Fic : Love Me When I'm Gone
Title : Love Me When I'm Gone
Rating : PG
Words : 3641
Summary : Slightly AU. Set near the end of EMPT, after Holmes and Watson jump the Colonel and attempt to detain him. Holmes suffers a blow to the back of the head which rids him of his memory. In the confusion, Colonel Sebastian Moran escapes Holmes and the police and is ready to plan another attempt on Holmes' life.
Disclaimer : Thanks a million to
spikejem for beta-ing this. Her input was more than vital in getting this fic ship-shape! Also, this is more or less the "introduction" chapter, where it only serves to lay down the foundation of Holmes' problem and leave the door open for the rest of the adventure. This fic was also inspired by Three Doors Down's song "Love Me When I'm Gone".
Love Me When I'm Gone
As the blackness parted from my vision, I was left with the image of an angel. The piercing blues in that angel’s eyes were the only thing that kept me from falling back into that darkness and continuing my departure from this world. I felt weak and numb, but within those eyes was the power which I was able to draw upon.
“Holmes!” the angel cried as he gripped me by the shoulders and quickly turned my head to the side with his gentle fingers feeling around the back of my head. Oh, what cruel moments those were to stare away from the angel, before I was able to turn my head back to face him. In the back of my mind I made a quick note, wondering just why the back of my head felt so warm and damp.
“He's dazed as a lunatic!” cried a voice far off in the distance, the origin unknown to me.
“He was knocked unconscious! Of course he's dazed! Call for some help, Lestrade! We need to get him someplace warm!”
I grinned. I have no idea why I did, but my mouth was of the only bit of feeling and control I had over myself. I smiled to the angel who hovered above me, at those round pools of watery blues that watched over me with all care in the world. I smiled in attempt to put those eyes at ease, eager to see what they would look like when happy.
To my grief, the blackness returned and the figure of the angel faded from my vision once more.
That was the first memory that I could recall; not my childhood, not what I looked like, and not even my own name, but the image of an angel with blue eyes.
*~*~*~*
“Colonel Moran was quite the opponent for Mister Holmes, wasn't he? I'd be safe to say Mister Holmes might not be sleeping soundly in bed if it weren't for you, doctor,” said a voice. “You have quite a bit of strength that would match Mister Holmes when it comes to his safety.”
The voice was a familiar one, but not one that I could place a name, nor a face to.
I opened my eyes from the darkness of sleep and found myself in a completely unknown room. I groaned as a pounding headache near the back of my head quickly made itself known. Sitting up slowly, I found that I was alone and behind a closed door, left to sleep.
As quickly as I could blink, I found myself drawing a blank of what to do next. What did I usually do after I awoke?
My mind scrambled as I tried to put together the few pieces I had in my possession of the last few days. As much as I thought, I could think of nothing. No names surfaced to my mind besides the name Lestrade that the angel had called out during the earliest memory that I could recall, but that name held no significance for me. I deduced that the name “Holmes” was surely my name.
The bandage wrapped firmly around my head, as well as the man's words that I was safe thanks to the good doctor, quickly led me to believe that my name was Holmes. This was a good enough start.
I pushed back my blankets and sat quietly for a moment, wishing to hear more of the conversation taking place just outside the room.
“He suffered quite a blow to the head, and from what I saw he lost a fair amount of blood. Are you worried about letting him sleep so long, doctor? He might have a concussion.”
“Not at all,” said a familiar voice. “I checked his pupils, and have been checking him four times each hour. He seems to be in a rather deep sleep, but should awake sometime tomorrow morning at the latest. Rest will do him a world of good.”
The voice of the angel. I felt a bit of bliss wash over me that such an angel would continue to watch over me, when I didn't know who he was at all. It was obvious that he knew me, just by the way he spoke of me. His voice was also shaken and disturbed; it was evident of his worry over my condition.
As I sat there on the edge of the bed, the realization of the situation finally hit me full on. I cradled my head in my hands as I continued to search the very depths of my memory, but remembered nothing at all about myself. I was completely blank and had no recollection of friends, family or loved ones.
