For All Our Sakes

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Holmes

As I slowly returned to consciousness, the first thing I noted was a very unpleasant sensation, as though my head had been stuffed with cotton. Why had I been given morphine? I attempted to shift my position, and a sudden sharp pain shot through my shoulder! I opened my eyes with a loud gasp.

Watson's anxious face came into focus before me. "Please, don't try to move," he said.

I grimaced. "I don't plan on it." I was just beginning to wonder what on earth had happened, when everything came back to me in awful clarity and I let out another gasp.

The worry creases in Watson's face deepened.

"I'm all right," I hastened to assure him. "I just remembered what happened, that's all." I closed my eyes. The events of last night felt surreal, more like a horrible nightmare than reality. "What time is it?" I asked.

"About a quarter to nine," was Watson's reply. "And we're currently in Inspector Patterson's house. Last night I learned that Brown is actually Patterson's younger brother."

"Hmm," I replied slowly, as my sluggish mind halfheartedly attempted to process this information. "Brothers, interesting. They certainly don't look much alike, though Mycroft and I are living proof that some brothers don't look alike at all," I added, shrugging with my uninjured shoulder. "Mycroft!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering that as of yet he knew nothing about what had occurred last night.

"Inspector Patterson said he would send Mycroft and Lestrade telegrams to telling them to come here when you regained consciousness, so that Brown can tell his story once to everyone involved, and we can recount the events of last night."

I nodded. "Good plan."

"Now," said Watson, adopting what I recognised as his Serious Doctor voice, "I believe Patterson's housekeeper is nearly done making breakfast, and I would truly appreciate it if you would partake."

I cringed. "I would really rather not…"

"Allow me to rephrase that," said Watson, leaning forward in his chair. "You are going to eat some breakfast whether you want to or not, if you would like me to allow you to so much as leave that couch in the next few days."

"Watson, you are ever so cunning," I replied fondly. "I shall at least attempt to have a little toast."

Watson nodded. "Good." Worry gnawed at my insides when I saw how exhausted and anxious my dear friend looked.

"Why don't you see what you can do about a change of clothes?" I said, noticing that Watson was wearing the same rumpled and bloodstained clothes of the previous evening. He probably hadn't left my side long enough to change.

"One of the lads on the street managed to track down Edwin, the Irregular," said Watson, "and I sent him to the flat to ask Mrs. Hudson to grab us each a set of clothes and give the boy enough money to take a cab back here."

"Good thinking, Watson," I praised. Watson smiled, though it looked a little strained. He seemed to be quite worried about me, the dear chap.

After a pause, I asked, "Did I miss anything of importance last night? After I, you know…" I trailed off, reluctant use the word "fainted". I have a habit of at least trying to pretend I had a few shreds of dignity left to me.

My friend shrugged. "Not too much. Brown and I carried you back here, I rebandaged your shoulder and gave you a shot of morphine. Then I tended to the cut on my face." He gestured toward it, and I shuddered, remembering the circumstances under which he received the injury.