A Rough Crossing - A Sherlock Holmes One-Shot
When our client left our sitting room, my companion's eyes were bright with interest and excitement.
"Pack your bags Watson," he advised me with a gentle push to the small of my back in the direction of the stairs to my room. "Be sure to pack your warmest clothing; Paris can be frightfully chilly at this time of year. And do bring your revolver."
By the time we were in a cab bound for the station, Holmes was more subdued. I was accustomed to his spending hours in quiet contemplation and so I simply let him be. However, by the time we were due to board our steamer my companion seemed somewhat apprehensive.
"Whatever is the matter old fellow?" I asked of him with concern. "Are you not feeling well?"
I was glad that I have always made it my habit to carry the tools of my trade with me at all times when we are working a case together, for my friend truly did look positively ill. His face was pale and his enthusiasm for the case seemed to have all but disappeared.
Holmes brushed off my concern. "Leave me be. I shall be all right."
As we boarded the steamer, the smell of cleaning products assailed us and my companion looked for a moment as if he were about to change his mind.
"Holmes?"
"I am weary old chap," he responded with a dismissive shrug. "I think I shall spend the journey in my cabin. See you when we disembark."
Something in his manner troubled me, as did his claim that he was tired. Sherlock Holmes has never complained of tiredness during a case and this sudden change worried me far more than his usual habit of going for days with little sleep or nourishment.
I did not press the matter and agreed that the fellow should indeed rest if he felt the need. I did, however, resolve to check on him before I attended luncheon.
I stowed my bags in my own cabin, which was adjacent to the one belonging to my companion, and then stood up on deck. As Holmes had predicted, the weather was rather brisk. The water was also somewhat choppy, even in the harbour, and I was thankful that I do not suffer with seasickness.
I stood at the front of the ship until the wind and spray sent me below. I did not wish to become too chilled, for I know from experience that that causes my old wounds to ache terribly. As I neared my door, I heard a dreadful low moaning which became clearer when I approached my bed. As my bed was against the wall which partitioned my room from that of my companion, the source of the moaning was clear.
Forgetting my wet clothes, I took up my bag and knocked at the door of my friend's cabin, which he had locked. Upon receiving no response from Holmes, I went in search of a steward and insisted that he unlock the door for me, as I was both a medical man and Holmes' friend.
"Hello Watson," my companion groaned as I entered his cabin. "Even a locked door will not deter you I see."
I approached his side carefully. He was curled upon his bed, gripping the basin from the wash stand provided tightly within his hands. With a sigh I rubbed at his back.
"Oh Holmes! Why the deuce did you not tell me that you suffer with seasickness?"
He shrugged and shuddered. "I don't. Only when the crossing is... is particularly rough."
"There is no shame in it," I assured him swiftly as I rummaged in my bag. "There was no need for you to suffer so in silence."
"My dear Watson... I did not wish for you to suffer with me."
This is coming from a man who often refers to himself as selfish, I thought. I did not quite know how to respond and so I simply concentrated upon my task.
"I am so sorry Watson."
I patted his shoulder. "I am going to give you something to help and then we shall go up on deck."
"Oh God no!"
I patted his shoulder again. "The fresh air will help. I promise. You shall soon feel better."
"Thank you."
I spent the rest of the crossing at Holmes' side. I was as relieved as he was when he responded to my ministrations and improved. He had nothing but water for luncheon, despite my advising him that some food would help, but he did have some dinner and informed me that he did indeed feel very much better.
"You would not have suffered very much at all had you only trusted me," I reminded my companion as we strolled the deck together that evening.
He shook his head. "I do trust you. I simply did not wish to trouble you."
"Holmes, you are my friend; nothing that you could ask of me would ever be too much trouble. Particularly if you are unwell."
He gave me just the hint of a smile and squeezed my arm. "You are a good man Watson. Come, we should get below and out of this air before we catch cold."
