Sherlock Holmes Fic: Experimentation (working title)
I never imagined that there would come a day when I would make such a careless mistake, although in my defence it was hardly a mistake that led to any person being placed in danger. Still I can’t seem to place the very moment the mistake took place but I must say that the results were most amusing and have left me with such an idea that would undoubtedly have Watson at his wits end but would certainly provide me with more of a result than Gladstone ever could. In truth I’m growing a little weary of Gladstone’s side effects and I’m certain that the beast’s digestive system has been compromised beyond any repair.
Well at least he’s not my dog.
It had been raining for a good few days now, the sky granite grey while the cobble streets and brick work of the streets and buildings remained slick with winter rain. Watson had been given the relief of his patients to distract him from the fact that neither he nor his companion had left the apartment in what felt like eternity. It was almost similar to being in prison, stuck behind rusting iron bars with a madman with no hope of tasting the sweet air of freedom. Then again there was never anything sweet about London air. Holmes was once again on a destructive path as his mind scrambled to find something to entertain it between cases and Watson for once was more than happy to leave him to it. He was still behind on his work thanks to the last case which had ended four weeks ago but had left Watson with more work than he had expected. Then there were the injuries.
The rain and cold damp air were doing little for his leg and just the mere thought of the rain tapping at the window wickedly made the good doctor’s thigh ache dully but add this to the strain the limb had taken from the previous case, Watson was beginning to feel older than he was physically. Naturally he kept the complaints to himself, giving the odd grunt of dismissal when Holmes would inquire into his welfare for suggest a stroll to stretch their limbs and help their meals settle. If Holmes was at all suspicious of Watson’s refusal to move then he wasn’t showing it but of course that had been several weeks ago, before Holmes had began to go mad with boredom. The experiments had begun all too quickly as well as the days of silence and the nights of crazy violin playing or mini explosions that had Mrs. Hudson going for the brandy a little more than could be healthy for a lady of her age. Watson would normally do all he could to put a stop to this, he would try and shake some sense into his dear friend while reassuring his landlady that it was only another temporary faze but his aching leg and mountain of work kept him fully distracted. In truth he welcomed the distraction, not because he had grown tired of picking his companion up and straightening him up out of his drug induced hazes and madness, in fact he was so used to it that he did it without thinking but lately his mind had been searching for something new as well, perhaps the stress of the last case was still echoing in his bones a little if not a lot.
It had to be at least four in the afternoon before Watson finally gave up on his work for the day and lifted himself out of his seat from behind his desk. Outside the street was still bustling with patrons of different businesses or Londoners returning home to their own apartments. The apartment on a whole was silent and if it weren’t for the faint scent of dinner, Watson would have thought he was alone. Of course that was an impossibility. He couldn’t think of a single moment he had been utterly alone in the apartments, when he had been able to amble through each room and find himself met by silence and solitude. If anything he wasn’t overly bothered by it though, silence led to thinking and thinking often led to memories that couldn’t be drowned by anything except his love of gambling. Grabbing his cane, he bared much of his weight onto it as he moved slowly, his thigh spasming the slightest as it protested to the movement. The momentary thought that he was getting too old for these games Sherlock involved them both in, did slip into Watson's tired mind but it was pushed away rather hurriedly when he remembered with great excitement akin to a boy with a new toy, that he would most certainly have to be dead and buried before he gave up any of the excursions that came with Sherlock Holmes and his cases. Then again he didn't miss the fighting one bit, well at least for the moment he didn't. Deeming his work done for the day, the young doctor exited his rooms slowly, giving his leg ample time to readjust to the task at hand whilst leaning heavily onto his cane as if it were the only thing that could keep him standing. The smell of dinner hit him with a newfound strength the moment the door opened and Watson deduced from the collection of smells that Mrs. Hudson was making her rather finely put together cock-a-Leekie soup for dinner that evening.
At the thought of the kind and overly patient landlady, the lady herself appeared on the steps, coming up from the depths of the ground floor with a tray heavy with tea and crockery in her arms.
"Ah Dr. Watson!" The woman announced with what could be mistaken for a relieved smile, stopping on the landing with the Doctor. "You missed lunch and I was dreadfully worried you'd be feeling weak. So, I made you a pot of tea with sugar on the side to help keep your strength up until dinner."
"Well that is very kind of you, Mrs. Hudson." Watson replied with a smile, moving to take the tray so that the lady could catch her breath. "But I am actually done for the day, I thought I might rouse the old boy from whatever stupor he's in and get him to eat something."
