| After completing her bath, and having been assured that I would take care of Holmes, at my recommendation, Miss Trioni indulged herself in a much needed nap. That evening, she rejoined me in the drawing room. "How is he, Watson?," she asked, looking pensively at the closed bedroom door. "I gave him something for the pain a few hours ago, and he is still resting comfortably," I informed. She visibly relaxed with that knowledge. She was wearing a white cotton blouse and a dark blue skirt, and her hair was pulled back softly with a matching blue ribbon. "You are looking quite lovely this evening," I complimented. "Why, thank you, Watson," she blushed slightly. "I have always found that a hot bath makes me feel so much better." She thought to herself for a moment, then added, "Perhaps it would do the same for Mr. Holmes?" "No doubt, it would. However, he should not immerse his leg-wound in water...at least, not for a few days," I explained. "Oh, I see," she offered as she sat at the table. I took up my evening paper from the sideboard and moved to sit upon the settee, then I was overcome by the temptation to tease her. "However," I noted, "he would be able to enjoy a sponge bath, if someone were to offer it to him." I tried to control my chuckling, using the newspaper to hide myself from her view. Thus, I did not see her take up the glass of water as she walked to stand behind me. "Do you really think so, Watson?," she asked innocently. "Oh, yes...," I giggled, despite my efforts. "Then, perhaps you would enjoy one, as well!," she said, pouring the water onto my head. I stood up quickly in surprise. Upon seeing her, laughing with great amusement, I could not keep from doing so, myself. The seriousness of the times we had recently shared left us both in great need of some frolic. I decided to return her the favour. I walked silently to the table. Taking up the pitcher of water in my hands, I moved towards her, under the pretense that I meant to dowse her soundly with it. Laughing too hard to flee, she fell to the floor, holding her sides. Although I had no intention of following through on my bluff, I lost my footing on the slick wooden floor, and I spilled the entire contents of the pitcher down the front of her form. "Oh, Miss Trioni! I am sorry!," I offered in earnest with great concern. For a brief moment, she stopped her laughter, then she resumed it with even more abandon. Greatly relieved by the extent of her playful and tolerant nature, I helped her to her feet. "Really, Miss Trioni," I chuckled. "I only meant to tease you." "It is all right, Watson," she assured with a giggle. At that moment, I felt compelled to tell her of my feelings. "Miss Trioni, may I say that I believe Mr. Sherlock Holmes to be the luckiest man I know, to have won your affections," I admitted freely. "Thank you, Watson," she smiled. Then, a bit more seriously, she informed, "He is even more lucky to have you for his friend, as am I." I was still holding her hands. For a moment, I felt as though I were falling into her eyes. "What in blazes is going on out there?!," Holmes called from his bedroom, causing us each to resume our giggling. "Come, Miss Trioni. Let us have a bit of fun," I urged, pulling her with me to his door. "Now, do play along," I whispered. Trying to control our laughter, we entered his room. "Forgive us, Mr. Holmes," she offered. "We were only having a bit of fun. I am sorry we woke you." She moved to sit upon the edge of his bed, and brushed the hair from his brow as she asked, "Are you feeling any better after your rest?" Holmes tried to look into her eyes, but found he was severely distracted. The water had soaked through her white cotton blouse, making the lace camisole beneath it quite visible. "Yes, thank you, Miss Trioni," he finally offered. "Holmes?," I called, trying to break his stare. "Yes?," he replied, turning towards me to do so. "I believe it would do you some good to clean up a bit before dinner," I informed. "Miss Trioni, would you mind bringing some warm water, soap, and towels?" "Of course, Watson," she readily agreed. Holmes looked at me intently as she moved to the lavatory. "Watson!," he hissed in a low whisper. "What in God's name do you think you are doing?!" I seized the opportunity to tantalize him, and answered with a mischievous smile, "I am doing you a favour, I would think." "Surely, you do not intend to...," he began to offer, then he stopped abruptly as she returned. "Thank you, Miss Trioni," I offered as she placed the water and soap upon the night stand. "I will just get the towels," she called as she walked back into the lavatory. "Watson, please!," Holmes urged. "You can not ask her to..." "Here we are, then," she announced. "I believe that is all that you will need, Doctor." "Thank you, Miss Trioni," I smiled. "Please inform Mrs. Hudson that we will be ready to dine as soon as we have finished here." She left the room, and I burst into laughter. Holmes failed to see the humour of the situation, and