The rest of that crossing we spent together, as we did on the one back to England. The weather on our second crossing was even worse, but Holmes suffered not at all.
"Pack your bags Watson," he advised me with a gentle push to the small of my back in the direction of the stairs to my room. "Be sure to pack your warmest clothing; Paris can be frightfully chilly at this time of year. And do bring your revolver."
By the time we were in a cab bound for the station, Holmes was more subdued. I was accustomed to his spending hours in quiet contemplation and so I simply let him be. However, by the time we were due to board our steamer my companion seemed somewhat apprehensive.
"Whatever is the matter old fellow?" I asked of him with concern. "Are you not feeling well?"
I was glad that I have always made it my habit to carry the tools of my trade with me at all times when we are working a case together, for my friend truly did look positively ill. His face was pale and his enthusiasm for the case seemed to have all but disappeared.
Holmes brushed off my concern. "Leave me be. I shall be all right."
As we boarded the steamer, the smell of cleaning products assailed us and my companion looked for a moment as if he were about to change his mind.
"Holmes?"
"I am weary old chap," he responded with a dismissive shrug. "I think I shall spend the journey in my cabin. See you when we disembark."
Something in his manner troubled me, as did his claim that he was tired. Sherlock Holmes has never complained of tiredness during a case and this sudden change worried me far more than his usual habit of going for days with little sleep or nourishment.
I did not press the matter and agreed that the fellow should indeed rest if he felt the need. I did, however, resolve to check on him before I attended luncheon.
I stowed my bags in my own cabin, which was adjacent to the one belonging to my companion, and then stood up on deck. As Holmes had predicted, the weather was rather brisk. The water was also somewhat choppy, even in the harbour, and I was thankful that I do not suffer with seasickness.
I stood at the front of the ship until the wind and spray sent me below. I did not wish to become too chilled, for I know from experience that that causes my old wounds to ache terribly. As I neared my door, I heard a dreadful low moaning which became clearer when I approached my bed. As my bed was against the wall which partitioned my room from that of my companion, the source of the moaning was clear.
Forgetting my wet clothes, I took up my bag and knocked at the door of my friend's cabin, which he had locked. Upon receiving no response from Holmes, I went in search of a steward and insisted that he unlock the door for me, as I was both a medical man and Holmes' friend.
"Hello Watson," my companion groaned as I entered his cabin. "Even a locked door will not deter you I see."
I approached his side carefully. He was curled upon his bed, gripping the basin from the wash stand provided tightly within his hands. With a sigh I rubbed at his back.
"Oh Holmes! Why the deuce did you not tell me that you suffer with seasickness?"
He shrugged and shuddered. "I don't. Only when the crossing is... is particularly rough."
"There is no shame in it," I assured him swiftly as I rummaged in my bag. "There was no need for you to suffer so in silence."
"My dear Watson... I did not wish for you to suffer with me."
This is coming from a man who often refers to himself as selfish, I thought. I did not quite know how to respond and so I simply concentrated upon my task.
"I am so sorry Watson."
I patted his shoulder. "I am going to give you something to help and then we shall go up on deck."
"Oh God no!"
I patted his shoulder again. "The fresh air will help. I promise. You shall soon feel better."
"Thank you."
I spent the rest of the crossing at Holmes' side. I was as relieved as he was when he responded to my ministrations and improved. He had nothing but water for luncheon, despite my advising him that some food would help, but he did have some dinner and informed me that he did indeed feel very much better.
"You would not have suffered very much at all had you only trusted me," I reminded my companion as we strolled the deck together that evening.
He shook his head. "I do trust you. I simply did not wish to trouble you."
"Holmes, you are my friend; nothing that you could ask of me would ever be too much trouble. Particularly if you are unwell."
He gave me just the hint of a smile and squeezed my arm. "You are a good man Watson. Come, we should get below and out of this air before we catch cold."
The rest of that crossing we spent together, as we did on the one back to England. The weather on our second crossing was even worse, but Holmes suffered not at all.