Naturally the mention of the formidable Sherlock Holmes had Mrs. Hudson shifting with discomfort before a rehearsed smile plastered her lips and she gave a polite nod. "yes well he has been stuck in those room for days now, it's just not healthy for him."
"Oh indeed it isn't but not to worry, a new case will be along soon enough and he'll be out and about in no time at all." Watson assured her, eyes drifting to the tray that weighed heavily in his arms and took away the use of his cane. "Are we out of milk again?"
It took but a moment for Mrs. Hudson to work out the meaning of the comment before her blue eyes clouded brilliantly with embarrassment and realization. "Oh do forgive me! I shall go grab some now; I can't find the milk cup for this set so I'm afraid I will have to use another."
"Not to worry, I'll take this up to Holmes while you get it."
In fact the doctor was all too happy to ascend the stairs, each step taking him further and further from his work in his office while taking him closer and closer to the comfort of the bed and Holmes. He made no attempt to knock as he balanced the tray carefully enough to open the door to his dear companion’s room and walked in with all the confidence that he possessed. Instantly he was hit by the scent of musk, tobacco and spilt liquids, most likely the port that a friend had brought back from his travels especially for Watson. The room was a disaster, but no more than usual with volumes of books scattered across the floor space and the desk leaving little room for the lamps and trinkets that made up Holmes experiments or studies. No normal person would look upon this disarray with no care but Watson, so used to it and too old to fight such a small matter simply ignored the state before him as he stepped over a snoozing Gladstone and push a pile of paper off the desk with the use of the tray. It took a few moments to locate Holmes amongst the mess, the detective having camouflaged his unconscious body well in the mess although entirely by accident.
Watson move with rehearsed ease around the mess to his friend currently passed out on the tiger skin rug, much of his body hidden by a brown shawl which had flecks of wood shavings stuck to it. Much of these same flecks had made their home in the detective's dark hair and made no attempt to enhance the image of the man they clung to. Watson stood over the snoozing man for a few moments attempting to deduce if the man was aware of the doctor's presence. Deciding that Sherlock was too far gone to notice, Watson turned his head away, eyes resting on a pile of brass plates that made up the shell of one of Sherlock's new inventions. They were lightweight and yet hardy enough to take the small push that had them clattering to the floor with a chorus of rattles, crashes and clangs. It was enough wake the great detective, the pale skinned man rousing with a start, dark orbs wide with confusion before the world seemed to sink in around him and he became aware of the cause of the noise and the smug smirk that sat on his lips.
"Mrs. Hudson made tea." Watson announced as he pushed the mess of clothes off of a seat and sat down. "Dear god Holmes it smells like a tavern in here! When's the last time you cleaned in here and bathed yourself?"
"Hygiene and tidiness are of no consequence to me at this very moment, Watson, my mind cannot comprehend the task of such normal routines when it craves much more to challenge it." Holmes replied with an indignant sniff. "And Mrs. Hudson shouldn't waste her precious crockery and leaves on me, I never drink the stuff."
"Actually the tea was for me." the doctor replied, his eyes and hands having sought out an old newspaper to flick through, ignoring the look of offence on his companion's face. "It’s been over a week since you've used the bed."
"Yes well, I'm surprised you are even aware of my absence since you make sure to lock yourself away in your office at every chance you get. Now tell me how is that normal?"
Watson refused to dignify this small childish rebuke with an answer and stood immediately, aiding his way towards the bathroom to find the detective a wash cloth. "It won't be much longer now before a case worthy of your intelligence and attention will fall into your lap, dear chap. Until then I would appreciate it if you would at least sleep in a bed rather on the floor like a heathen."
No reply came to this which Watson wasn't all that surprised by. He grabbed the cloth and re-entered the room, chucking the cloth at his friend before turning his attention to the tray of tea he had brought in. The milk cup that belonged to the set sat at the edge of the desk, filled with milk indicating Mrs. Hudson's quick appearance with the milk only to retreat before Sherlock went after her with that sharp tongue of his. He paid little attention to Holmes as he poured two cups of tea only pouring milk into his own before he took his cup and saucer to his old chair and sat down.
"I demand you sleep in bed tonight. I am not just your companion but your doctor as well." He added as he took a sip of his tea. There was a hint of something new this time leading Watson to wonder if the landlady had bought a new blend. If such was the case then the doctor would have preferred to be thinking on that than his companion's mental breakdown.
