One Wish Chapter Three

[knightfury1895]

Watson rushes to my side and throws his arms about me as I crumple floorwards. "Lestrade! He needs some brandy!" I hear him shout. His voice sounds as if it is coming from the bottom of a deep well. Most peculiar!

In an instant I am stretched upon the settee and then my dearest friend assists me in sipping at the restorative drink while Lestrade hovers nearby. I feel his hand upon my forehead.

"I am so very sorry Holmes. I should have insisted that we did this much more gently; it should have been obvious that this would be a terrible shock to you."

I grip his hand firmly. "It truly is you!"

He laughs happily and sets aside the glass. "Yes, of course it is!"

I pull him into a tight embrace. I feel as if I do not know whether I should laugh or cry!

"You are shaking!" he notes as he wraps his arms about me. "Are you certain that you are all right?"

Ever the doctor! I smile. "Perfectly! I am better than I have been for months."

He pulls away and looks at me long and hard. "You do not look well Holmes."

Ah. I turn my face away for a moment. "I have... not been sleeping of late."

I hear him give a sigh. "Are you working a case?"

I shake my head. "I have found it incredibly difficult to adjust," I admit quietly.

"Yes, Miss Lestrade told me as much," he looks into my face for a long moment. "What happened Holmes? She was beginning to believe that there was something wrong with you."

I grip his arm and smile. "I needed my Watson! I have missed you so very much..." I close my eyes against my building emotions. Why do I feel the need to cry when he is here beside me? It makes no sense! I also feel like cheering and leaping about the room, which does make considerably more sense, but I do not understand why I want to do both simultaneously. Did I feel this way when I was finally able to return to him after my three years of hiatus? I probably had done until he had fainted; I do seem to remember offering to embrace him, just before he crumpled to the floor and scared me half to death, but very little else.

Watson pulls me close to him when I begin to blink rapidly. "I am here now old chap. I am here."

I nod and rest my head upon his shoulder. My throat is much too tight and sore to allow me to speak.

I hear Lestrade tell Watson that she is going down to the kitchen, should we need her. He acknowledges her with a kindly smile before turning his attention back to me as we are left alone.

"There is no shame in crying," I hear my friend say quietly, his voice rumbling and vibrating through him as my temple rests at his shoulder. "It is all right."

It is as if someone has unlocked a long-forgotten door. I cling to him as I weep into his shirt. Never before have I released my emotions in this manner in anybody's presence.

Watson holds me close to him. Not a word does he speak. He neither rocks nor hushes me but simply allows me his time.

I sniff suddenly, realising that my nose is running horribly. "I hope that you have a change of clothes..."

He laughs and squeezes my arm gently. "It does not matter Holmes."

I accept the handkerchief that he offers me and smile at him gratefully before blowing my nose.

He returns my smile and pats my shoulder. "It is good to see you again. I have also missed you."

I cough and clear my throat. This is one of the main reasons that I have for disliking the act of crying; it is terribly messy and leaves one's throat feeling dreadful!

"You do look tired," he notes. "Perhaps you should get some sleep before we discuss things further."

I shake my head and wave a dismissive hand. "I am quite wakeful."

He wags a finger at me. "You will be quite unwell if you do not rest soon Holmes. As much as I would be prepared to do all that I can for you, I would much prefer to not have to spend my first day reunited with you treating fever and exhaustion."

I shrug expressively with my hands and stretch myself upon the settee. "Would you object to my sleeping here?"

"Not in the slightest," he responds with a dry chuckle. "I seem to recall that you spent more time on that sofa than you ever did in your bed."

I smile and close my eyes. "Do not go far."

"Where in God's name would I want to go?" he asks with another chuckle. "I shall still be here when you wake, have no fear. I am just going to go down and speak with Miss Lestrade; I shall be back."

I nod and stifle a yawn. There is the rustle of fabric and something is draped over me. My Inverness, going by the feel of it.

"Sleep well," I hear my friend whisper.