I shuddered at a thought which quickly crossed my mind. What if I was married? What if I had children of my own? Were my children out there now, wondering where their father was? I wasn't ready for children, at least, not now while my wits were scattered above my head so freely.
Many questions of my life swam about my mind in a flow of rapid circles, questions leading to similar questions which would in turn lead to the original question in my mind.
Who was I?
The door swung open and the angel stood there quietly, watching me in disbelief.
“You're awake,” he said, a smile crossing his lips.
“Good, get him dressed and bring him down to Scotland Yard, he'll have to explain the business with the Colonel since none of us really know what happened before we got there,” sighed the other man, still standing outside the room, out of sight.
“Your need for him will have to wait until I see that he is well enough to get up from bed, Lestrade,” the man with the stunning blue eyes huffed as he closed the door behind himself and walked closer to me.
“Holmes? How are you feeling?” he spoke sweetly to me, in a tone that was an exact opposite to the one he had just used on the man outside the room.
I opened my mouth, hoping to a greater power that I hadn't forgotten how to talk. “I'm a little weak,” I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry and hoarse. “May I have a drink of water?”
The man nodded his head, then leaned over to the bedside where a tray of readily available items sat. He carefully poured me a glass of water, then set the flask back down.
“Inspector Lestrade isn't in a patient mood this evening,” said the doctor as he let me drink the water before standing up and picking at the bandages at my head. “He wouldn't leave until you awoke, he said, so that you could explain to him about the dealings of Colonel Sebastian Moran, and where he could be now.”
“Who?” I asked, looking up at the angelic doctor as his hands froze on my head. He didn't move, besides tilting his head down to look upon me with his brilliant blue eyes.
“The Colonel? He tried to assassinate you, Holmes. You outwitted the cur by setting up an entire double of yourself here in our rooms. We sat in the empty house just across the street for hours and waited for the man to show himself. Don't you remember?”
I watched the doctor's face as it became pained with worry; I felt horrible for making this man despair over me again.
“You don't remember,” he said quickly, as if reading my expression. He then squatted down in front of me, resting a hand on my knee as he gave the situation a quick ponder. “Traumatic amnesia, obviously from that blow to your head,” the doctor said in a quiet but firm voice, as if he were reading it from a text rather than from his own mind.
“I wonder if you would be so kind,” I murmured finally, looking down into the cup of water. “I have been trying to deduce it myself, but it seems to have escaped me. I have lost something that any gentleman without cannot be called a gentleman at all,” I sighed. “Would you be so kind as to tell me my name? My full name? I know the “Holmes” bit at least, but I've no clue upon my person to tell me of my Christian name.”
The doctor stared at me, and in an instant I watched as a waterfall of emotion cascaded over his face. His skin went a pale shade and his eyes closed. I latched my hand over his, in fear that he might slip away and faint at any moment.
“I only ask,” I continued, “because you seem to know me well enough to be taking care of me. As well, you said 'our rooms', just a moment earlier, so is it wrong for me to assume that you are a roommate of mine?”
The man stood up, but his eyes were continuously focused on me. For a moment, I thought he would never speak again, seeming content to stand there and watch me with his unobservant eyes.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said uttered. “Your name is Sherlock Holmes.”
Next it was my turn to go silent as I stared at him, running my name over and over again in my head, but ringing no bells as of yet. “Sherlock Holmes,” I echoed. “What a normal name. I thought I was royalty by the way you treated me,” I laughed gently.
I stood up then, and reached out to him to pat him on the shoulder in admiration for all his help, but fell forwards as my knees buckled under my own weight. I had greatly underestimated the complete lack of strength that I suffered from. I am sure if it wasn't for the doctor's swift hands, I would have had yet another head injury to add to my collection.
“Holmes.... Holmes, you must stay in bed,” the doctor said sternly as he carefully led me back to the bed and sat me down. He then raised his arm and rubbed his shoulder gently. “That wound of yours has caused greater damage than I once diagnosed.”
“Is he ready to go? We have the police cab waiting outside,” Lestrade stated as he opened the door a crack and glanced in.