"I think you have made your point clear, dear Watson, there is no need to harp on now is there?" Holmes replied from behind the cloth. "I shall make use of the bed tonight if it will keep you from nagging like a fisherman's wife."
Watson let it drop as he sipped his tea, watching the detective clean himself up half heartedly. He doubted very much his point has gotten across or that Holmes would honour his word but he was too tired to really care. It seemed as the seconds slipped by, the doctor found himself growing more and more tired to the point that he struggled to keep his eyes open. It seemed like an unhealthy option, but a nap was attempting to drag him in, its soft and convincing fingers wrapping around his limbs and weighing them down. Watson was all too happy to give in, his leg throbbing slightly as he finished up his tea while his shoulder began to stiffen, the muscle just under his ear twinging dangerously. Holmes was off in his own world once more leaving Watson to take his leave for half an hour.
"well, old boy I think I am going to take a rest what with the old bones aching." he announced as he rose from his seat carefully, the room shifting within his vision rather suddenly before correcting itself so quickly, the doctor was unsure it had happened at all.
"Did no one ever tell you that naps so late in the day are unhealthy?" the detective replied smartly in that cool voice of his. "How abnormal even for you."
"Yes well, we all must rebel once in a while to keep the mind interested." Watson replied as he set his cup and saucer down.
Then it happened, the world shifted so violently that Watson's legs gave a little under the shock, his hand grabbing onto the edge of the desk so suddenly that the tray rattled under the force. The sudden movement certainly wasn't missed by Holmes who looked up sharply as the doctor leaned into the desk, his heart rate struggling to stay normal as it slowed quickly. This was enough to weaken his limbs making the mere idea of walking impossible let alone a reality.
"Watson, is everything alright?"
"Everything’s fine. Just feeling a little dizzy is all." he slurred in replied, his knees buckling from under him. His hand moved then to grab the desk but only succeeded in sending what papers remained onto the floor.
The world became a blur after this point, Watson’s eyes frantically attempted to focus on something as the room seemed to spin in all directions, colours clashing into each other until nothing held definition or meaning. He felt himself sinking as his eyes struggled to remain open and muscles struggled to remain alert and strong. His decline into the very depths of a frightening but deep slumber was so quick that not even the great detective saw it coming until the doctor had slumped to the floor. As Watson slipped down into the darkness, he was mildly aware of Holmes yelling his name in alarm:
“Watson? Watson! Watson!”
Well at least he’s not my dog.
It had been raining for a good few days now, the sky granite grey while the cobble streets and brick work of the streets and buildings remained slick with winter rain. Watson had been given the relief of his patients to distract him from the fact that neither he nor his companion had left the apartment in what felt like eternity. It was almost similar to being in prison, stuck behind rusting iron bars with a madman with no hope of tasting the sweet air of freedom. Then again there was never anything sweet about London air. Holmes was once again on a destructive path as his mind scrambled to find something to entertain it between cases and Watson for once was more than happy to leave him to it. He was still behind on his work thanks to the last case which had ended four weeks ago but had left Watson with more work than he had expected. Then there were the injuries.
The rain and cold damp air were doing little for his leg and just the mere thought of the rain tapping at the window wickedly made the good doctor’s thigh ache dully but add this to the strain the limb had taken from the previous case, Watson was beginning to feel older than he was physically. Naturally he kept the complaints to himself, giving the odd grunt of dismissal when Holmes would inquire into his welfare for suggest a stroll to stretch their limbs and help their meals settle. If Holmes was at all suspicious of Watson’s refusal to move then he wasn’t showing it but of course that had been several weeks ago, before Holmes had began to go mad with boredom. The experiments had begun all too quickly as well as the days of silence and the nights of crazy violin playing or mini explosions that had Mrs. Hudson going for the brandy a little more than could be healthy for a lady of her age. Watson would normally do all he could to put a stop to this, he would try and shake some sense into his dear friend while reassuring his landlady that it was only another temporary faze but his aching leg and mountain of work kept him fully distracted. In truth he welcomed the distraction, not because he had grown tired of picking his companion up and straightening him up out of his drug induced hazes and madness, in fact he was so used to it that he did it without thinking but lately his mind had been searching for something new as well, perhaps the stress of the last case was still echoing in his bones a little if not a lot.
