he didn’t have any difficulties. He stopped and looked up at me.

“Watson, the mail can wait a few moments. You need to eat as much as I do.” I took a couple spoonful of eggs, poured myself some tea and refilled Holmes cup, and took a couple pieces of lightly buttered toast. He watched me queerly for a moment. “Watson, why are you not eating more?”

“This is what I felt like having, Holmes. You need to finish eating, and then I’ll help you to the couch and get settled.” He nodded, and we went to eat at our respective plates. What I didn’t tell him was that I didn’t want to eat foods that I was not allowing him, that it would be cruel. I didn’t say that, but this was Holmes, and he knew the real reason whether spoken or not. He took his time I was grateful to notice, and it took about half an hour for us to be done. I finished much quicker than Holmes, but immediately went back to sorting mail and sipping at my tea, so he wouldn’t feel self conscious.

When he announced that he had had his fill, I looked at the plate. It was about three quarter gone, not bad for a first attempt at real food in a week or more. I took the blanket from his legs, putting it on the back of the couch, and he waited patiently. I helped Holmes lever his weight up, and he leaned on my proffered arm without hesitation. The doctor in me knew that I was probably being a little over protective at this point, but the friend in me won. He allowed me to help him sit, and adjust him to a comfortable position. Tucking him in warmly, I went to the fire place and stoked the flames. I noticed a half smile on Holmes face in my peripheral.

Once satisfied that the fire was high enough I went back to the table, and retrieved the sorted mail. I handed Holmes his, and sat next to the couch in the basket chair, instead of my usual wingback on the other side of the hearth. He would make the occasional noncommittal noise, and placed a couple of correspondence in one pile, and the other pieces in a second. He was reading over the larger pile when I finally got through my slightly heavier than normal amount of letters. “Do you have any that you want me to dispose of Holmes?” He handed me the two correspondence he had in one pile absently. I took them, and knowing Holmes wouldn’t care glanced at them.

I cried out in shock, and Holmes was on the verge of throwing the blankets off and coming to my aid. A quick gesture and hasty word had him settled back in the cushions with a look of curiosity. I composed myself. “What is the matter, Watson? You want to give the convalescing heart failure?” It took me a moment, but as my mind registered what he was asking I smiled though a bit confused.

“Sorry, my boy, I was startled to discover that I was throwing away a possible case opportunity for you. “ I turned to hand them back, but he held up his hand and refused them. I was reeling. I found the basket chair and sat, heavily. It was Holmes that was now concerned for me. I squeezed his shoulder. “I’m fine Holmes. Just a bit shocked. Why? Why would you not leap at the chance to take a case after a week of illness, confinement, and me hovering?”

I realized how it sounded only after the words left my lips, and I felt immediately ashamed. “Sorry, Holmes, I have no right to ask such things when you are doing everything I have asked of you. Forgive me?” He reached out for my arm at that moment, gripped it, and waited for me to look at him.

“There is nothing to forgive, Watson. As I said I am convalescing, and my good doctor, who is a better friend, and knows the rigors through which I put my body, hasn’t indicated that I am healthy enough to engage in my chosen career again. I will not accept a case again until you think me ready.” I was profoundly taken aback. Holmes had never shown this much willingness to follow my medical advice. Maybe he on some level knew how worried I had been in the last days for him, but I found myself asking only one question.

“Are you sure, Holmes? You have another few days’ recovery at least, and I would prefer you on a case than seeking the bottle and needle to relieve the tedium.” I would do anything to keep Holmes away from the Cocaine and unsupervised Morphia use, that he tended to engage in when bored, even if it meant letting him push his mind and body a little sooner than he probably should.

“I am sure, my Watson. I will not take a case until you are satisfied that I have mended properly. Nor will I turn to the ‘bottle and needle’ as you put it to relieve the boredom of recovery. You have my word.”

I looked into his eyes, and saw the truth of his words and the unshakable promise he made. I nodded, and said the only thing I could think of. “Thank you, my friend. I will rest much easier tonight.” He smiled at me, and patted my arm again.

“Throw those in the waste basket, Watson, when you’ve recovered your senses.” I looked at them, and smiled. Pulling myself out of my chair, I straightened the askew blanket about Holmes, and threw the cases that never were in the trash. He began to grow exceedingly weary in the early evening, and so I called for an early supper of Rarebit for us. Holmes was getting too tired and weak to sit at a table, and I didn’t want him over doing it, so we ate around the hearth.

