Fic: A Mistaken Experiment~Chapt 2
Title: A Mistaken Experiment
Author: arisprite
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade
Rating: Teen-ish, I guess
Warnings: Danger, mentions drugs (slightly), hurt/comfort, angst
Summary: A mistake on Holmes' part nearly costs him the lives of his house mates, as well as his own.
A/N: This has been sitting on my hard drive, unfinished, for ages. Then after watching the BBC Sherlock, my love for all things Conan Doyle reawakened, and I was not only able to finish this, but also to write a modern day version of it, a la Moffet. Enjoy, and be sure to check out both!
I flipped off the fire, and tentatively sniffer the beaker. I could smell just that faint chemical smell, but that meant little. It was obviously saturating the room with severe effects, if the acute headache and slight dizziness I was feeling was anything to go by.
I dashed to the window, flinging open the glass and letting cold clean air flow in. It cleared my head of some of the effects, and I turned back to Watson. I shook his shoulders.
“Watson!” I nearly shouted. The urgency had flooded in as my mind had cleared. I needed to get Watson out! I called his name once more, then I simply gripped his arms, and flipped him over my shoulder.
I staggered a little down the stairs, but held on gamely, and soon had Watson outside. I laid him on the sidewalk, then called out to the few Londoners milling about on the street, though it was still bitterly cold.
“Raise the alarm! We need a Doctor, and called police to evacuate the buildings surrounding this one!” I saw a few of my little Irregulars run foreword. A few formed a crowd around Watson’s prone body, and others ran off to get help. I gratefully gripped Wiggins’ shoulder, before turning back to the flat, satisfied that my instructions would be followed.
Wrapping my cravat around my mouth and nose, I dove in, and ran towards the kitchen. There I found Mrs. Hudson slumped over a bowl of half shelled winter peas. I lifted her in my arms, and carried her to the front entryway. I was nearly to the door, when a bout of dizziness caused me to slump against the wall. I pushed on, grunting like an animal.
Finally, I lay her on the snowy sidewalk, then near collapsed myself. The world seemed to blur around me, and the next I knew I was looking at Lestrade’s frowning face, which was entirely too close to mine.
“What happened here, Holmes?” He asked me. He was gripping me about the shoulders to raise my head from the ground. I blinked, and came awake more fully, pushing him away to sit up on my own. I displaced some holey, dirty fabric that had been placed over my chest, and for the life of me, I could think what it was.
I raised a shaking hand to my face, rubbing the remains of the haze from my eyes, and coughed a little.
There were people all around us, including my neighbors, standing and shivering in the street. It didn’t appear that anyone else was as affected as my housemates were. A duo of constables was managing the crowd.
Watson lay next to me, and Mrs. Hudson beside him, both bundled under an assortment of scarves, and that same brown tattered fabric I had on my lap, which I now recognized as the coats of my street urchins. The Irregulars belonging to said articles huddled next to them, and stared at me with wide eyes.
Lestrade’s face filled my field of vision again, and I finally comprehended what it was that he was asking me.
“Holmes, what happened?”
“Fumes from my chemicals. Left the burner on.” I said hoarsely. “I returned to find them unresponsive.”
“You forgot to turn it off?” He asked me incredulously.
I felt was wave of guilt wash over me, and I shuddered. How could I have been so careless?
Lestrade had obviously thought that my shudder was a result of the cold, for he shrugged out of his heavy coat, and tossed it over my shoulders. The two constables, who were drawing close to report, did the same for Watson and Mrs. Hudson.
I turned, and pressed my shivering fingers against Watson’s throat, feeling his sluggish pulse. How long had we all been lying here in the snow? Why had we not been taken inside somewhere?
“Has a doctor been called yet?” I asked rather sharply. Lestrade leaned back onto his haunches.
“Five minutes ago. Dr. Anstruther should be here any mo-“ He broke off as the figure of the elderly doctor himself cut through the crowd. “Here he is now.”
Lestrade stood, and met the man a few feet away to tell him of the situation. I forced myself to cough, trying to get the foul emissions out of my lungs, and then shivered. We all were wet through for lying in the snow. Watson was going to have my head for putting Mrs. Hudson’s and his own health at risk like this.
I started to see Doctor Anstruther suddenly appear before my drooping head. I was getting tired of people materializing in front of my face…I must be more hazy than I had thought. He took my pulse, without even a by your leave, and then turned to Lestrade.
“We will just take them all to my practice. It’s only a block over, and it won’t be too hard to carry them.” I felt a flicker of relief. His practice would be quicker to get to than a hospital, and infinitely more healthy. I felt hand grip me under the shoulders while the doctor’s voice said, “Let’s get Mr. Holmes on a stretcher.”
I felt slightly put out at being discussed as if I wasn’t sitting right there in front of them. I could understand them perfectly, and I certainly did not need to be carried.