told me as much. "Did you really think I would ask her to do it?," I asked, still chuckling. Smiling sheepishly, he answered, "I must admit, a part of me hoped you might." I proceeded to assist Holmes as he bathed himself, then I helped him into his nightshirt and dressing gown. By the time we had finished, he looked almost like his old self. Seeing this, and greatly encouraged by his continuous requests, I gave my permission for him to take his meal with us in the drawing room. With the aid of his walking stick, he moved slowly but steadily to the table and sat there. Miss Trioni entered with our dinner tray. Upon seeing him, she scolded, "Mr. Holmes! What are you doing out of bed?!" "It is all right, Miss Trioni," I calmed. "Are you certain, Watson?," she asked with concern. I nodded my assurance. Turning to Holmes, she noted, "Well, you are looking much better. But, you will promise not to push yourself, won't you, Mr. Holmes?" "Of course, Miss Trioni," he agreed with a slight smile. He had stopped trying to fight it, and was then somewhat enjoying her concern for his welfare. After finishing his meal and smoking a pipe, Holmes returned to his bed. "I plan to be able to conclude this business by tomorrow," he explained. Although I knew the extent of his injuries, I also knew the strength of his will. Therefore, I felt sure he would be capable of accomplishing his goal. I did, however, take the precaution of reserving my permission until seeing his progress on the next morning. Although I tried to persuade Miss Trioni to sleep in the comfort of her own bed, she insisted on sleeping upon the settee in the drawing room that evening. "He may need assistance in the middle of the night," she explained. "Then, I will sleep on the settee," I offered. "No, Watson, please, you must be in top form for tomorrow," she advised. "If he does manage to gather his strength by then, he will need you with him." I considered her observations. Finally, I agreed. I left her curled up on the settee, and I enjoyed sleeping in my own bed. |
| CHAPTER THIRTEEN In my efforts to keep her mind and my own occupied, I spent the day going over my accounts with Miss Trioni. Her headache had subsided after her bath, and I was pleased to see that her colour had returned, as well. I was also delighted to learn just how impressive her bookkeeping abilities were. Within but a few hours' time, she had worked through two of the three boxes which had remained from the previous day. We paused to take our dinner at seven, neither of us acknowledging to the other our concerns for Holmes' delay in returning, then we continued in our efforts. Finally, at nearly ten that evening, she broke down. "Oh, Watson, what could be keeping him this long? Why has he not sent any word?," she urged. "Do not worry, Miss Trioni. I am certain he will be back any minute now," I assured. I heard the door open and close below, and with a good deal of relief, I informed, "There. That is probably Holmes, now." She attempted to rise from the table and move to the door. However, I caught her hand and cautioned her not to proceed. "It would be best if we wait for him here. He will enjoy making a triumphant entrance," I smiled. She nodded her agreement and resumed her seat beside me at the table, then took up her work where she had left off. I remember taking up the newspaper and hurrying to do the same, then feeling as though, somehow, Holmes was taking longer than usual to climb the stairs. Finally, the door swung open, and he came crashing to the drawing room floor. Miss Trioni and I leapt from our seats and quickly moved to his aid. He was unconscious, but still breathing. I turned him over to lie upon his back. Seeing his colour, she cried, "Oh, my God! Watson!" He had been severely beaten, and had lost a good deal of blood. Noticing the wound on his left leg, she advised, "Dear God, Watson, he has been shot!" I gazed at the wound in horror. Taking my belt from my waist, I fastened it around his thigh, just above the wound, in an attempt to slow the bleeding. I then instructed her to go for my bag. She ran from the room to follow my order, and I took advantage of her absence to examine the wound more closely. The bullet was still lodged deep within it, and would have to be removed. I was thankful to know that Miss Trioni possessed a strong constitution, as I would require her assistance. She returned quickly, carrying with her my bag, which I instructed her to place in the bedroom. She returned again, and I explained, "We must get him to the bed," recalling my use of those same words earlier that day. I feared it would be a much more difficult task than it had been for me and Holmes to move her in the same manner. However, I was relieved to find that it was not. She was exceedingly strong for a woman. Between us, we managed with ease. Once we had moved him, I continued to the lavatory to scrub my hands and forearms before beginning. I instructed her to do the same. Returning to Holmes' side, I