When we were done, and I had cleared the plates to the table, he allowed me to aid him in getting his feet. I took a step back after he was stable, and he proceeded to walk to his room with me a step behind, unaided. He stumbled and I caught him as the furniture was out of reach. I took his weight, and he gave me a tired glassy eyed smile. My hand flew to his brow, he was not running a fever, but the day’s events had exhausted him. I picked him up, and carried him the last dozen or so steps to his bed.

I started a fire in his grate, after setting him on the bed. He was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. I stilled his hands a moment, and bent down to rub his cold trembling hands in my own. He smiled again. “Thank you, Watson. I feel a bit foggy.” This was not an unusual reaction after long illness in the beginning stages of recovery, and I was not worried so long as he got some rest and his fever didn’t return.

He was getting better every day, and I knew I had to start pushing him as his doctor and friend. Tonight though, he had made great progress today and I did not want to set him back, if he would allow it I would help. “Holmes, would you like some help getting ready for bed?”

He started breathing hard and panicking. When he spoke, it was a bit hysterical. “Why, Watson, why can’t I control my own body nor have enough strength to take care of myself?” I pulled him into a hug, and rubbed his back, uttering calming noises and words.

“Holmes, you’ve made progress every day. It is a slow process to recover from what happened. There is no shame in still needing help. Your strength and stamina return a bit each day. Within a week, you should be back on your feet, as though this never happened. Just calm down, you need to breathe…”

It was too late. Holmes had worked himself up enough to unsettle his stomach. He vomited on himself and me. I held him, and continued to comfort him as the acidic smell of vomit filled my nostrils. When he was done, I nudged him away from me to find; him, me, the bed, and floor with vomit on us. I was not angry with Holmes far far from it. I was angry with myself. He was spent after this, and there was no longer a choice, I would have to put Holmes to bed tonight.

I moved him to the wingback chair, and finished helping him remove his soiled clothes. He was all but limp in my arms. I manipulated his head and arms into a clean nightshirt, leaned him back to rest, and covered him. He looked at me with a dazed look. He was mumbling, but I made out, “Sorry, Watson.”

I looked at him, smiled, and said, “No problem, Holmes. Go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He closed his eyes, and soon I heard the gentle rhythms that accompany a deep restorative rest. I stripped the bed, and took the sheets down to the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was concerned when she saw the vomit on the sheets. I spent several minutes reassuring her that he had simply gotten upset and it had unsettled his stomach. She sent some Lavender and Chamomile green tea with me.

I cleaned up the floor by Holmes bed, and redressed the bed. It took about three quarter an hour. Holmes slept a bit restlessly in the chair nearby. When the room was put to rights again I moved Holmes to the bed. He woke for a moment. “Watson…bed?”

“Yes, Holmes, you’re in bed. Can you drink a bit of tea before you go back to sleep?” I was amazed when he pulled himself into a sitting position and reached clumsily for the teacup. I watched as he took the first sip, and chuckled when he nearly spit the contents of his mouth back into the cup. Holmes was use to the strong bittersweet taste of black teas, not the light floral of an herbal green tea, and the surprise on the great detective’s face was priceless.

“Not funny, Watson, you could have at least warned me.” His anger at me was far from genuine. I could see a smile tug at the corner of his own mouth.

I played along though, “Sorry Holmes, but I figured if I told you that you wouldn’t drink it.” I looked into his face. I had him, and he knew it but Holmes was not one to allow me to get the last bantered word.

“I might have surprised you,” I nodded as he finished to cup, “but then again maybe not.” I took the cup from him. He slipped to lay down, but the blankets and pillow bunched. I watched him put up a half fight, and then turn long suffering eyes toward me. I didn’t move, though I knew what he was asking. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to perform your Hippocratic Oath and help the sick and injured.”

It was my turn to be startled. I wasn’t even aware that Holmes knew of the Hippocratic oath let alone its contents. I put his bed things to rights and tucked him in as I watched sleep stole over him. “Watson,” I bent down at the bedside to look into his sleepy face.

“Humm,” was my gentle response.