“I will walk on my own, thank you Doctor.” I pronounced, though in a decidedly weaker voice than was norm. However, as I belatedly realized that Watson and Mrs. Hudson were already lying on two stretchers, and their bearers were waiting on the word to go, perhaps I was not as lucid as I would have liked.
“Are you sure, Holmes?” Asked Lestrade, glancing at Anstruther skeptically.
“Yes.” I said firmly, then held out my arm. “If you please, Lestrade?”
With our combined effort, I got to my feet, though admittedly my help was not all that substantial. Finally, I stood between Lestrade, and Anstruther, swaying slightly. I shivered again under Lestrade’s heavy coat.
We started marching down the street, behind the two stretchers. Anstruther’s practice was only a minute or two away walking, but already I could feel my legs shaking with lingering weakness from that confounded chemical. Perhaps this was not the best idea.
I hated to think of the effects on the others. I had only been in the rooms for the very most ten or fifteen minutes, while Mrs. Hudson and especially Watson had been exposed for hours. What damage had I done in that one moment of negligence? If it were permanent…
The dread of that thought bore down on my heart, and I felt myself stumble, for in truth I could scarcely feel the legs upon which I was walking. One of the two men righted me, and we continued walking.
My only hope was that the chemical had taken some time in building enough potency to affect a person, and that I had come when it was at its strongest. That would explain why it had affected me so quickly, while they had not noticed the symptoms sneaking upon them until it was too late to move.
This reasoning, however much hope it brought to me, did not change the fact that it was entirely my fault that the two most tolerant living companions in London were lying insensible.
We arrived at the doctor’s front steps not a moment too soon, for my head spun as he unlocked the door, and Lestrade had to dive to catch me as I fell. He staggered under my taller form, while I tried to stop the world from spinning and from my stomach from turning inside out (not that there was much for it to empty itself of).
When my vision righted, I was seated in a chair in Anstruther’s entry hall, my head being pressed between my knees. I slowly straightened up, and Lestrade leaned back, relief and concern missing upon his face.
“I’m quite alright,” I murmured, in response to his inquiry, and rubbed my forehead against the still pounding headache. “Where is Watson?”
Lestrade rose, and helped me to my feet. He gestured to a hallway.
“He’s just through here and Mrs. Hudson too.” I gave him a grateful look, and we entered the small bedroom wherein lay the results of what could possibly be my greatest mistake yet.
Chapter 1 Here arisprite.livejournal.com/3842.html#cutid1
Author: arisprite
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade
Rating: Teen-ish, I guess
Warnings: Danger, mentions drugs (slightly), hurt/comfort, angst
Summary: A mistake on Holmes' part nearly costs him the lives of his house mates, as well as his own.
A/N: This has been sitting on my hard drive, unfinished, for ages. Then after watching the BBC Sherlock, my love for all things Conan Doyle reawakened, and I was not only able to finish this, but also to write a modern day version of it, a la Moffet. Enjoy, and be sure to check out both!
I flipped off the fire, and tentatively sniffer the beaker. I could smell just that faint chemical smell, but that meant little. It was obviously saturating the room with severe effects, if the acute headache and slight dizziness I was feeling was anything to go by.
I dashed to the window, flinging open the glass and letting cold clean air flow in. It cleared my head of some of the effects, and I turned back to Watson. I shook his shoulders.
“Watson!” I nearly shouted. The urgency had flooded in as my mind had cleared. I needed to get Watson out! I called his name once more, then I simply gripped his arms, and flipped him over my shoulder.
I staggered a little down the stairs, but held on gamely, and soon had Watson outside. I laid him on the sidewalk, then called out to the few Londoners milling about on the street, though it was still bitterly cold.
“Raise the alarm! We need a Doctor, and called police to evacuate the buildings surrounding this one!” I saw a few of my little Irregulars run foreword. A few formed a crowd around Watson’s prone body, and others ran off to get help. I gratefully gripped Wiggins’ shoulder, before turning back to the flat, satisfied that my instructions would be followed.
Wrapping my cravat around my mouth and nose, I dove in, and ran towards the kitchen. There I found Mrs. Hudson slumped over a bowl of half shelled winter peas. I lifted her in my arms, and carried her to the front entryway. I was nearly to the door, when a bout of dizziness caused me to slump against the wall. I pushed on, grunting like an animal.
Finally, I lay her on the snowy sidewalk, then near collapsed myself. The world seemed to blur around me, and the next I knew I was looking at Lestrade’s frowning face, which was entirely too close to mine.
“What happened here, Holmes?” He asked me. He was gripping me about the shoulders to raise my head from the ground. I blinked, and came awake more fully, pushing him away to sit up on my own. I displaced some holey, dirty fabric that had been placed over my chest, and for the life of me, I could think what it was.
I raised a shaking hand to my face, rubbing the remains of the haze from my eyes, and coughed a little.