ordered, "Bring some clean towels and a basin of water." I did my best to revive him without shaking him too roughly, but to no avail. I moved then to ready my instruments, and Miss Trioni entered the room. She placed the basin of water and towels upon the night stand, then sat upon the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from Holmes’ eyes. Slowly...they opened. "Miss Trioni...," he called in a raspy voice. "Watson! He is conscious!," she urged. I moved quickly to see his face more clearly and called, "Holmes! Holmes!" He looked into my eyes with silent recognition, and I informed, "You have been badly injured, old man. The bullet is still in your leg. I am afraid I must remove it before I can close the wound." He nodded his understanding of the situation. With a good deal of effort, he offered, "He must be stopped, Watson. Alert Scotland Yard. 694 East Aldgate. Kemp will attempt to leave the country." "I will, Holmes, but please, hold still," I assured. Miss Trioni quickly scribbled a message, then ran to give it to Mrs. Hudson with the instructions to dispatch it to Lestrade. Just as she returned, Holmes gathered enough of his strength to speak again. "My arm, Watson," he urged. "You must also set my arm." I had been so preoccupied with his other wounds, it was only then that I noticed the broken arm which laid limp at his right side. I swallowed hard with the knowledge of the agony he was feeling. Filling a hypodermic, I advised him of my intentions. "I am going to administer some morphine, Holmes," I explained. "It will help to ease the pain." Miss Trioni again moved to sit at his side, and she rolled up his left sleeve in an effort to assist me. "No, Watson, you can not!," Holmes offered. He began to struggle. "Please, Mr. Holmes, you must lie still," Miss Trioni tried to soothe. Holmes clutched her shoulder with his left hand and pulled her very close to stare into her soul, then urgently whispered, "Do not allow him to give me the drug." Weakened by his effort, his hand slipped limply from her shoulder to rest at his side, and his eyes again closed. So compelled was Miss Trioni by his request that she quickly ordered me to stop. After examining his eyes, she took a pair of surgical scissors from my instrument tray. Being careful not to move his broken arm, she cut open his right sleeve. She held the lamp a bit closer, then realized the reason for his desperate plea. All colour drained from her face as she offered me the lamp and solemnly advised, "He has been drugged, Watson. God only knows with what." Seeing the needle marks for myself, I immediately recognized their implications. Without knowing what had been injected or the amount, for me to administer anything would have been dangerous, if not fatal. Realizing my new dilemma, I pulled Miss Trioni aside to explain, "I can not risk giving him anything for the pain. Yet, the bullet must still be removed." Noting the tears which were welling in her eyes, I cautioned her to remain strong. "I will need your full assistance, Miss Trioni. May I rely on having it?," I urged. "Of course, Watson. What would you have me do?," she offered. "I shall need you to do your best to keep him still," I advised. The tears began to fall from her eyes. However, she wiped them away and nodded her agreement. Steeling herself for the task she was about to undertake, she moved to again sit upon the edge of the bed as I cut away the left leg portion of Holmes' trousers. Leaning over him, she looked upon his face. She fought to hold back her tears as she offered, "Oh, Mr. Holmes...forgive me. I should have gone with you. I never should have agreed to your terms." Feeling her breath upon his skin, Holmes opened his eyes to quietly inform, "My dear Miss Trioni, I gave you no choice." As he stared into her eyes, he realized that the collective effect of the drugs made him feel even more vulnerable to her. He deduced that his assailants had administered some combination of drugs which both slowed his responses and heightened his senses. Kemp had wished for him to feel the most pain possible with every blow. He was about to tell her of his conclusions, but thought better of it before he did so. There was no reason for her to know the extent of the pain which he would soon need to endure. Taking up one of the towels, she dipped it into the water, then gently wiped his brow. "Miss Trioni, I am ready to begin," I informed. For a moment, she could not move. Shaking her thoughts from her mind, she replaced the towel on the night stand and asked, "Mr. Holmes, do you know what must be done?" Holmes nodded that he did. She leaned closer and quietly offered, "Then, I shall ask you now..." Turning his head gently to one side, she placed both of her hand upon his shoulders and moved to lay across his chest, then she freely implored, "Please, forgive me, Mr. Holmes." "Are you ready, Holmes?," I asked. He could feel her breath upon his neck, and the smell of her skin filled his nostrils. He gripped the bed