“Go up to your own bed tonight. I’ll be fine til morning.” I could not deny that a night in my own bed would not go a miss, and the doctor in me knew that Holmes was in no immediate danger as long as he stayed in bed but the friend warred. As his friend I was having a hard time leaving him if there was even the possibility of injury. He saw the conflict in my eyes by the light of the fire. “I promise, my dear Watson. I shall probably sleep soundly until you come in to check on me in the morning. Go, you’ll do me no good if you exhaust yourself into illness.”

His logic was inescapable, and I nodded reluctantly. I retrieved the hand bell that Holmes kept on his mantle, and placed it within his reach on the bedside table along with a fresh glass of water. He watched me blurrily and smiled. I turned to leave with a “Good night, Holmes, don’t hesitate if you need me.”

“Good night, Watson, sleep we…” the last words were near indistinguishable and the last word was never finished as sleep claimed my recovering friend. I went off to bed thinking of the day’s events, and smiling. The next morning I woke quite refreshed. I bathed quickly, and dressed. When I entered Holmes room at half past eight, he was sleeping.

I lightly brushed his forehead, relieved that the fever had not returned in the night. I silently pulled the chair a bit closer, and observed my closest friend in peaceful slumber. He looked so young and innocent, and I knew that he was far from at least the innocent remark. He knew the dirty ugly side of man in a way that no one should, and yet he seemed always strangely untainted by it no matter how much time he spent mired in its hold. For this simple gift, I was grateful. I watched him sleep for another half hour or so. It was soothing to see him like this.

He shifted, and I could hear his breathing pattern change, but I didn’t move. I simply watched as he moved up into the waiting day from his dreams. His eyes blinked slowly open adjusting to the low light coming through the window. He gave me a sleepy smile. “Tell me you haven’t been here all night, Watson,” his voice was gravelly and harsh.

As he reached for the water on his nightstand, I chuckled. “No, I’ve only sat here maybe half an hour or a bit more.” I kept my voice low. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry, amazingly enough.” I chuckled again, and nodded. “That’s a good sign your mending. Why don’t you put your robe and slippers on, no sense in not being comfortable, as you are still confined to our rooms for another couple days at least. I’ll go see about a light breakfast, any special requests?”

“What we had yesterday would be good,” I moved to leave “Watson,” I turned to look at him. “The tea, make it black, no more herbals.”

I couldn’t suppress the full blown laugh that escaped. “Alright, Holmes, no more herbals unless you need them, on one condition,” He quirked an eyebrow, a gesture I had missed seeing. “You wait for me to get back before you move to the sitting room. I’ll let you walk, but I also don’t want to come back and find you a heap on the floor. So humor me and stay put.” He smiled and nodded.

I went down to Mrs. Hudson, and put in our breakfast order. She smiled and nodded, telling me she would bring it up. When I knocked on his door Holmes admitted me, and I saw that he had indeed managed to get into his azure robe and slippers. He was waiting patiently on the edge of his bed for me. I stood at his side, and he levered himself up. He swayed dangerously, and I held him until he steadied. At his signal, I dropped my hand from his arm.

He took one-step at a time. It was slow, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when he landed heavily on the couch without any help from me. His own smile as he caught his breath was enough to tell me that I had done the right thing in pushing him a bit. He let me adjust the pillows, and then swung his legs up on to the couch. He rested his head heavily in the pillows, his breathing still labored, and I adjusted a blanket about him. He followed me with his eyes as I poured a tumbler of water, and handed it to him.

He drank deeply but slowly, hopefully, remembering what had happened the last time he had drank a little too quickly. When he had finished he handed it back. “I think I’m improving, Watson.”

I smiled, utterly relieved at the glee in his voice. “Yes, you are well on the mend. A couple more days and I don’t see why we couldn’t perhaps go to Simpson’s for dinner.” I knew how much Holmes enjoyed the fare at Simpson’s, and I was not disappointed when his attention perked and his face lit up. Just then Mrs. Hudson came in with breakfast. I noticed her motion me with her eyes into a chair, and I took up the basket seat that I had claimed since Holmes convalescence. She prepared both of our plates and tea, being very generous with the portions and fixing the tea to each of our preferences.