“What a rat like expression.” I found my idle tongue wandering in my dizzy and weak state, not caring enough to stop whatever words would flow out of me. “Are you sure you are not the one the police are after, rather than this Moran fellow? You certainly look the part of a criminal.”
With that, the Inspector's face flushed deep red as he scowled in at me. He threw open the door the whole way and stormed into the room, pointing a finger at me as his entire body tensed in fury. “What the devil is wrong with him? I can take the way he talks down to us at the station, but to fall back on visual insults - that is low, even for him!”
The doctor raised a hand to silence Lestrade. “Wait outside a moment, Inspector! I am with a patient, you cannot interrupt a doctor during an examination of a patient,” he snapped before standing and pushing Lestrade from the room, shutting the door again and locking it.
I leaned back on my hands, staring at the doctor quietly. It was true I was lost, but with the doctor by my side I thought that I would be able to ask him anything about myself and he would be able to explain it to me in the smallest of detail.
“Holmes, please. If this is another of your grand charades in order to prevail in a case, you cannot lie to me like this again! I cannot take it anymore!” the doctor cried as he grabbed my shoulders in a not too gentle way. I stared up at the doctor and quickly fought my way out of his arms. Once free, I moved back further onto the bed, looking at the doctor as if he were a madman.
“Why in the world would lie about something like this? I could not even remember my name!” I explained with grief.
The doctor withdrew away from the bed, but his eyes were still focused on me. “This...this is not good,” the doctor finally whispered, an arm crossed over his chest while his free hand held his chin. He stared at me as if balancing a decision in his mind.
“Indeed it isn't,” I said, folding my hands on my lap as I stared back at him. “I'm not even entirely aware of the situation and I know it is bad, just by the look upon your features.”
The doctor's face brightened. “You still attain your skills of deduction,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “It's obvious that you do!”
I stared at him, feeling as though I was being left out of a joke. “I do not follow you.”
“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the world's only consulting detective. Your deductive skills are both powerful and unique! Why, just hours ago you were assisting Inspector Lestrade in capturing the man who attempted to murder you!”
“Deductive abilities? It is just my nature.” I shrugged my shoulders gently. “And my murderer?” I mumbled, my eyes undoubtedly going wide in surprise. “He must have succeeded in some small way, if I now have this long gash along the backside of my head.” I raised a hand to the wound and winced at just the slight pressure of my finger upon the bandages sent a shock of pain all through my skull.
The doctor shook his head again, and I watched as his moustache twitched up into a smile. “There is a lot that needs explaining, but for now I think I had best get rid of our dear Inspector first,” he said in the quietest of tones as he walked to the door. “You get back into bed and rest,” he said in a strict voice before he left again.
Quietly I was able to hear Lestrade's and the doctor's bickering, and his rude tongue voicing his anger before he left the building. Outside I heard the trot of the carriage outside making away down the street.
I was still sitting on the bed when the doctor came back into the room, frowning slightly at me.
“Please Holmes,” he said in a kind voice. “You'll only recover your memory with much rest, and plenty of sleep. I didn't bother to tell Lestrade what had become of you, because I seriously doubt that it is any of his business,” he said hastily, pulling back my covers and trying to get me to lie back down.
“You can't possibly expect me to sleep,” I cried, grabbing his hands by the wrist to hold myself up from the bed. “I'm completely lost. It's as though I've been uprooted and planted again in strange soils. I can't adapt to a leisurely lifestyle until I find out everything that my mind continues to ask of me.”
With a slight smile, the doctor sat down on the edge of my bed, watching me with intense eyes. “I am sure I can help you with that, at least,” he chuckled. “If it will put your mind at ease enough to rest.”
A feeling of calm broke over me as I sat up to speak with the doctor. Since the start of this whole trouble when I had awoken in this strange bed and called by the name of Holmes, there was a knot of fear and worry that worked at my very soul. It was the doctor's face and his reassuring smile that helped me work out that knot, and leave my incompetent mind in his hands, hoping that he would assist me in my quest to find myself again.
“What is it you wish to know?” he asked, smiling.
