The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 37

John woke far too early for his liking, but his body reacted to the light streaming in around the edges of the heavy curtains on his window.  He stayed abed for a quarter of an hour more, trying to fall back asleep, but even as tired as he was, his brain wasn't having it.  He finally got up and used the bell pull.  By the time he'd used the chamber pot and pulled on the thick damask dressing robe draped across the foot of his bed, Matthews was knocking lightly at his door.

John hobbled over to the chair by the fireplace and Matthews moved a small table to his side, laying tea out for him.  There were plenty of warm scones as well, with jam and cream. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?"  Matthews seemed more than efficient; in just a few moments he had built up the fire, gathered up the clothing John had worn yesterday, carried away John's boots for polishing, and laid a lap rug over John's legs as he warmed himself in his chair by the hearth.

"No, I think I'm perfectly situated for a while, thank you."  John would be quite comfortable spending a good portion of his morning exactly where he sat.  His leg had cramped up in the middle of the night, every muscle from hip to ankle twitching in its turn.  It wouldn't be quite so unbearable if the muscles in his calf wouldn't spasm at the same time as the ones on the front of his ankle.  He couldn't stretch the one without painfully indulging the other.  The spasms had taken their toll, as well; his leg still ached from the strain of the contracting muscle, almost as if the muscle had torn itself anew.

"Very well, sir.  Ring when you wish to dress."

Matthews left the room and Sherlock burst in only a few seconds later.

"When will you be ready to go to the shops, John?"

Sherlock was fully dressed, splendid in a midnight blue velvet jacket with a powder blue waistcoat peeking from the cutaway.  The dark color accented the darkness of his hair and the brightness of his eyes.  He settled into the chair opposite John's and stretched out his long legs in their buff breeches and tall boots.

"Are we going to the shops?" John replied more calmly than he felt, his quiet morning invaded by a restless Sherlock.  "Have you eaten?"

"I ate yesterday after the wedding."

"That's a no, then."  John split a scone and spread it liberally with the jam and clouted cream and held out the small plate to Sherlock.  "There's a second cup on the tray; would you like tea as well?"

Sherlock took the plate with a belabored sigh, but finished every crumb.  He took the tea with less complaint, ordering three sugars.

"Did you sleep?"

"A little, on the sofa, after I'd finished with my books.  Mycroft stole my favorite one; I'll have to send him a bill for a dozen others."

"So the bookshop, then."  Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"I received a notice from Harris' that an idiot of whom I've made the unfortunate acquaintance has published his thoughts on the sciences.  I plan to correct the text and return it to him."

Oh, so many questions.  John almost laughed.

"But what if he's written something correct?"

"Unlikely," Sherlock scoffed.  "His mentor is a man named Fortager who still fervently believes in balancing the bodily humours."

"That's still a respected viewpoint, Sherlock," John said, just to see what Sherlock might say.

"It's an idea almost two thousand years old, John!  How can we, with all the advances in the recent age, believe in a theory propagated by such scientifically backward generations?"

"The ancient Greeks were hardly backward, Sherlock."

Sherlock continued as if John hadn't said a word, and certainly didn't notice the tilting up of the corner of John's mouth.

"I could spend my lifetime disproving such prattle and nonsense, but it would be futile.  One would think that a simple microscope and cadaver would be enough to teach these fools differently, but they only allow evidence in front of their eyes that confirm their prejudices.  It's the worst kind of scientific theory!"

It was then Sherlock apparently noticed John's smile, for he ceased his haughty lecture.

"You trained as a physician, yet you don't believe in humoralism either?"

"I'm of a slightly more modern viewpoint, yes, and I think there is a lot we don't yet know about the human body.  Keeping strictly to old ideas is limiting to progress."

"You were just having me on, then?"

John tried to hide his smile behind his teacup.  "It is fairly easy to wind you up, apparently."

"John!"  But then Sherlock's stern face broke into a grin.  They chuckled together a moment.

"I must say I'm quite relieved, John.  At least we won't have to have an awkward conversation about bloodletting if I ever grow ill."

"No, I've seen the results of losing too much blood.  It didn't improve the health of anyone on the battlefield."  John hadn't meant for his statement to come out so seriously, but Sherlock reacted as such.

"No, I imagine it didn't."

There was a moment of grim silence before John spoke again.

"So what else are we shopping for?"

"Glassware for an experiment.  I've a special item on order at Edgers and Sons."

"I suppose I ought to hurry and dress, then, so advancements in scientific experimentation by the great Sherlock Holmes are not further delayed."