Holmes and I would not usually let her wait on us like this, but she needed to feel useful and so Holmes and I talked of mundane things. Mrs. Hudson brought Holmes plate and tea first. He tentatively sipped the tea. I could not suppress a half grin at his caution. When he realized that it was indeed black tea he sighed contentedly. He waited patiently for Mrs. Hudson to bring me my plate and the morning post, and then we ate in a companionable silence like so many meals. Mrs. Hudson took her leave quietly.

After finishing breakfast, Holmes laid back into the pillows and watched as I sorted the few letters. I stopped short at the telegram. Holmes, instantly saw the change in me. “Watson, what’s wrong?” I handed him the telegram. It was from Mycroft, asking his younger brother to take a case for the government. Holmes looked it over, and then looked at me. “Watson, would you call Mrs. Hudson up here, and then hand me a pad and pencil?”

I did as he requested, and sat back down. He wrote something on the pad, and had it done by the time Mrs. Hudson came into the sitting room. “Mrs. Hudson, my dear, would you see that this reaches my brother Mycroft at the Diogenes club as soon as possible.” She took the proffered message.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Are you and Dr. Watson finished with the breakfast things?”

“Yes, I believe we’re done.” She moved about the room getting the dishes.

“Is Dr. Watson alright, Mr. Holmes?” A note of concern in her voice.

Before I could reply for myself, Holmes was. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Hudson. I assure you.” She nodded, and left. When she was gone Holmes made to rise. I moved to assist him as he was still a bit unsteady when first standing, but he stopped me. “Sit Watson, I can manage.” I sat. He took a moment, and then got to his feet, and moved to the side bar. He poured a generous splash of Brandy, and a water. He came back and pressed the Brandy into my hand. “Drink.” It was a command, not harsh, but it brook no argument. I let the Brandy’s fire warm me from the inside out.

By the time I came to my senses. Holmes had sat back on the couch, and was sipping at the water. “Watson, you needn’t fear. I told Mycroft that I couldn’t take the case.”

I nodded, but I was still concerned. “What if he doesn’t take no for an answer Holmes, and he comes here to demand you to take the case.”

Holmes smiled. “Victoria Regina could walk into this sitting room, Watson, and my answer would still be the same. I made a vow to you that I would not take a case until you thought I was strong enough. I have every intention of keeping that vow.” I looked up at him, and the utter sincerity in the eyes of my friend was as true as ever. He never ceased to amaze me. He was getting pale I noticed and I knew that he needed to rest.

I set the empty tumbler on the table, and moved to Holmes side. “Holmes, it’s time to rest. You’ve done enough physical exertion for one morning. Do you want to rest here or in your room?”

“Here is fine Watson. I am a bit chilled though, might you make a fire, since I know that you won’t allow me?” He started to swing his legs up on to the couch once more, and I adjusted his pillows and blanket for him. As he settled I started a fire in the hearth. He smiled as he watched me. “You treat me too kindly, Watson.” I looked at him in shock. Sherlock Holmes made few admissions of such a type, and I could only gape at him, as he confirmed what he told me with a nod.

He laid back then, and slept into the early afternoon when our quiet sitting room was rudely turned to raised voices and heavy footsteps. I looked up from the latest copy of the Lancet as the door was thrown hard on its hinges. There as angry as I had ever seen him was Mycroft Holmes. He stormed into the room bellowing, and Mrs. Hudson clamoring in his wake. I quickly stood.

“It’s alright Mrs. Hudson. I shall talk with Mr. Holmes.” Mrs. Hudson left the room and shut the abused door behind her.

“Where is that malingering little brat,” he raged.

It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking of my Holmes, Mycroft’s junior by seven years. Another voice calm if somewhat sleepily answered him. “No need for such language Mycroft. I am here on the couch. What might I do for you?”

Mycroft turned even more red faced. “What can you do for me, Sherlock!? You know bloody well what you can do for me.”

Holmes remained calm and unruffled. “I’m afraid that I cannot take the case, Mycroft. I have been ill for over a week now, and am still convalescing. I am sure that Scotland Yard will do a passable job if you don’t wish to take it on.”

“You look fine to me, Sherlock!” Mycroft was as mad as I had ever known him to be.

“There is no need to raise your voice, Mycroft. It will not get me to change my mind. If the case is still viable in a few days to a week I will consider taking it. If you cannot wait then I suggest you find some alternative means of solving the problem. Now, I was resting when you so rudely interrupted. Good day, Mycroft.”