I give a small smile in response, though I know not whether he sees it.

I awake to the smell of baking. Scones, I believe. I sniff appreciatively and cover a yawn with my hand.

"Hello Holmes," Watson smiles at me from his armchair. "How are you feeling old fellow?"

I stretch before tossing aside my Inverness and springing energetically to my feet. "Much better thank you. Was I asleep for very long?"

"Long enough to miss lunch, I'm afraid," he says regretfully as he stands in turn. "Our robotic friend is making scones. He thought that you might enjoy a cream tea."

"You have met him then?" I cannot help feeling somewhat apprehensive. I did, after all, allow the compudroid downstairs to take his place. Well, in a manner of speaking; I actually allowed him to attempt it. Nobody could replace my Watson!

He nods. "I met him while I was staying with Sir Evan Hargreaves. Miss Lestrade introduced us."

I gape at him. "For how long have you been conscious then?"

"Almost a fortnight," he informs me. "Miss Lestrade and Sir Evan wanted to ensure that I was in perfect health and that I had been vaccinated against every curable illness that I might encounter before I left the house."

"Oh good!" I beam a smile at him. "Then we can dine out tonight. I want to celebrate!"

"What about Miss Lestrade? Do you not think that we should thank her for reuniting us?"

I shrug my shoulders. "We could invite her to join us for tea, I suppose, but I would prefer it to be just you and I tonight. I feel we have a great deal of lost time to make up for."

"If you want to dine out we shall," he says quietly. "I have no objections."

I smile fondly at him. "That's my Watson!" I find myself saying. "Give me a moment to contact Lestrade my dear fellow."

He watches me use the communicator with interest. "The telephone has advanced a great deal," he remarks.

I nod. "Everything has changed."

"Yes..." he suddenly sounds apprehensive.

I rest my hand upon his arm. We are together; we have nothing to fear. I address him with my warmest of smiles and squeeze his arm reassuringly.

"Hi Holmes," Lestrade acknowledges suddenly, drawing my attention back to the screen before me. "There's nothing wrong, is there?"

"Not in the slightest," I assure her. "In fact, just the opposite. Are you terribly busy?"

She looks at her watch and then rubs at her temples. "I've got six zedding reports to write for petty crimes."

A pity. "Would it be possible for you to tear yourself away for half an hour?" I ask. "Even the overworked Yarder needs to eat, rest and play."

She huffs a quiet laugh. "OK. You've twisted my arm. See you in ten."

"We shall be looking forward to it," I assure her cheerfully.

Watson raises his eyebrows at me. "It sounds to me as if you shall be looking forward to it!"

I groan and cover my eyes with a hand. "Do not start that old fellow!" I implore him. "We are only friends. Lestrade is one of the only people that has been here when you were not able. She has been good to me."

I feel his hand upon my shoulder. "All the same, I believe that she is the first woman that you have openly called a friend..."

"When you see her on a case, you shall understand," I assure him. "She is..." I shake my head. If I begin to describe her, my frustratingly romantic friend is bound to think that I am attracted to her or some such nonsense!

He chuckles and pats my shoulder. "It is all right Holmes. I shall wait until I see her in action and then form my own opinion of her."

"Doctor Watson?" a tentative voice calls from the living room door.

Thank goodness! An interruption!

"Come in old boy," Watson says as he gets the door.

The compudroid (we really must get him a new name!) enters and sets down an overloaded tea tray that has been piled high with scones, cream, butter, three varieties of jam and a pot of tea for two.

"I shall get another cup," I announce as I go to the door. "Lestrade will be here soon."

I hear the robot turn to follow me as I bound downstairs and then I hear Watson tell him to stay. I smile to myself. Why had I been so worried that my friend of old would be hurt or offended by that droid's presence? He has always been incredibly kind!

When I return to the living room I find man and robot discussing names.

"Why can I not be called 'Doctor'?" the compudroid asks. "I have more medical knowledge than you do; Inspector Lestrade updated my knowledge when Holmes was taken ill."