I gave a thoughtful expression while I looked down at my hands for a moment to ponder. I had known my question before he had even asked me, but now I struggled with two questions that stood out with equal importance in my mind.
“I was going to ask first who I was. Besides my name, I know nothing more than what you have told me. You have told me that I am a consulting detective, but I know there must be more to Sherlock Holmes than that alone.” I found my voice falling just above a whisper. I could only pray that he heard me, for I did not think I had the strength to raise my voice to a louder tone. “But now my mind is clouded with thoughts of you. You are a very unique person yourself, from the limited knowledge that I was able to gather about you. Yes, I would rather know who you are, before I know who I am.”
The doctor's face was torn between his sadness and his joy; I could tell easily that he was pained that I did not remember him, but was prideful that I would ask to know of him so that I might know him as well as I did before.
“You must tell me who you are, besides the fact that you are an avid journalist, and you are obviously a doctor, you served as a surgeon in the army, and that you carry quite a ...quite a large scar upon your shoulder there,” I whispered. I outstretched my hand to him and ghosted my fingers above his shoulder. “The weather affects your old wound quite a bit, doesn't it?”
“You are remembering a bit now?”
“No, when you caught me, you quickly tended to your shoulder, and when at the door, you opened the doorknob with your far hand, rather than the hand of the closer, and injured shoulder; thus, evidently your shoulder hurt before you came into the room. Even though I haven't moved from the bed, I can hear the rain from the outside, and it is only natural that such deep wounds are affected by bad weather,” I explained. “I presumed the army because you do not strike me as a man who would recklessly throw himself into a bar fight and be injured in such a way.”
The doctor grinned brightly and nodded his head. “It was the same as when we first met. We hadn't even spoken and you knew all about me.”
I smiled faintly, wishing I could recall when, and where I had met him. I wished to ask him about it, but for the moment there were far more urgent of questions.
I asked the question which I knew would hurt him terribly. “What is your name?”
“John H. Watson.” I could see his hidden pain behind his grin. He then took my hand in his and shook it gently.
“Watson.” I tested that name as well, but still no memory of the name surfaced. “It's wonderful to meet you, I am only sorry that I cannot remember more about you.”
Watson laughed. “Well, don't you worry. I'm sure in a couple days, you'll be struck with your memory again and all this will just be a story I'll be able to relive through my pen.”
Gently I nodded my head. “Indeed,” I whispered, bringing the back of my hand to my mouth to yawn. “All the information I have now has told me that I am in my rooms, which I share with my good friend John Watson, and that I am a rather important person to the public.”
“Yes, you are very important person, if I do say so. A good deal of the murders that Scotland Yard solves is only because of your brilliant mind. Why, when you disappeared for the last three years --”
I raised a hand, stopping Watson's talk where he was. “Three years? Surely I wasn't knocked unconscious for the last three years!” I cried. “Where was I?”
Watson bit his lip, and his hand stole into mine again, holding it tightly. “That is a long story, Holmes. Would it be suffice to say that you went on a holiday, and that later I will fill in the details?” he smiled.
I quietly nodded my head, though inside I burned to know what I had spent those last three years of my life doing. Obviously I had been by myself, or at least with someone whom Watson didn't know. The subject struck me as one of taboo, one that my friend didn't seem eager to talk about.
“Will you sleep now?” Watson asked as he pulled back the covers again. “Hopefully when you awake, your memory will return to you. If not...well...we will work around it.”
“You are right,” I sighed as I moved and crawled back into my bed. “Could you tell me one more thing?” I asked, situating my head on the pillow to the most comfortable position.
“Yes, of course.” Watson's eyebrows raised quickly. “What is it?”
“Am I married?”
Watson stared at me, then turned away and gave into a fit of laughter. “Now I know you are not pretending. No, Holmes, you are not married.”
I smiled sleepily up at Watson and curled up under the blankets, sighing. “Then now I shall be able to sleep peacefully. Good night, Watson.” I found it easy to relax since Watson didn't leave my side until long after I had fallen asleep.
I only slept for an hour before I awoke; I could not waste my time on sleep when I had such a problem ahead of me. For the rest of the night I wandered around my room, studying items in my possession to lead me to any clue of the person I once was.
