Chapter 7: Singular

It was almost eight o'clock in the morning when Watson finally found himself at the hospital again. He had come from Baker Street where he and Lestrade had relieved Mrs. Hudson of her guards. Apparently, the woman had refused to sleep. Instead, she had stayed awake and entertained the two constables in her company with stories of her late husband. Watson would have found the scene endearing - Mrs. Hudson wrapped in her shawl and laughing with her temporary companions as morning dawned - if the doctor inside him hadn't wanted to chastise her for not resting.

However, as he reflected on it now, he wondered if the night spent in reminiscing and friendly company hadn't done her more good than sleep. Last night, her face had been wan and troubled. This morning, some of the haunt behind her eyes had diminished. He was sure that her unease stemmed from having seen Holmes so diminished. He realized suddenly that she would have (of course) stayed with him until the ambulance arrived. He was momentarily touched by the thought. Watson appreciated once more the motherly qualities of their landlady.

It was only now as he settled into a chair beside Holmes' bedside that he allowed himself to ruminate on these matters and the events that had passed in the past thirteen hours.

He noted that Holmes looked calmer in his rest than he had last night. His breathing had regulated and only occasionally hitched now at the presentation of some cramp along his body. When Watson had entered Holmes' room, he had spoken to the nurse on duty.

She informed him that the detective had suffered only two more fits through the course of the morning, and that those had been many hours ago. The doctors were confident that the poison was leaving his system and that he was, once and for all, truly recovering.

Watson's tired mind wandered again as he shuffled into a more comfortable position, his head resting on the arm that leaned against the side of the chair. His thoughts were carding vaguely through the particulars of his discussion with Lestrade. The Inspector, limping from an injury he had acquired while arresting Jonathon Athers, had apologized for not arriving sooner.

"We caught the scoundrel by surprise, but he didn't go down without a fight, let me tell you." Lestrade had sighed wearily. "His actions confessed his guilt. We have the records of a local medical shop for evidence as well as a notebook of accounts we found on his desk. You and Holmes were right. He's got his hands in all sorts of business. Scotland Yard will be cleaning this mess up for a month!"

Watson caught his eyes shutting. It was no use, he thought tiredly. He was going to end up falling asleep. He stared hard at Holmes, trying to remain resolute, but his consciousness slipped away. Soon, Doctor Watson was asleep with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arm hanging off of the chair, and his head lolled to the side.

When he awoke again, he found that a blanket had been draped across his body. Yawning, he glanced upwards to see the back of a nurse. She was seated at a table across from Holmes' bed, apparently still maintaining a watch on the detective.

"Watson."

John felt a smile creep across his face at the low voiced murmur. The detective was back. "Holmes, old man."

The nurse turned and smiled. Satisfied that her two patients were awake and well, she gently excused herself. Watson scooted his chair closer to Holmes' bed.

He was awake, but his face looked tired. At the moment, though, it was graced by a pleased smile. "I assume you saw the case through to the end?"

Watson grinned. "Indeed, Holmes. Oliver Benton is alive and Jonathan Athers is under Lestrade's custody. You solved most of the case for us though, old man. Matters wouldn't have ended quite so peacefully if you hadn't managed to write that note."

Holmes' face darkened momentarily. "I'm simply glad that I had the presence of mind to write it." Despite the smile, Watson could sense that there was a despondency hovering over the detective. Holmes' eyes betrayed a degree of sadness he was unable to hide.

Watson twitched a half smile, but it was marred by his pensive emotions. He remembered the fallen chair and the wrinkled carpet, and the drawn countenance of their landlady the evening before. He bowed his head uncomfortably, staring at his lap.

It was Holmes, surprisingly, who broke the silence. "Which men were our traitors, in the end?" He was staring calmly at the far wall.

"There was a body-guard and a watchman that Baker had appointed. They were apparently bought by Athers. Lestrade said that he admitted as much, albeit in the midst of angry oaths, when he was arrested." Watson chuckled and stared once more at his hands. He waited a moment before adding quietly, "And of course, there was the boy."