Watson turns a concerned frown in my direction, the discussion forgotten for a moment. "You have been unwell?"

I set down the extra cup and raise a hand. "I caught a bad cold soon after my... revival... and our friend here feared that I had contracted pneumonia."

The droid snorts. "You had a severe case of influenza Holmes."

I shrug. "Influenza is just a chill with a high fever."

"You never change," Watson groans. "Influenza is not a cold Holmes. It is much more aggressive than a chill and can cause terrible complications; pneumonia being one of them. I seem to recall telling you as much before. More than once."

Probably. It is not a thing that I have to remember in my profession. However, as I gaze at the expressions on the faces of both of my friends, I know that I most likely should make an effort to remember at least some of the things that they tell me.

I rub my hands together and turn my attention to the table. "You have prepared a cream feast for us!" I remark cheerfully.

"I thought that you were bound to be hungry," replies the robot.

I am, I realise. Hungrier than I have been for a very long time! "You were indeed right."

"Holmes, our friend would like us to call him 'Doctor'..."

I smirk at the droid. "'Doctor' who?"

I receive a glare from the robot while Watson nods.

"My point exactly!"

Watson is fortunate enough to have not been subjected to the world of Daleks and Cybermen yet then. It is only a matter of time; Lestrade is very fond of science fiction. The only science fiction production that I have found remotely entertaining so far is Jeff Wayne's musical version of HG Wells' War of the Worlds, of which Lestrade owns a copy of a live on stage performance. The sound track is quite remarkable and more than makes up for the nonsensical subject matter!

"I am not calling you 'Doctor'!" Watson is telling our friend when I return to the present.

I agree. "Why can you not call yourself 'W'?" I ask.

"Oh Holmes!" Watson groans, covering his eyes with a hand. "We want the people that he is introduced to to see him as an individual as opposed to a machine. Giving him a letter for a name is almost as bad as giving him a number!"

I concur. "Well, you are the expert on human touches; what do you suggest?"

"That is unfair," he grumbles as he drums his fingers on the table top. "Well... I suppose my suggestion would have to be that you choose a first name old boy," he says at last, turning to the robot. "The people of this era seem to like the familiarity that comes with first name terms. The first word that I heard when I... uh... returned was 'John', spoken by Miss Lestrade."

I nod. "Yes, she has a tendency to call me 'Sherlock' as well."

"And you let her?" Watson asks incredulously. "I would never have thought to call you by your first name! I know that you dislike it."

It is my turn to grumble and drum my fingers upon the table. "Lestrade enjoys annoying me. I am sure that she would only cease to call me 'Holmes' at all, should I ask her to desist."

My friend is staring at me. I know exactly what is going through his mind.

"They seem to enjoy fighting each other almost as much as they enjoy fighting together against villains," the robot explains helpfully.

I grimace. It is quite true; we both enjoy a bit of conflict.

Watson laughs but says nothing. I am not sure whether he plans to leave the subject that he alluded to earlier well alone or if he has simply decided to discuss it when we are alone. Why is it so difficult for even my closest friend to realise that companionship is all that I want? Why has he never understood that a moment spent in companionable silence with him in our sitting room would mean more to me than a lifetime spent with a wife?

I am relieved to hear the front and hall doors slam one after the other, followed by footsteps charging up the stairs to our living room. I stand and open the door for Lestrade just as she is about to throw it open.

"Zed Holmes! D'you have to do that?" she asks with annoyance as she regains her balance.

I address her with an innocent smile and indicate the table. "Would you care to join us my dear?"

Watson is standing beside the table and pulls her up a chair as she approaches.

"Thank you Watson," she acknowledges quietly.

"Not at all Miss Lestrade."

"You can drop the 'Miss', thanks. Just plain 'Lestrade' is fine; 'specially seeing as we're gonna be working together."

He nods as we both resume our seats. "In that case, might I request that you refrain from calling me 'John'?"