Rating : PG
Words : 3641
Summary : Slightly AU. Set near the end of EMPT, after Holmes and Watson jump the Colonel and attempt to detain him. Holmes suffers a blow to the back of the head which rids him of his memory. In the confusion, Colonel Sebastian Moran escapes Holmes and the police and is ready to plan another attempt on Holmes' life.
Disclaimer : Thanks a million to
spikejem for beta-ing this. Her input was more than vital in getting this fic ship-shape! Also, this is more or less the "introduction" chapter, where it only serves to lay down the foundation of Holmes' problem and leave the door open for the rest of the adventure. This fic was also inspired by Three Doors Down's song "Love Me When I'm Gone".
Love Me When I'm Gone
As the blackness parted from my vision, I was left with the image of an angel. The piercing blues in that angel’s eyes were the only thing that kept me from falling back into that darkness and continuing my departure from this world. I felt weak and numb, but within those eyes was the power which I was able to draw upon.
“Holmes!” the angel cried as he gripped me by the shoulders and quickly turned my head to the side with his gentle fingers feeling around the back of my head. Oh, what cruel moments those were to stare away from the angel, before I was able to turn my head back to face him. In the back of my mind I made a quick note, wondering just why the back of my head felt so warm and damp.
“He's dazed as a lunatic!” cried a voice far off in the distance, the origin unknown to me.
“He was knocked unconscious! Of course he's dazed! Call for some help, Lestrade! We need to get him someplace warm!”
I grinned. I have no idea why I did, but my mouth was of the only bit of feeling and control I had over myself. I smiled to the angel who hovered above me, at those round pools of watery blues that watched over me with all care in the world. I smiled in attempt to put those eyes at ease, eager to see what they would look like when happy.
To my grief, the blackness returned and the figure of the angel faded from my vision once more.
That was the first memory that I could recall; not my childhood, not what I looked like, and not even my own name, but the image of an angel with blue eyes.
*~*~*~*
“Colonel Moran was quite the opponent for Mister Holmes, wasn't he? I'd be safe to say Mister Holmes might not be sleeping soundly in bed if it weren't for you, doctor,” said a voice. “You have quite a bit of strength that would match Mister Holmes when it comes to his safety.”
The voice was a familiar one, but not one that I could place a name, nor a face to.
I opened my eyes from the darkness of sleep and found myself in a completely unknown room. I groaned as a pounding headache near the back of my head quickly made itself known. Sitting up slowly, I found that I was alone and behind a closed door, left to sleep.
As quickly as I could blink, I found myself drawing a blank of what to do next. What did I usually do after I awoke?
My mind scrambled as I tried to put together the few pieces I had in my possession of the last few days. As much as I thought, I could think of nothing. No names surfaced to my mind besides the name Lestrade that the angel had called out during the earliest memory that I could recall, but that name held no significance for me. I deduced that the name “Holmes” was surely my name.
The bandage wrapped firmly around my head, as well as the man's words that I was safe thanks to the good doctor, quickly led me to believe that my name was Holmes. This was a good enough start.
I pushed back my blankets and sat quietly for a moment, wishing to hear more of the conversation taking place just outside the room.
“He suffered quite a blow to the head, and from what I saw he lost a fair amount of blood. Are you worried about letting him sleep so long, doctor? He might have a concussion.”
“Not at all,” said a familiar voice. “I checked his pupils, and have been checking him four times each hour. He seems to be in a rather deep sleep, but should awake sometime tomorrow morning at the latest. Rest will do him a world of good.”
The voice of the angel. I felt a bit of bliss wash over me that such an angel would continue to watch over me, when I didn't know who he was at all. It was obvious that he knew me, just by the way he spoke of me. His voice was also shaken and disturbed; it was evident of his worry over my condition.
As I sat there on the edge of the bed, the realization of the situation finally hit me full on. I cradled my head in my hands as I continued to search the very depths of my memory, but remembered nothing at all about myself. I was completely blank and had no recollection of friends, family or loved ones.