linens in his left hand, then closed his eyes and answered, "Work quickly, Watson." I did what I could to clear my mind, then I set myself to removing the bullet. I tried to ignore the sound of his low moans as I probed deeper into his torn flesh. Although Miss Trioni held him as tightly as she could, his body still wretched with the pain. "Please, Mr. Holmes, you must be still," she implored. At the sound of her voice, he visibly relaxed. Noticing this, I whispered, "Keep talking to him, Miss Trioni. Distract him as much as you possibly can." "I will do my best," she answered softly. "But please, may I have a moment?" I paused and waited for her to compose herself before beginning her efforts, then I watched with awe as she did so. She raised her head from his shoulder and turned to meet his gaze, then asked, "Mr. Holmes, do you trust me?" "Yes," he replied, despite his usual predisposition to doubt. The drugs were taking their full effect, and he closed his eyes to clear his mind. "Look at me, Mr. Holmes, and listen carefully," she urged. His eyes opened to find that her lips were then even closer to his own. "I want you to concentrate on my touch," she offered. "Can you feel my hands...here, upon your shoulders?" "Yes," he returned, trying to focus his attention. "Good, Mr. Holmes. Very good," she commended. "Now, please, close your eyes and concentrate only on my touch and my voice. Will you do that for me, Mr. Holmes?" "I will try," he advised. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she smiled. When he had closed his eyes, she nodded for me to continue. I hesitated, then resumed my work. He flinched at the first touch of my probe. "Only on my touch and my words, Mr. Holmes," she reminded. As she spoke, she moved her hands along his chest. He sighed deeply and relaxed. "May I loosen your collar? It does not look very comfortable," she noted. "Yes," Holmes allowed. She unbuttoned his collar and encouraged, "Can you still feel my touch?" "Yes," he returned. "Do you like the way it feels?," she asked. "Yes, very much," he admitted freely. He trembled briefly as I extracted the loosened bullet. She looked to me to see what progress I had made. It was then that I realized she was crying. After showing her the bullet, I encouraged her with a nod to continue while I closed the wound. She swallowed hard, then proceeded as I had urged. "Would you like to feel my touch more directly?," she offered. "Please," Holmes moaned softly. She unbuttoned his shirt completely, to reveal his bare chest, then placed both of her hands upon his skin. "Is this better?," she asked, gently stroking his chest. "Oh...yes...," Holmes breathed deeply, reveling in her touch. After finishing the stitches, while she continued in her efforts, I moved to examine his arm. Although the bones had not pierced the skin, they were considerably mangled. She seemed to understand, instinctively, what I needed her to do. "I am going to remove your shirt now, Mr. Holmes, if you will allow me," she advised. "Yes," he offered readily. Raising him to a seated position, together we managed to remove his shirt, though I believe he was unaware that I was helping, or even present. She wiped a tear from her cheek, then continued to gently stroke his chest as I lowered him again to his pillow. Feeling her hair briefly brush his skin, he reached to hold her to his heart. I wondered if I should intervene. However, she motioned for me to refrain, and she encouraged, "Yes, Mr. Holmes. Hold me tight...as tight as you possibly can." Holmes crushed her to him, and I seized the opportunity to set his broken arm. He winced slightly with the pain, but was far more aware of the pleasure. I hurried to apply several bandages to his right arm while he held her securely in his left. I had just completed my efforts when I heard him softly beg, "Miss Trioni...my dear...please..." Raising her head from his shoulder, she looked upon his face. Seeing his expression and understanding his cryptic plea, she gently kissed his lips, causing him to tremble with the flood of new emotions which he felt. "Now, sleep, Mr. Holmes," she whispered softly. She attempted to pull away from him. However, he tightened his grip. "Please...do not leave me?," he begged. "I shall not leave you," she soothed, brushing the hair from his troubled brow. Holmes opened his eyes for the first time since she had asked him to close them. "Promise me, woman," he implored. "I promise," she swore, gazing deeply into his soul. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, then allowed exhaustion to overwhelm him. When she was certain that he was fully asleep, she rose from his arms, and pulled me with her to the lavatory. "Will he be all right?," she asked, wiping away her tears. "I believe he will be fine," I answered, still amazed by what I had just witnessed. "And, will he remember?," she offered softly. Considering what I knew about the effects of certain drugs, I consoled her. "I doubt it," I admitted. She sighed deeply with relief. "Watson, there is no reason for you to ever tell him," she advised. "After all, it was really nothing at all. I only did what I could to distract him, as you suggested." Her nervous chatter confirmed my suspicions. "How long have you known, Miss Trioni?," I asked. "Known? Known what?," she returned, feigning innocence. "That you love him, Miss Trioni," I replied. She was mortified by my accurate observation, and she burst into tears as she offered, "Oh, Watson!" Fearing that I had caused her undue anguish, I offered her my shoulder, which she readily accepted. "There, there, Miss Trioni. There is no reason to cry." I soothed. "Isn't there?," she asked. Still sobbing, she explained, "From the first moment I saw him, I knew that this could happen. I knew that my admiration could easily turn into genuine love. Oh, why have I allowed it? I know my feelings will never be returned...and yet...just to be near him...I believe it would be enough." She pulled away from me slightly, to look in on him, lying upon his bed, with the purest adoration I had ever seen. Then, resuming her former position upon my shoulder and her weeping, she continued, "I could have lived a happy existence as no more than his secretary. But, now, if he remembers, he will surely ask me to leave. Oh, Watson..." She continued to sob for several more moments. I considered telling her the truth. However, I was then reminded of my oath. "Watson, you must give me your word never to repeat what I have just told you to another living soul. Especially not to Mr. Holmes. Watson? Watson?!," she urged as she shook my arm to break my trance. So uncanny was my situation that I was almost tempted to laugh. However, seeing her distress, I put the thought behind me. "Have no fear, Miss Trioni. You have my solemn word," I assured. "Thank you, Watson," she offered as she wiped her tears. She started to move back towards the bedroom, but I stopped her and advised, "You should get some rest. With Lestrade in pursuit of Kemp, your room should be quite safe now. Or, if you prefer, feel free to use mine. I will be staying in the drawing room." "I believe you should stay close," she agreed. "He may need you in the middle of the night. But, Watson...I will not leave him. At least, not until he asks me to go." She moved a chair from the corner of the room to the side of his bed. Sitting upon it, she took his hand, and began what would prove to be her vigil. I recognized the look in her eyes, and I knew better than to attempt to dissuade her. Instead, I moved to the drawing room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar. |
| At mid-morning the next day, I rose from the settee and walked stiffly to Holmes' bedroom. Peering within, I observed that Holmes was still asleep. Miss Trioni had also finally given in to her exhaustion. Still seated in her chair, she had leaned forward to lay her head upon the mattress at his hand, which she still held securely within her own. The scene evoked a feeling of the utmost contentment within me. I decided to allow them each a few more moments of undisturbed bliss. I went to the kitchen to procure a pot of tea from Mrs. Hudson, and to see if any word had yet arrived from Lestrade as to the progress he had made. Holmes opened his eyes slowly and looked around the room. Reassured by his surroundings, he closed his eyes once again, grateful that he had made it back to Baker Street. The pain in his arm and leg still throbbed, but he surmised that his wounds had been tended. Suddenly, he became aware of having seen Miss Trioni, and his eyes flew wide open again. He tried to remain motionless. However, it was too late, for she had felt his hand tense with his initial shock. Raising her head slowly, she looked up at him and smiled, "Good morning, Mr. Holmes." She moved to feel his brow and noted, "No sign of fever. How do you feel?" "Not as badly as I imagine I look," Holmes offered in a daze. She smiled softly at his humour, then explained, "Considering what you have been through, you look wonderful. Be still now. I will go for Watson." She left him for a few moments, then returned with me by her side. "Good morning, Watson," he offered as I entered. "Good morning, Holmes! How do you feel?," I returned with a heavy sigh of relief as I checked for any sign of fever. He looked to Miss Trioni, and they both smiled at my efforts, then he answered, "As well as can be expected." "My goodness, man, you gave us quite a scare last night. What on earth happened?," I urged. "Watson, please!," she scolded. "He is hardly up to explaining!" "On the contrary, Miss Trioni, there is a pressing need for me to do so," Holmes advised. He attempted to sit up in his bed, and she hurried to assist him. "Very well, Mr. Holmes, if you must," she allowed. "But, do try to keep it brief." She fluffed his pillow and replaced it behind his shoulders, then sat at the foot of his bed. He followed her every movement with his eyes in awe, then broke his trance to explain. "In