Holmes said nothing. As the detective's fingers fidgeted with one another, Watson believed he understood the source of Holmes' sadness. The agitated motion spoke louder than any admission.

One of Holmes' few emotional vulnerabilities had been cruelly used against him. The man would have to come to terms with that fact. Watson only hoped that the little bit of trust Holmes allowed for others wouldn't be entirely undermined by this singular betrayal.

"I spoke to the Irregulars, Holmes. There were quite angry about the whole matter. Dennis seems very contrite about having been so free with our address."

Holmes, to Watson's surprise, chuckled. He waved a dismissive hand and replied quite softly and plainly, "No, it's not their fault. It was bound to happen eventually." His face tightened, and he sighed with a resigned frown. "No, Watson, I was negligent in my usual vigilance. The fault lies not with the boys but with myself." He was silent before vowing quietly, "They will not receive the admonishment of a changed demeanor on my part."

When Watson looked up, he was pleased to see some of the weight of Holmes' gloom lifted. He was not entirely rid of his sadness, of course. Watson suspected that it would take some time for it to completely diminish. That was only to be expected.

Holmes clapped his hands together with the flicker of a smile passing across his lips. For a moment, the spry and unflappable detective reappeared. "Enough of this talk of betrayal and trust. We have won the day again, my dear Watson!"

Watson stood with a grin and stretched. "And what a day it has been." He pulled out his watch. "Good heavens. It is nearly three in the afternoon."

After some discussion with Holmes' doctors, Watson was able to win the detective a reprieve from the hospital. Holmes' care would consist of rest and a careful diet, but otherwise, he was in the clear. The hospital staff trusted that Watson's medical abilities were more than competent to deal with any problems that may arise. He was very relieved that they acquiesced; a cooped-up Holmes did not make an easy patient, and he knew that their Baker Street rooms would be far better suited for his recovery than the confines of the hospital.

Watson sent a message ahead to Mrs. Hudson, and the two men were greeted by her warm smile at the door of their building. "Mr. Holmes, I'm very glad to see you well," she stated politely.

The detective was weak and pale from travel, and Watson had to support him up the stairs, but his face warmed at the sight of Mrs. Hudson's cheerful countenance. Upon entering the common area, Watson had expected to find the mess left by the night before. However, it seemed as if Mrs. Hudson had found the time to clean it. Watson sat Holmes gently on the settee before stating in surprise, "Mrs. Hudson! You cleaned!"

"Well, of course! The room was in a right state of disrepair." She settled a firm gaze on Holmes.

For a moment, the two stared at one another. Watson noticed the silence and stopped, distracted from hanging up his jacket, to observe. Some unspoken conversation seemed to pass between the two, although Watson would never entirely understand it. After a moment, Mrs. Hudson gave a firm nod and walked to the door. Holmes turned his gaze downwards, hiding a smile.

"I'll make you and Holmes some supper," she called from the stairs. "I'm sure you'll need something hearty after all of that exercise the past two nights."

Watson thanked her before helping to settle Holmes in.

About an hour later, their idle conversation was interrupted by a knock downstairs. They heard Mrs. Hudson answer the door and speak for a moment with their visitor. There was a pause, and then the sound of quick footsteps up the stairs. A polite knock at the common room door announced the presence of their caller.

Holmes raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Watson. "Come in," he called finally.

Watson recognized Simon from earlier this morning. He noted, however, that the young man had gone to some effort to straighten his appearance. His dark hair had been smoothed and his clothing appropriately tucked and ordered. The straggly scarf he had added around his neck made him seem more mature, somehow. Quietly, Simon nodded, "Messr Holmes, sir."

Holmes nodded in reply. "Simon. Watson tells me you and Archie accompanied him to the residence of the unfortunate Charles Baker."

"Yessir."