I shuddered at a thought which quickly crossed my mind. What if I was married? What if I had children of my own? Were my children out there now, wondering where their father was? I wasn't ready for children, at least, not now while my wits were scattered above my head so freely.
Many questions of my life swam about my mind in a flow of rapid circles, questions leading to similar questions which would in turn lead to the original question in my mind.
Who was I?
The door swung open and the angel stood there quietly, watching me in disbelief.
“You're awake,” he said, a smile crossing his lips.
“Good, get him dressed and bring him down to Scotland Yard, he'll have to explain the business with the Colonel since none of us really know what happened before we got there,” sighed the other man, still standing outside the room, out of sight.
“Your need for him will have to wait until I see that he is well enough to get up from bed, Lestrade,” the man with the stunning blue eyes huffed as he closed the door behind himself and walked closer to me.
“Holmes? How are you feeling?” he spoke sweetly to me, in a tone that was an exact opposite to the one he had just used on the man outside the room.
I opened my mouth, hoping to a greater power that I hadn't forgotten how to talk. “I'm a little weak,” I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry and hoarse. “May I have a drink of water?”
The man nodded his head, then leaned over to the bedside where a tray of readily available items sat. He carefully poured me a glass of water, then set the flask back down.
“Inspector Lestrade isn't in a patient mood this evening,” said the doctor as he let me drink the water before standing up and picking at the bandages at my head. “He wouldn't leave until you awoke, he said, so that you could explain to him about the dealings of Colonel Sebastian Moran, and where he could be now.”
“Who?” I asked, looking up at the angelic doctor as his hands froze on my head. He didn't move, besides tilting his head down to look upon me with his brilliant blue eyes.
“The Colonel? He tried to assassinate you, Holmes. You outwitted the cur by setting up an entire double of yourself here in our rooms. We sat in the empty house just across the street for hours and waited for the man to show himself. Don't you remember?”
I watched the doctor's face as it became pained with worry; I felt horrible for making this man despair over me again.
“You don't remember,” he said quickly, as if reading my expression. He then squatted down in front of me, resting a hand on my knee as he gave the situation a quick ponder. “Traumatic amnesia, obviously from that blow to your head,” the doctor said in a quiet but firm voice, as if he were reading it from a text rather than from his own mind.
“I wonder if you would be so kind,” I murmured finally, looking down into the cup of water. “I have been trying to deduce it myself, but it seems to have escaped me. I have lost something that any gentleman without cannot be called a gentleman at all,” I sighed. “Would you be so kind as to tell me my name? My full name? I know the “Holmes” bit at least, but I've no clue upon my person to tell me of my Christian name.”
The doctor stared at me, and in an instant I watched as a waterfall of emotion cascaded over his face. His skin went a pale shade and his eyes closed. I latched my hand over his, in fear that he might slip away and faint at any moment.
“I only ask,” I continued, “because you seem to know me well enough to be taking care of me. As well, you said 'our rooms', just a moment earlier, so is it wrong for me to assume that you are a roommate of mine?”
The man stood up, but his eyes were continuously focused on me. For a moment, I thought he would never speak again, seeming content to stand there and watch me with his unobservant eyes.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said uttered. “Your name is Sherlock Holmes.”
Next it was my turn to go silent as I stared at him, running my name over and over again in my head, but ringing no bells as of yet. “Sherlock Holmes,” I echoed. “What a normal name. I thought I was royalty by the way you treated me,” I laughed gently.
I stood up then, and reached out to him to pat him on the shoulder in admiration for all his help, but fell forwards as my knees buckled under my own weight. I had greatly underestimated the complete lack of strength that I suffered from. I am sure if it wasn't for the doctor's swift hands, I would have had yet another head injury to add to my collection.
“Holmes.... Holmes, you must stay in bed,” the doctor said sternly as he carefully led me back to the bed and sat me down. He then raised his arm and rubbed his shoulder gently. “That wound of yours has caused greater damage than I once diagnosed.”
“Is he ready to go? We have the police cab waiting outside,” Lestrade stated as he opened the door a crack and glanced in.