It had to be at least four in the afternoon before Watson finally gave up on his work for the day and lifted himself out of his seat from behind his desk. Outside the street was still bustling with patrons of different businesses or Londoners returning home to their own apartments. The apartment on a whole was silent and if it weren’t for the faint scent of dinner, Watson would have thought he was alone. Of course that was an impossibility. He couldn’t think of a single moment he had been utterly alone in the apartments, when he had been able to amble through each room and find himself met by silence and solitude. If anything he wasn’t overly bothered by it though, silence led to thinking and thinking often led to memories that couldn’t be drowned by anything except his love of gambling. Grabbing his cane, he bared much of his weight onto it as he moved slowly, his thigh spasming the slightest as it protested to the movement. The momentary thought that he was getting too old for these games Sherlock involved them both in, did slip into Watson's tired mind but it was pushed away rather hurriedly when he remembered with great excitement akin to a boy with a new toy, that he would most certainly have to be dead and buried before he gave up any of the excursions that came with Sherlock Holmes and his cases. Then again he didn't miss the fighting one bit, well at least for the moment he didn't. Deeming his work done for the day, the young doctor exited his rooms slowly, giving his leg ample time to readjust to the task at hand whilst leaning heavily onto his cane as if it were the only thing that could keep him standing. The smell of dinner hit him with a newfound strength the moment the door opened and Watson deduced from the collection of smells that Mrs. Hudson was making her rather finely put together cock-a-Leekie soup for dinner that evening.
At the thought of the kind and overly patient landlady, the lady herself appeared on the steps, coming up from the depths of the ground floor with a tray heavy with tea and crockery in her arms.
"Ah Dr. Watson!" The woman announced with what could be mistaken for a relieved smile, stopping on the landing with the Doctor. "You missed lunch and I was dreadfully worried you'd be feeling weak. So, I made you a pot of tea with sugar on the side to help keep your strength up until dinner."
"Well that is very kind of you, Mrs. Hudson." Watson replied with a smile, moving to take the tray so that the lady could catch her breath. "But I am actually done for the day, I thought I might rouse the old boy from whatever stupor he's in and get him to eat something."
Naturally the mention of the formidable Sherlock Holmes had Mrs. Hudson shifting with discomfort before a rehearsed smile plastered her lips and she gave a polite nod. "yes well he has been stuck in those room for days now, it's just not healthy for him."
"Oh indeed it isn't but not to worry, a new case will be along soon enough and he'll be out and about in no time at all." Watson assured her, eyes drifting to the tray that weighed heavily in his arms and took away the use of his cane. "Are we out of milk again?"
It took but a moment for Mrs. Hudson to work out the meaning of the comment before her blue eyes clouded brilliantly with embarrassment and realization. "Oh do forgive me! I shall go grab some now; I can't find the milk cup for this set so I'm afraid I will have to use another."
"Not to worry, I'll take this up to Holmes while you get it."
In fact the doctor was all too happy to ascend the stairs, each step taking him further and further from his work in his office while taking him closer and closer to the comfort of the bed and Holmes. He made no attempt to knock as he balanced the tray carefully enough to open the door to his dear companion’s room and walked in with all the confidence that he possessed. Instantly he was hit by the scent of musk, tobacco and spilt liquids, most likely the port that a friend had brought back from his travels especially for Watson. The room was a disaster, but no more than usual with volumes of books scattered across the floor space and the desk leaving little room for the lamps and trinkets that made up Holmes experiments or studies. No normal person would look upon this disarray with no care but Watson, so used to it and too old to fight such a small matter simply ignored the state before him as he stepped over a snoozing Gladstone and push a pile of paper off the desk with the use of the tray. It took a few moments to locate Holmes amongst the mess, the detective having camouflaged his unconscious body well in the mess although entirely by accident.
Watson move with rehearsed ease around the mess to his friend currently passed out on the tiger skin rug, much of his body hidden by a brown shawl which had flecks of wood shavings stuck to it. Much of these same flecks had made their home in the detective's dark hair and made no attempt to enhance the image of the man they clung to. Watson stood over the snoozing man for a few moments attempting to deduce if the man was aware of the doctor's presence. Deciding that Sherlock was too far gone to notice, Watson turned his head away, eyes resting on a pile of brass plates that made up the shell of one of Sherlock's new inventions. They were lightweight and yet hardy enough to take the small push that had them clattering to the floor with a chorus of rattles, crashes and clangs. It was enough wake the great detective, the pale skinned man rousing with a start, dark orbs wide with confusion before the world seemed to sink in around him and he became aware of the cause of the noise and the smug smirk that sat on his lips.