There were people all around us, including my neighbors, standing and shivering in the street. It didn’t appear that anyone else was as affected as my housemates were. A duo of constables was managing the crowd.
Watson lay next to me, and Mrs. Hudson beside him, both bundled under an assortment of scarves, and that same brown tattered fabric I had on my lap, which I now recognized as the coats of my street urchins. The Irregulars belonging to said articles huddled next to them, and stared at me with wide eyes.
Lestrade’s face filled my field of vision again, and I finally comprehended what it was that he was asking me.
“Holmes, what happened?”
“Fumes from my chemicals. Left the burner on.” I said hoarsely. “I returned to find them unresponsive.”
“You forgot to turn it off?” He asked me incredulously.
I felt was wave of guilt wash over me, and I shuddered. How could I have been so careless?
Lestrade had obviously thought that my shudder was a result of the cold, for he shrugged out of his heavy coat, and tossed it over my shoulders. The two constables, who were drawing close to report, did the same for Watson and Mrs. Hudson.
I turned, and pressed my shivering fingers against Watson’s throat, feeling his sluggish pulse. How long had we all been lying here in the snow? Why had we not been taken inside somewhere?
“Has a doctor been called yet?” I asked rather sharply. Lestrade leaned back onto his haunches.
“Five minutes ago. Dr. Anstruther should be here any mo-“ He broke off as the figure of the elderly doctor himself cut through the crowd. “Here he is now.”
Lestrade stood, and met the man a few feet away to tell him of the situation. I forced myself to cough, trying to get the foul emissions out of my lungs, and then shivered. We all were wet through for lying in the snow. Watson was going to have my head for putting Mrs. Hudson’s and his own health at risk like this.
I started to see Doctor Anstruther suddenly appear before my drooping head. I was getting tired of people materializing in front of my face…I must be more hazy than I had thought. He took my pulse, without even a by your leave, and then turned to Lestrade.
“We will just take them all to my practice. It’s only a block over, and it won’t be too hard to carry them.” I felt a flicker of relief. His practice would be quicker to get to than a hospital, and infinitely more healthy. I felt hand grip me under the shoulders while the doctor’s voice said, “Let’s get Mr. Holmes on a stretcher.”
I felt slightly put out at being discussed as if I wasn’t sitting right there in front of them. I could understand them perfectly, and I certainly did not need to be carried.
“I will walk on my own, thank you Doctor.” I pronounced, though in a decidedly weaker voice than was norm. However, as I belatedly realized that Watson and Mrs. Hudson were already lying on two stretchers, and their bearers were waiting on the word to go, perhaps I was not as lucid as I would have liked.
“Are you sure, Holmes?” Asked Lestrade, glancing at Anstruther skeptically.
“Yes.” I said firmly, then held out my arm. “If you please, Lestrade?”
With our combined effort, I got to my feet, though admittedly my help was not all that substantial. Finally, I stood between Lestrade, and Anstruther, swaying slightly. I shivered again under Lestrade’s heavy coat.
We started marching down the street, behind the two stretchers. Anstruther’s practice was only a minute or two away walking, but already I could feel my legs shaking with lingering weakness from that confounded chemical. Perhaps this was not the best idea.
I hated to think of the effects on the others. I had only been in the rooms for the very most ten or fifteen minutes, while Mrs. Hudson and especially Watson had been exposed for hours. What damage had I done in that one moment of negligence? If it were permanent…
The dread of that thought bore down on my heart, and I felt myself stumble, for in truth I could scarcely feel the legs upon which I was walking. One of the two men righted me, and we continued walking.
My only hope was that the chemical had taken some time in building enough potency to affect a person, and that I had come when it was at its strongest. That would explain why it had affected me so quickly, while they had not noticed the symptoms sneaking upon them until it was too late to move.
This reasoning, however much hope it brought to me, did not change the fact that it was entirely my fault that the two most tolerant living companions in London were lying insensible.
We arrived at the doctor’s front steps not a moment too soon, for my head spun as he unlocked the door, and Lestrade had to dive to catch me as I fell. He staggered under my taller form, while I tried to stop the world from spinning and from my stomach from turning inside out (not that there was much for it to empty itself of).
When my vision righted, I was seated in a chair in Anstruther’s entry hall, my head being pressed between my knees. I slowly straightened up, and Lestrade leaned back, relief and concern missing upon his face.
“I’m quite alright,” I murmured, in response to his inquiry, and rubbed my forehead against the still pounding headache. “Where is Watson?”
Lestrade rose, and helped me to my feet. He gestured to a hallway.
“He’s just through here and Mrs. Hudson too.” I gave him a grateful look, and we entered the small bedroom wherein lay the results of what could possibly be my greatest mistake yet.
Chapter 1 Here arisprite.livejournal.com/3842.html#cutid1