She shrugs. "If that's what you want, Watson."

"Thank you. It is."

Watson's ability to charm women will never cease to amaze me! He even has the fiery Inspector Lestrade metaphorically eating out of his hand!

"Your scones are delicious!" he then congratulates our robotic companion, clearly not being satisfied with charming the Yarder. "I am relieved to see that Holmes has not had to cook his own meals."

I frown at him. "I can fend for myself," I retort. "I believe I have cooked while Mrs. Hudson was away."

"You made breakfast. Once. The eggs were like cannonballs and the toast was charcoal."

"Ha!"

"After that, I did the cooking."

Lestrade looks from Watson to me and back again. "I don't remember reading about that in your journals."

Oh God! Will I ever hear the end of it?

"I am sure that, had I even considered writing about Holmes' culinary efforts (of which he seemed rather proud, despite the results), he would have tossed my journals onto the fire!"

"Come now Watson!"

He stares at me for a moment and then we both begin to laugh.

Lestrade shakes her head. "You're both crazy!"

I turn to Watson and shrug, which seems to cause him to start to laugh again. Of course, I find it difficult to keep myself from laughing while he is chortling away.

Needless to say, by the time the tea things have been put away, I feel quite rejuvenated. I am rested (well, more so than I have been of late) and I have enjoyed both good food and company. I am happier and feeling healthier than I have done since I awoke in New London.

I smile at Lestrade as Watson and I each shake her by the hand and give her our thanks.

"You're welcome," she assures us. She then embraces me, much to my shock.

"Lestrade!" I gasp as she wraps her arms about me. The last time that she did this, I was ill and somewhat tearful and she had believed that I 'needed it'. What excuse has she found on this occasion?

I hear her chuckle. "I thought you might let me take the liberty while you're in a good mood," she pulls away to look me in the face. "Thanks for inviting me over Holmes."

"If you mean to continue to take such liberties, I may not do so again," I warn her with a sniff, averting my gaze.

She looks at me for a long moment and then turns to give Watson the same treatment, not that he minds in the slightest.

I hear my old friend conspiratorially whisper to the Yarder that I was not nearly as affronted as I would have her believe. The damned traitor! "I am still not deaf, Watson."

He tenses and looks rather guilty, but he soon recovers and addresses me with a small smile.

He is right though. I am currently almost giddy with happiness and, as much as I dislike Lestrade's show of familiarity, I am not even remotely annoyed. I wonder for how long this will last.

The robot shuffles forward and looks from me to Watson and back again. "Should I leave now?"

Hum! We have not discussed this yet. I do not want to make him leave now! I would feel as if I only used him as a crutch while I was missing my companion of old. "I do not want you to leave," I tell him honestly, before turning to Watson.

He shakes his head. "Neither do I old chap," he tells the droid with a smile. "I feel I owe you a great deal for all that you must have done for Holmes in my absence. I know how difficult he can be - especially when he succumbs to one of his black moods or an illness."

"Really Watson!" I try to glare at him, but my treacherous face seems to be more inclined to smile. I cannot remember ever being this cheerful!

"Or both at once," I hear Lestrade remark quietly. I know not whether Watson or the robot hear her, for the matter is not expanded upon (much to my relief! I know that I was particularly insufferable when I had my most recent cold).

The droid smiles happily and turns to the Yarder. "I am going to live here!"

She pats his shoulder. "'Course you are! This is your home," she grimaces and squares her shoulders. "Well, duty calls... I've still got those zedding reports waiting for me on my desk and they sure as zed aren't gonna write themselves. If I don't get back to them, I'll be taking 'em home with me tonight."

Yet she still lingers.

"Bye John," she says quietly as she embraces our robotic friend, choosing his name for him. "Keep an eye on my charges for me."

He looks rather taken aback for a moment. "Of course Lestrade," he says after a long pause. "It will be my pleasure."