“What a rat like expression.” I found my idle tongue wandering in my dizzy and weak state, not caring enough to stop whatever words would flow out of me. “Are you sure you are not the one the police are after, rather than this Moran fellow? You certainly look the part of a criminal.”
With that, the Inspector's face flushed deep red as he scowled in at me. He threw open the door the whole way and stormed into the room, pointing a finger at me as his entire body tensed in fury. “What the devil is wrong with him? I can take the way he talks down to us at the station, but to fall back on visual insults - that is low, even for him!”
The doctor raised a hand to silence Lestrade. “Wait outside a moment, Inspector! I am with a patient, you cannot interrupt a doctor during an examination of a patient,” he snapped before standing and pushing Lestrade from the room, shutting the door again and locking it.
I leaned back on my hands, staring at the doctor quietly. It was true I was lost, but with the doctor by my side I thought that I would be able to ask him anything about myself and he would be able to explain it to me in the smallest of detail.
“Holmes, please. If this is another of your grand charades in order to prevail in a case, you cannot lie to me like this again! I cannot take it anymore!” the doctor cried as he grabbed my shoulders in a not too gentle way. I stared up at the doctor and quickly fought my way out of his arms. Once free, I moved back further onto the bed, looking at the doctor as if he were a madman.
“Why in the world would lie about something like this? I could not even remember my name!” I explained with grief.
The doctor withdrew away from the bed, but his eyes were still focused on me. “This...this is not good,” the doctor finally whispered, an arm crossed over his chest while his free hand held his chin. He stared at me as if balancing a decision in his mind.
“Indeed it isn't,” I said, folding my hands on my lap as I stared back at him. “I'm not even entirely aware of the situation and I know it is bad, just by the look upon your features.”
The doctor's face brightened. “You still attain your skills of deduction,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “It's obvious that you do!”
I stared at him, feeling as though I was being left out of a joke. “I do not follow you.”
“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the world's only consulting detective. Your deductive skills are both powerful and unique! Why, just hours ago you were assisting Inspector Lestrade in capturing the man who attempted to murder you!”
“Deductive abilities? It is just my nature.” I shrugged my shoulders gently. “And my murderer?” I mumbled, my eyes undoubtedly going wide in surprise. “He must have succeeded in some small way, if I now have this long gash along the backside of my head.” I raised a hand to the wound and winced at just the slight pressure of my finger upon the bandages sent a shock of pain all through my skull.
The doctor shook his head again, and I watched as his moustache twitched up into a smile. “There is a lot that needs explaining, but for now I think I had best get rid of our dear Inspector first,” he said in the quietest of tones as he walked to the door. “You get back into bed and rest,” he said in a strict voice before he left again.
Quietly I was able to hear Lestrade's and the doctor's bickering, and his rude tongue voicing his anger before he left the building. Outside I heard the trot of the carriage outside making away down the street.
I was still sitting on the bed when the doctor came back into the room, frowning slightly at me.
“Please Holmes,” he said in a kind voice. “You'll only recover your memory with much rest, and plenty of sleep. I didn't bother to tell Lestrade what had become of you, because I seriously doubt that it is any of his business,” he said hastily, pulling back my covers and trying to get me to lie back down.
“You can't possibly expect me to sleep,” I cried, grabbing his hands by the wrist to hold myself up from the bed. “I'm completely lost. It's as though I've been uprooted and planted again in strange soils. I can't adapt to a leisurely lifestyle until I find out everything that my mind continues to ask of me.”
With a slight smile, the doctor sat down on the edge of my bed, watching me with intense eyes. “I am sure I can help you with that, at least,” he chuckled. “If it will put your mind at ease enough to rest.”
A feeling of calm broke over me as I sat up to speak with the doctor. Since the start of this whole trouble when I had awoken in this strange bed and called by the name of Holmes, there was a knot of fear and worry that worked at my very soul. It was the doctor's face and his reassuring smile that helped me work out that knot, and leave my incompetent mind in his hands, hoping that he would assist me in my quest to find myself again.
“What is it you wish to know?” he asked, smiling.
I gave a thoughtful expression while I looked down at my hands for a moment to ponder. I had known my question before he had even asked me, but now I struggled with two questions that stood out with equal importance in my mind.