"Mrs. Hudson made tea." Watson announced as he pushed the mess of clothes off of a seat and sat down. "Dear god Holmes it smells like a tavern in here! When's the last time you cleaned in here and bathed yourself?"
"Hygiene and tidiness are of no consequence to me at this very moment, Watson, my mind cannot comprehend the task of such normal routines when it craves much more to challenge it." Holmes replied with an indignant sniff. "And Mrs. Hudson shouldn't waste her precious crockery and leaves on me, I never drink the stuff."
"Actually the tea was for me." the doctor replied, his eyes and hands having sought out an old newspaper to flick through, ignoring the look of offence on his companion's face. "It’s been over a week since you've used the bed."
"Yes well, I'm surprised you are even aware of my absence since you make sure to lock yourself away in your office at every chance you get. Now tell me how is that normal?"
Watson refused to dignify this small childish rebuke with an answer and stood immediately, aiding his way towards the bathroom to find the detective a wash cloth. "It won't be much longer now before a case worthy of your intelligence and attention will fall into your lap, dear chap. Until then I would appreciate it if you would at least sleep in a bed rather on the floor like a heathen."
No reply came to this which Watson wasn't all that surprised by. He grabbed the cloth and re-entered the room, chucking the cloth at his friend before turning his attention to the tray of tea he had brought in. The milk cup that belonged to the set sat at the edge of the desk, filled with milk indicating Mrs. Hudson's quick appearance with the milk only to retreat before Sherlock went after her with that sharp tongue of his. He paid little attention to Holmes as he poured two cups of tea only pouring milk into his own before he took his cup and saucer to his old chair and sat down.
"I demand you sleep in bed tonight. I am not just your companion but your doctor as well." He added as he took a sip of his tea. There was a hint of something new this time leading Watson to wonder if the landlady had bought a new blend. If such was the case then the doctor would have preferred to be thinking on that than his companion's mental breakdown.
"I think you have made your point clear, dear Watson, there is no need to harp on now is there?" Holmes replied from behind the cloth. "I shall make use of the bed tonight if it will keep you from nagging like a fisherman's wife."
Watson let it drop as he sipped his tea, watching the detective clean himself up half heartedly. He doubted very much his point has gotten across or that Holmes would honour his word but he was too tired to really care. It seemed as the seconds slipped by, the doctor found himself growing more and more tired to the point that he struggled to keep his eyes open. It seemed like an unhealthy option, but a nap was attempting to drag him in, its soft and convincing fingers wrapping around his limbs and weighing them down. Watson was all too happy to give in, his leg throbbing slightly as he finished up his tea while his shoulder began to stiffen, the muscle just under his ear twinging dangerously. Holmes was off in his own world once more leaving Watson to take his leave for half an hour.
"well, old boy I think I am going to take a rest what with the old bones aching." he announced as he rose from his seat carefully, the room shifting within his vision rather suddenly before correcting itself so quickly, the doctor was unsure it had happened at all.
"Did no one ever tell you that naps so late in the day are unhealthy?" the detective replied smartly in that cool voice of his. "How abnormal even for you."
"Yes well, we all must rebel once in a while to keep the mind interested." Watson replied as he set his cup and saucer down.
Then it happened, the world shifted so violently that Watson's legs gave a little under the shock, his hand grabbing onto the edge of the desk so suddenly that the tray rattled under the force. The sudden movement certainly wasn't missed by Holmes who looked up sharply as the doctor leaned into the desk, his heart rate struggling to stay normal as it slowed quickly. This was enough to weaken his limbs making the mere idea of walking impossible let alone a reality.
"Watson, is everything alright?"
"Everything’s fine. Just feeling a little dizzy is all." he slurred in replied, his knees buckling from under him. His hand moved then to grab the desk but only succeeded in sending what papers remained onto the floor.
The world became a blur after this point, Watson’s eyes frantically attempted to focus on something as the room seemed to spin in all directions, colours clashing into each other until nothing held definition or meaning. He felt himself sinking as his eyes struggled to remain open and muscles struggled to remain alert and strong. His decline into the very depths of a frightening but deep slumber was so quick that not even the great detective saw it coming until the doctor had slumped to the floor. As Watson slipped down into the darkness, he was mildly aware of Holmes yelling his name in alarm:
“Watson? Watson! Watson!”