"I shall see you out," Watson offers. "Did you bring a coat Lestrade? That sky looks rather ominous..."

"She never brings a coat," I call down the stairs after them. "She relies on her car's heater when it is cold."

Even when she came after me when I was drowning myself in the cemetery, she had only been clothed in her uniform. Had I not been so terribly cold and miserable, I would have picked up on that at the time.

I hear Watson admonish her about her lack of care and smirk to myself. After all the nagging that I have received from her of late, it is rather gratifying to see that the shoe is on the other foot. I hear the front door close as the police hovercar tears away.

"Well," my old friend remarks when he joins us in the living room. "She is certainly a law unto herself!" he laughs and shakes his head. "She even managed to embrace you with very little resistance, Holmes!"

I shrug expressively. "I am in a good mood."

"Clearly," he laughs again and claps his hands upon my shoulders. "Oh! But it is good to see you! The last two weeks have been the longest in living memory. A fortnight of torture!"

I do not tell him what it has been like for me. To wake up in a strange place, only to find that the one person that you have ever trusted without question was not restored to life with you... The pain, anguish, that I have felt!

"Holmes?" Watson is gripping me tightly. "Are you quite well?"

I nod and draw a somewhat shaky breath.

"Would you like some brandy?"

"I'll get it," I hear John volunteer.

"Thank you old boy," Watson guides me to the settee and seats us both side by side. "You do look ill Holmes! Perhaps we should stay at home tonight..."

I shake my head and smile at him. "I am all right."

He presses his hand to my forehead. "You always say that. Damn! I wish that I had my bag."

John comes to the settee and hands him a rather full brandy glass. "I could give Holmes an examination," he offers helpfully. "I can read his temperature at a glance and I can also monitor vitals. I could even scan his internal workings, if you so wished."

Perhaps I should have sent him packing! "Really John! As I just told Watson here, I am quite all right."

"Let John put my mind at rest Holmes," Watson requests quietly. "I only want to know that the strain of the last few months has not been too much."

I give my consent grudgingly, if only so that I shall be allowed to leave the house tonight.

"His temperature is a little lower than is normal, but his vitals are as they should be," John announces as he concludes his check-up. "The drop in his temperature is clearly due to his overtiredness; he has been shivering all day."

Watson nods his agreement and pulls me closer to him. The contact is reassuring as well as warming; I still feel as if he might disappear should I look away. I shiver slightly and press myself into him. I am suddenly aware of the beginnings of a headache and I realise that I still feel chilled and tired.

"Could you get a blanket John?" I hear Watson ask as I allow my head to drop onto his shoulder and draw my legs up beneath me in an effort to warm them. "Holmes is shivering again."

I yawn and sniff. "I think I shall just rest my eyes for a moment..."

"Of course," my companion of old responds quietly. "Take all the time you need."

I awake to find that my head is still resting at Watson's shoulder while his head rests against mine. We have a blanket covering us both and I am warm and comfortable. I smile to myself as I permit my drowsy brain to begin to function properly.

Watson awakes soon after me with a weary moan. I am clearly not the only one that has found sleep difficult to come by.

"Are you quite well old fellow?" I ask softly.

He sniffs quietly and stretches his legs. "Mm. Yes thank you," he turns his attention upon me. "How are you feeling Holmes? Your hands were like ice when you curled up beside me!"

They would have been. I was cold! I shrug and smile at him. "I am perfectly all right Watson. I simply am feeling the affects of lost sleep."

He nods. "I do think that we should stay here tonight. If you feel as cold as your hands would suggest, you are going to be terribly susceptible to colds and chills. Fatigue is not good for the immune system in any case."

I begin my protests in vain.

"Doctor Watson is quite right Holmes," John interrupts. "You need rest. As a matter of fact, I suspect that you both do."

It is true; my dear old friend does seem rather weary. I notice that he also appears to be pale. I agree for his sake; I would not want to cause him harm.

Watson closes his eyes and gives a slight smile and nod of gratitude.

