Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 21

A/N: I had to add the side of the angels line from BBC.  It's my favorite from the series.

"Of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old loves are the worst." ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Passing through the parlor toward Watson's office, which her husband had temporarily commandeered for his experiment work, Irene paused as the mysterious gypsy woman approached Mary while she played on the rug with her doll. Although a stranger to her, both Sherlock and John seemed to trust her, care for her even, and the rarity of that was not lost on her. So she watched this woman, Simza, kneel a few feet from Mary, gazing at the child in something Irene could describe only as enchantment. Irene briefly wondered if she had any idea the child even existed. Likely not. Irene recalled the first time she had met her niece. The angel had stolen her heart and it was impossible now to imagine a life without her.

Despite Simza seeming perfectly content to watch Mary play with her doll, the little girl looked up at the new face in her familiar little world. "Hello."

Simza was a bit taken aback, but gave her as much of a smile as she could, considering her scarred cheek. "Hello."

"I'm Mary."

"I know. I am Madame Simza," she said softly. "You have a beautiful doll."

Mary scooted closer to her so that their knees were touching. "You can hold her," she offered, handing her precious doll to Simza. Irene smiled as she watched the exchange. Simza gently took the doll and held her in her lap. "Her name's Shirley."

"Shirley?"

Mary nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. "Like Uncle Homes."

Irene pinched her lips to keep from laughing aloud as she continued to the office, satisfied for now that Mary was in good hands.

When she entered the office, Holmes was hovering over a table in the center of the room, carefully depositing exactly two drops of clear liquid into a test tube already containing a thick, red substance. Irene frowned as she stepped closer. "Is that..."

"Yes," he answered, never taking his eyes from his work, which fizzed and bubbled as the chemical and blood reacted. "Taken from the good doctor before he retired to his room for a well deserved rest."

"Tell me you asked his permission first."

"Of course I did, don't be absurd, my love." A sample from the test tube was placed on a microscope slide. Peering through the eye piece, Holmes motioned her over. "Just as I feared," he announced.

Irene looked for herself.

"Mercury poisoning."

"Mercury poisoning?" she echoed.

"And here," Holmes added, exchanging the slide for another sample of Watson's blood. "A mild strain of tuberculosis. The poison is responsible for his other symptoms. Violent outbursts. Tremors. Nosebleeds and insomnia. It all makes perfect sense."

Irene crossed her arms over her chest. "So what do we do?"

"I've been thinking on that. I have an-"

But the detective's words caught in his throat when he heard possibly the worst, most haunting cry.

"Holmes!"

He felt sure he'd lost ten years of his life as he raced to Watson's side. He only gave pause when he saw Mary sobbing in Simza's arms, but another cry from Watson, and Irene's silent reassurance as she kneeled beside their niece, had him turning once again in the direction of the doctor's room. When he arrived at the doorway, the sight that greeted him only confirmed his scientific findings. Watson stood, leaning heavily against the foot of the bed. His eyes were bloodshot and wild. His face was flushed with fever. His frantic gaze fell immediately on Holmes. "Holmes! Thank God," he breathed a sigh of relief and Holmes stepped forward to brace him when he began to sway.