Mycroft Holmes was flustered. I ushered him toward the door, and the he did something I did not expect. He shoved me hard out of his way. He knew full well I was treating Holmes, and he was just as mad at me as his younger sibling on the couch apparently. I fell hard against the wall my breath knocked from me, and Mycroft slammed the sitting room door as he exited.

Before I could get my bearings Holmes was beside me. “I am so sorry, Watson. I didn’t expect him to do that, or I would have protected you.” He helped me to my feet leaning against the wall himself. The two of us made our way to the hearth. He moved me to the couch. I would have protested except I could hardly get air into my lungs. He helped me lay back, and opened my shirt. We both looked at the large bruise that graced my chest were Mycroft’s hand had connected with my breast. It looked worse than it was. I could tell that no ribs were cracked or busted as I breathed.

As I caught my breathe I looked at Holmes. He looked so guilty. “Not your fault…Holmes. Nothing broken…or even…cracked. Just knocked…the breathe from me.” He nodded, but still looked like a kicked puppy. “Would you retrieve…my bag from the…table? Slowly, no need to…rush Holmes.”

He rose shakily, whether from the confrontation and my ensuing injury, or from exhaustion I could not tell. I would have to get him to bed soon, regardless, for a proper sleep. He came back, and set on the edge of the couch. He opened the bag, and I reached in feeling for the large tube. I found it and pulled it out. Holmes put the bag on the floor, and I handed him the tube. “Would you?” I asked. He nodded, unscrewed the top, and applied some to his hand. He gently rubbed into my breast were the bruise was, and I hissed at the burn. He started to move away, but I kept his hand on the bruise, and nodded for him to continue.

He did and my breathing started to ease considerably. By the time he was done, I was breathing normally again. I smiled at him. “Thanks, old boy, I appreciate it.” He recapped the tube, and removed a cloth from my bag to wipe his hand.

“You’re welcome Watson. I should have prevented it though.”

“Shh, Holmes, you could not have predicted Mycroft’s reaction. No serious harm done; let’ s get you to bed. You need to get some sleep.” He nodded.

I swung my feet to the floor after Holmes moved, and stood. My breathing was still producing an occasional twinge but it would pass. I gripped Holmes arm, as much to help as to assure him that I was okay. On the way into his room I said, “Holmes it would not go amiss for me to have the salve applied again tomorrow.” He nodded. I helped him to bed, and tucked him in.

“Watson, are you going to your room?” His voice was a bit concerned, and I knew that he wanted to make sure that I really was alright.

“No, I was going to start a fire in here to keep us from getting chilled, and sit in here and read the Lancet would you like me to sit in the other room instead?”

“No, if you planned to stay in here then that’s fine. Thank you, Watson, for everything.”

I smiled and nodded. “Sleep, Holmes.” He closed his eyes and obliged me. I set the fire and read the Lancet until after eight. Mrs. Hudson came up with a simple dinner of chicken soup and bread with herb butter. I thanked her quietly, and gently roused Holmes to eat supper.

We finished, and Holmes went back to bed. I went back to reading the Lancet, and it was in the wingback in Holmes room that I found myself the next morning. I had a blanket over me though, and my journal was marked and on the mantle. Holmes was not in bed, and for a moment I panicked. I hastily got to my feet, and winced as the sudden movement pulled bruised muscles from yesterday. Walking out to the sitting room I saw Holmes dressed for the day, and eating breakfast. It was a normal scene, and I realized, again, how much I had missed it.

I joined him at the table. “Good morning, Watson.”

“Morning Holmes, how are you today? Any trouble getting around? Fatigue?”

He couldn’t completely suppress the smile as he answered my questions. “I’m feeling very well, thank you. I’ve had no trouble, and was even able to bathe and dress this morning with no trouble. I am not feeling any fatigue, at the moment, either. What of you, my dear Watson?”

“I’m fine, Holmes. The bruised muscles are a bit sore, but the pain is nothing but natural after the knocking about I got and rightly deserve.” I tried for levity, but it fell flat, as Holmes slapped the table in front of him in a rare display of anger.