"You are sure that you are quite well?" I ask him quietly.

He nods and sniffs. "It is the vaccinations that I had forced upon me," he explains. "I have been feeling somewhat under the weather since the last of them were given to me."

I understand perfectly, for I had the same experience. "Headache, weariness and a general feeling of malaise?"

He nods and yawns. "I am told that it is quite normal."

I nod in turn. "I was told the same, but it is still unpleasant. Of course we should stay at home! Your poor body is working hard to come to terms with all that has been forced upon it!"

He moans and rests his head upon my shoulder. "Thank you."

I take his hand in mine, knowing now that we both need some comfort. "Why did you not tell me?"

He yawns quietly. "I did not want to disappoint you. I know that you like to go out and I am sure that you have much to show me."

I shrug. "New London will still be there when we have fully recovered."

He yawns again and I find myself replying in kind. I know not which of us returns to slumber first.

John must be washing up or doing the laundry, for the noisy plumbing disturbs me and I awake shivering to find myself alone. I look about me for a moment and then close my eyes. He is gone. He was clearly never here. Why does my wretched brain torture me so? Perhaps I could adjust if I could just be allowed to leave the past behind me!

The washroom door opens. "Holmes!"

I look up to see Watson regarding me with concern.

He hurries to my side and rests a hand upon my shoulder as he resumes his seat. "What is it? What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I assure him.

He frowns at me. "You look dreadful! I have never seen you with such a miserable expression on your face. Do you feel worse?"

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. "I thought that I had been dreaming."

He sighs and wraps his arm around me. "I am here dear chap. I am not going anywhere."

His ability to understand and support me with ease astounds me. How I have missed him! "How are you feeling?" I ask, remembering that he is still feeling the after-affects of his recent vaccination.

"A little better. I probably only need sleep," he chuckles quietly. "Sir Evan Hargreaves agreed that I should be reunited with you as soon as was possible when I became too restless while we were separated, for the sake of my own well being."

I laugh quietly. "It has been much the same with me in your absence," I confess.

"So I have heard," he replies somewhat severely. "I understand that you have made yourself ill on more than one occasion; to the point where Lestrade decided that enough was enough and that she would have to reunite us before you did yourself lasting damage."

It is quite true. "It was not a deliberate act old fellow," I assure him. "I simply could not bear the separation. It was... difficult... painful..."

He nods and pats my shoulder. "I am sure that it was; it was difficult and painful enough for me when I believed you to be dead, even when I had Mary's support."

I do not know quite what to say. I sniff and look away. "I am truly sorry."

Again Watson pats my shoulder. "You did what you had to in order to protect me. I am quite certain that I would do the same. Regardless of the pain that it would cause us both."

"I did not know how much pain I must have caused you until..." I slam my eyes shut. I do not wish to discuss that.

He squeezes my shoulder. "I am also very sorry. I should not have sent for you when I..." he clears his throat awkwardly. "I could see the pain in your face the moment that you entered my room. I know how strong your resolve is and to see it broken in such a way was almost more than I could bear!"

I shake my head. "It would have been much worse for me had I not been able to say goodbye."

He smiles at me. "Then I am glad that I made the right decision. I was not sure that I had."

How he tortures himself on my account! "My dear old Watson," I mumble sleepily.

He rubs my back gently. "I can assure you that I am not about to disappear into the ether Holmes. You can go back to sleep."

John pokes his head around the door at that moment. "Actually, I was just about to serve dinner, if you are hungry. It is only curried chicken, I fear."

I smile at him as I force myself into full wakefulness. "Curried chicken would be wonderful old lad!"

"Are you hungry then?" Watson asks.

I nod and stifle a yawn. "I believe I am."

"Splendid!" John smiles happily.

Neither of us eat as much as we had expected. I blame the large cream tea, but I believe that it is most likely due to our fatigue and the events of the day. I doubt that either one of us will have very much difficulty in sleeping tonight, despite our napping during the day.