Holmes smiled gently. "You have my thanks. It was a dangerous situation, and I was pleased to hear that Doctor Watson did not have to face it without assistance."

Simon shuffled uncomfortably. "Naw, it weren't no problem, Messr Holmes. 'Least we could do, given the circumstances." He bit his lip. While Holmes did not blame the Irregulars, it seemed as if they blamed themselves. "Wiggins an' I 'ad a talk. 'Parently, Tracy caught up wif 'im an' tol' 'im bout wha' happened. Two fings, Messr Holmes." He frowned. "Well, 'free, ah suppose, bu—"

"Simon," Watson placated quietly, "it's alright. What have you got to tell us?"

The young man's demeanor relaxed some, although he was still fidgeting with his hands. "Right, Doc. Sorry. Well, first Messr Holmes. Wiggin's wanted yeh to know. They found Benny." His face darkened, and Watson noted that the detective's clouded as well. "Wiggins brought 'im to that jack Lestrade." He frowned, glaring at the floor. "'Suppose it's nice tha' the kid said 'e regretted what 'e done. Dunno. For now, least ways, 'e's out of our hair an' 'e can fink bout wha 'appened."

Holmes was silent. It would be some time before the matter did not raise a pang of discomfort. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Thank you for the information, Simon. What else did you have to report?"

Simon chuckled, letting some of the tension wash away. "Well, naw' so much to report, as it is." He smiled bashfully. "Actually, the Irregulars chipped in. We wanted teh give yeh somefin, to say we're sorry." He pulled out a pouch from his jacket. "'S not much, but… We jus' wanted to make sure yeh knew we're glad yer alright."

Holmes' face was a mystery as he accepted the gift. He opened it to reveal a package of tobacco.

"Doc prolly won't let yeh smoke it fer a bit, I 'magine," Simon chuckled.

After a moment's consideration, Holmes' face lit up with a smile. It was hiding stronger emotions, Watson knew, but he could tell that the detective was touched by the gesture. "It is a most thoughtful gift. Be sure to send my gratitude to the Irregulars."

"'Course, Messr Holmes." Simon was finally grinning again. "Jus' remember. The Irregulars are proud to work wif' you, sir. Let us know any time we can 'elp."

Watson stood to escort Simon to the door, leaving Holmes with his thoughts. In the entryway, Simon tipped his hat.

"Pleasure workin' with yeh Doc. Archie sends 'is regards. 'E was a bit dizzy after 'is bout of fightin' las' night."

Watson chuckled ruefully. "I can imagine. I'm sorry he was injured. I'd prefer him to rest than to make courtesy calls, anyway."

After a moment, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulders. In the silence, the two regarded one another, just for a second, as men. "Thank you," Watson said finally.

Simon smiled sadly. "Like I said, we owe yeh two." He grimaced. "Jus' don't tell him nuffin' bout wha' ah said las' night, if yeh don't mind. No need gettin' too 'motional."

Watson laughed. "Of course not." He shut the door behind the teenager and returned upstairs.

The room seemed calmer and more relaxed than it had in days. Holmes smiled broadly at Watson as he entered. "Ah! My dear Watson! Mrs. Hudson has just finished preparing supper. I say we sit down to a well-deserved meal."

The mask of the detective was safely in place once more. Holmes carefully eased himself off of the settee. Chattering along the way, he carefully placed his gift on the mantle. He lingered for only a moment before turning his attention on the table. "Watson, you will join me, won't you?"

"Of course, old man. My appetite's always been greater than yours, after all."

Holmes barked a laugh, and Watson smiled to himself. The detective was on the mend.

Notes: All done! Thanks for reading! I'm toying with having the briefest of epilogues, but I'll get to that later. Thanks for the wonderful reviews! They really mean a lot!
As one reviewer pointed out, there WAS a lot of Watson. I really wasn't expecting to write from his perspective for so long. But it was fun! (Thanks for the lovely comments, by the way. :D)