“You did nothing to warrant the maligning you received at the hand of Mycroft, Watson. You have only thought of protecting me, not just from the world until I’m well again, but also myself.”

“It’s alright Holmes. I have no regrets.” I squeezed his arm to prove my point, and he relaxed again.

“You mentioned something of more salve today on the bruise.”

I nodded. “If you don’t mind helping me after I bathe.”

“Of course not, I’ll be in here working on a monograph on the effects of herbal teas on the healing process, though I fear I am straying into your territory, and so I may need your help to make sure I stay accurate.”

“I would be honored to help, if you need it, Holmes.” We finished breakfast, and I went to bathe and change my rumpled garments. It was about thirty minutes later that I rejoined Holmes in the setting room. He was patiently waiting for me on the couch, tube and cloth at the ready.

No words needed to be spoken. I sat down, leaned back, and allowed him to unbutton my shirt. He exposed my bruised chest, and I noticed the brief grimace that flitted across his face. I squeezed his shoulder, and watched as he put salve on his hand and then gently messaged it into the battered muscles. He was gentle and his movements sure. It took about five minutes for him to be satisfied. When he was he wiped his hand, and then put my clothes to rights. I sat back up. “Thank you, Holmes.”

He nodded, and whispered, “The least I could do, Watson.” We left it at that. Holmes knew that there was nothing he could have done, but until the bruise disappeared I feared that he would act this way, and even after it was gone I knew that Holmes would kick himself for some time. We spent another quiet day in our lodgings. Holmes worked on his monograph, asking my occasional advice and expertise, and I finished reading the Lancet. At lunch he put away three more possible cases, he didn’t throw them out, but he refused to look at them or entertain their contents other than to ascertain what they wanted.

We both turned in early that evening, and I told Holmes that I would check him over tomorrow and if he felt strong enough we could go to Simpson’s for supper. He nodded, “Good night, Watson, sleep well.”

“You, too, Holmes.”

The next morning we met in the sitting room. Holmes had not dressed for the day, yet, and I decided to examine him before we attempted breakfast. He laid on the couch, and watched as I took his temperature, checked his heart, lungs, and pupil reflex. Everything was normal, and so I moved to listen to his stomach. I heard the quiet normal sounds of his bowels digesting the food that he had consumed in the last days on a regular basis. I inquired as to his water closet activities, and he informed me that he was not experiencing any issues. When I palpated his abdomen, it was soft and caused him no pain. He was fine, again, and I breathed a relieved sigh that it was over.

“Everything seems fine Holmes. Your strength has returned. Your appetite is good. I think you are not in need of my medical services any longer. We can go to Simpson’s this evening if you would like, and I don’t see any reason you couldn’t take cases again.”

“Thank you, Watson. I know that you worried over me endlessly in those first days. Thank you, for not give up on me, even when I would have pushed you away. Now, I think I shall answer a few unanswered correspondence from yesterday.” He looked like a little kid, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Simpson’s at seven, you think, Watson?”

I smiled and nodded. “Sounds like a plan, Holmes. I’ll make the arrangements.” I left Holmes in our lodges, as I made my way to the Strand and Simpson’s. When I returned, there was a middle-aged man in our sitting room. Holmes ushered me in, and made the introductions.

“Watson, please sit there, and be so good as to take notes.” I smiled and pulled out my pad and pen. The man proceeded to weave a tale that I will not relate here, for it is another story all together, but when he finished he got up.

“I’ll expect you both tonight then,” he said more to Holmes than to me.

Holmes shook his head. “I’m afraid that I have a previous engagement this evening, but we will be down by luncheon tomorrow. Good day, sir.” Holmes ushered the man out, and shut the door. He found his calabash on the mantle, filled, and lit it. Then turning to his wingback picked up the long dormant Stradivarius and began to play a lovely Scottish piece. I sat and watched knowing that my world was finally normal again.

I never have figured out, even all these years later, what caused Holmes’ intense change of heart. He still neglected his health, ate, and slept poorly during cases. Yet, whenever, from that incident on, he did manage to get sick or injured, he acquiesced to my medical ministrations with only token protests until he was healthy again. I suppose I may never know what caused it, and I find that it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Holmes had found a trust in me that seems to grow even more with each passing year, and for as long as I am able I will be there for him, and I will try to be worthy of that trust until my last breath.