“I was going to ask first who I was. Besides my name, I know nothing more than what you have told me. You have told me that I am a consulting detective, but I know there must be more to Sherlock Holmes than that alone.” I found my voice falling just above a whisper. I could only pray that he heard me, for I did not think I had the strength to raise my voice to a louder tone. “But now my mind is clouded with thoughts of you. You are a very unique person yourself, from the limited knowledge that I was able to gather about you. Yes, I would rather know who you are, before I know who I am.”
The doctor's face was torn between his sadness and his joy; I could tell easily that he was pained that I did not remember him, but was prideful that I would ask to know of him so that I might know him as well as I did before.
“You must tell me who you are, besides the fact that you are an avid journalist, and you are obviously a doctor, you served as a surgeon in the army, and that you carry quite a ...quite a large scar upon your shoulder there,” I whispered. I outstretched my hand to him and ghosted my fingers above his shoulder. “The weather affects your old wound quite a bit, doesn't it?”
“You are remembering a bit now?”
“No, when you caught me, you quickly tended to your shoulder, and when at the door, you opened the doorknob with your far hand, rather than the hand of the closer, and injured shoulder; thus, evidently your shoulder hurt before you came into the room. Even though I haven't moved from the bed, I can hear the rain from the outside, and it is only natural that such deep wounds are affected by bad weather,” I explained. “I presumed the army because you do not strike me as a man who would recklessly throw himself into a bar fight and be injured in such a way.”
The doctor grinned brightly and nodded his head. “It was the same as when we first met. We hadn't even spoken and you knew all about me.”
I smiled faintly, wishing I could recall when, and where I had met him. I wished to ask him about it, but for the moment there were far more urgent of questions.
I asked the question which I knew would hurt him terribly. “What is your name?”
“John H. Watson.” I could see his hidden pain behind his grin. He then took my hand in his and shook it gently.
“Watson.” I tested that name as well, but still no memory of the name surfaced. “It's wonderful to meet you, I am only sorry that I cannot remember more about you.”
Watson laughed. “Well, don't you worry. I'm sure in a couple days, you'll be struck with your memory again and all this will just be a story I'll be able to relive through my pen.”
Gently I nodded my head. “Indeed,” I whispered, bringing the back of my hand to my mouth to yawn. “All the information I have now has told me that I am in my rooms, which I share with my good friend John Watson, and that I am a rather important person to the public.”
“Yes, you are very important person, if I do say so. A good deal of the murders that Scotland Yard solves is only because of your brilliant mind. Why, when you disappeared for the last three years --”
I raised a hand, stopping Watson's talk where he was. “Three years? Surely I wasn't knocked unconscious for the last three years!” I cried. “Where was I?”
Watson bit his lip, and his hand stole into mine again, holding it tightly. “That is a long story, Holmes. Would it be suffice to say that you went on a holiday, and that later I will fill in the details?” he smiled.
I quietly nodded my head, though inside I burned to know what I had spent those last three years of my life doing. Obviously I had been by myself, or at least with someone whom Watson didn't know. The subject struck me as one of taboo, one that my friend didn't seem eager to talk about.
“Will you sleep now?” Watson asked as he pulled back the covers again. “Hopefully when you awake, your memory will return to you. If not...well...we will work around it.”
“You are right,” I sighed as I moved and crawled back into my bed. “Could you tell me one more thing?” I asked, situating my head on the pillow to the most comfortable position.
“Yes, of course.” Watson's eyebrows raised quickly. “What is it?”
“Am I married?”
Watson stared at me, then turned away and gave into a fit of laughter. “Now I know you are not pretending. No, Holmes, you are not married.”
I smiled sleepily up at Watson and curled up under the blankets, sighing. “Then now I shall be able to sleep peacefully. Good night, Watson.” I found it easy to relax since Watson didn't leave my side until long after I had fallen asleep.
I only slept for an hour before I awoke; I could not waste my time on sleep when I had such a problem ahead of me. For the rest of the night I wandered around my room, studying items in my possession to lead me to any clue of the person I once was.