short, I paid a visit to our elusive Miss Kratides," Holmes began. "I warned her that, unless she aided me in finding and stopping Kemp, she would surely face the consequences of her actions as well as his this time." "What did she do?," I asked. "She was about to offer me his precise location in return for her freedom," Holmes returned. "Unfortunately, she did not have the chance. A shot from an open window sealed her fate." "My God, Holmes, do you mean she is dead?," I urged. "Quite so, Watson," he offered lightly. "Though, I dare say, woman-kind will be the better for it." I frowned at his cold commentary, but found myself quite in agreement. He smiled faintly at my expression, knowing my thoughts, then continued, "I hurried to leave the room, but I was detained by the bullet which I perceive you have removed from my leg. I was taken to a warehouse basement, there to meet up with Kemp. He then informed me of his plans for my removal." "Was it as you suspected?," I asked, hoping that Miss Trioni would miss my meaning. "Yes, Watson, precisely," Holmes replied. His answer turned my blood to water. He had, indeed, been drugged and tortured. Miss Trioni lowered her gaze, and I was relieved not to have to look into her eyes, for I feared she would see right through me. "How did you escape?," I forced myself to ask. "After our...discussion, I pretended to be unconscious long enough for my captors to become a bit lax," he explained. "I seized the first opportunity I had, and knocked my guard out cold. I shattered the window with a chair, climbed through to the street above, and made my way back to Baker Street. From there, I fear you both know more of the situation than I." "You have no memory of arriving?," Miss Trioni asked, trying to conceal her joy. "Nor of anything that happened thereafter," Holmes admitted freely. Then, thinking out loud, he wondered, "Why? Was I conscious?" He looked to me for his answer. "At times, Holmes," was all I could offer. He quickly looked to Miss Trioni, then away again. I saw the glimmer of a memory briefly touch him, and then slowly slip away. "It is just as well," Miss Trioni stated calmly. "You were in a great deal of pain." "Was the Yard alerted?," he asked, still trying to piece his memories. "You will be delighted to hear, Holmes, that Kemp has been located. His movements are being closely monitored," I informed. "Why has he not been apprehended?," Holmes asked, visibly annoyed, once again, at what he perceived to be the incompetence of the official police. "I am afraid it is at my request, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni offered with a warm smile. "I took the liberty last night of informing Chief Inspector Lestrade that, if at all possible, you would prefer to keep that privilege for yourself." Holmes' heart swelled with such appreciation and love for her that he feared it might very well burst. "My dear Miss Trioni, will you never cease to amaze me?," he offered in earnest. "I hope not, Mr. Holmes," she smiled happily. He returned her smile, then advised, "Come, then. We must not keep Mr. Wilson Kemp waiting." He tried to rise, then fell back against his pillow. He was about to try again, but was stopped. "Not so fast, Mr. Holmes," she cautioned, placing her hand upon his shoulder. "He has waited this long, and shall continue to do so, until you have adequately recuperated." "But...," Holmes began to protest. "Do not waste your breath," she firmly warned. "He must not be allowed to escape!," Holmes argued. She sighed heavily, then urged, "I know you have little confidence in the official police, but would you at least try to show a bit more in me?" "You? I do not understand," Holmes returned in confusion. Miss Trioni released his shoulder and met his searching gaze to explain, "My dear sir, I see now that Watson was speaking the truth. You obviously have never employed a secretary before. Any worth her salt should know her employer's preferences like the back of her notepad. I knew you would not rest unless someone of your intellect was overseeing the whole affair, so I sent word to your brother, Mycroft, by the early morning post, while Watson was still asleep. Mycroft is presently supervising matters on your behalf. It is, by the way, the only reason he has not been here to see for himself that you will recover. I trust you have faith in his abilities, do you not?" "Well, yes, but...," Holmes offered in a daze. "Then, you will stay where you are until Watson informs me that you are fit to be up and around," she advised. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and help Mrs. Hudson prepare your breakfast...one which you will eat, Mr. Holmes." She did not ask, but told him of the fact, and then left the room, leaving Holmes looking somewhat bewildered. "I would do as she says, old fellow, if I were you," I smiled. I tried not to seem too amused at his expense, then my thoughts turned more serious. I explained that, by all rights, his broken arm should be placed in a cast. As I had expected he would, he pleaded with me to allow the bandages to suffice. I reluctantly agreed, but insisted upon a sling. Finally, I gathered my nerve, and inquired, "Holmes, if you do not mind my asking, what, exactly, did that monster do to you? I have seen many broken bones in my time, but rarely have they been so mangled without puncturing the skin." Holmes proceeded to tell me, in some detail, of the horrors which he had endured. "My God," was nearly all the response I could utter during his gruesome account. Apparently, after being injected with a series of drugs, his hands were bound together and raised above his head. He was then beaten by two alternating assailants, one of which, he perceived to be Big Tom, and the other, his smaller companion, while Kemp observed. Whenever it would appear that Holmes was near to losing consciousness, the beatings would cease until he had been adequately revived. How this was achieved, Holmes would not say, and I did not press him. During one such pause, he was able to work loose his right hand. When Big Tom returned to administer his part of the punishment, Holmes seized him by the neck, choking him nearly to death. Indeed, he would have succeeded, had he not been stopped by the other man. Upon seeing this, Kemp gave instructions for Holmes to be restrained. Using a large pair of vice grips, Kemp proceeded to break Holmes’ arm in several places. The process was intentionally slow and grueling. Holmes was then moved to a storeroom to be allowed to regain some semblance of awareness before continuing. When his guard, Big Tom's smaller counterpart, entered to check on his progress, he mustered what strength he still had, and made a final attempt at an escape. Thankfully, it had been successful. Having learned the extent of Kemp's cruelty, I was grateful that Miss Trioni had been spared the extensive knowledge I then possessed, and I conveyed my sentiments to Holmes. "Is she completely unaware?," he asked. "She knows that you were drugged and beaten," I offered, "But not, I think, of the rest." "Let us be thankful for that," he sighed. He placed a cigarette in his mouth, which I lit for him. He took a deep breath, then exhaled a cloud of grey smoke. He watched it dissipate into the morning sunlight as he offered, "I did receive one benefit from the experience, though, which Kemp could not have possibly foreseen." "What on earth could that be?," I asked, amazed by his ability to find some good hidden in his plight. "Apparently, the drugs he administered allowed me to enjoy the most delicious dream," Holmes sighed. He closed his eyes and smiled, recalling the feel of her touch. Surmising the "dream" to which he was referring, I was tempted to tell him the truth. However, my sense of loyalty to Miss Trioni stopped me. Instead of breaking my promise to her, I decided to play a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the greatest detective mind in England, relying on the fact that I was destined to lose. "Come now, Holmes," I offered. "From your own admission, I am aware that you never dream, save an occasional nightmare, recalling your past experiences." "There is a first time for everything, Watson," he advised. His eyes remained closed as he drew another breath of smoke. "What did you dream of, then?," I encouraged. "I dreamt of her, Watson," he informed with a sigh. "The feel of her touch...the taste of her lips... Oh, would that it had been real," he lamented. "Are you quite certain that it was not?," I asked, moving to stand at the window. His eyes flew open as he asked, "Watson?!" He looked to me full of questions. I could offer him no answers, save a smile. Miss Trioni entered at that precise moment, carrying a tray. "Ah, Miss Trioni, what do you have there?," I inquired, turning from Holmes' searching gaze. I raised the cover to smell the delicious aroma of warm biscuits, steak, and eggs. I reached for a biscuit and she quickly moved the tray away. "Watson, this tray is for Mr. Holmes!," she scolded. I looked to her with remorse, then she laughed, "Do not look so disappointed. Yours is on the table in the drawing room." "Thank you, Miss Trioni," I smiled with relief. "You are quite welcome," she returned. "Just call if you need me," I offered. I moved quickly to the drawing room to begin my feast. She placed the tray down upon the night stand and began to cut the steak into bite-sized pieces. Holmes extinguished his cigarette and sat in his bed, staring up at her, trying to find the right words. He still could not categorize his memories, or be sure what parts had been dreamt or what parts had been real, but he was certain that he owed her his gratitude. He wondered how on earth he could possibly thank her for whatever she had done, and if he would embarrass her by doing so. He had no doubt that she had only sought to relieve his pain. How could he tell her of his gratitude for the pleasure she had unwittingly given him without betraying his desire for more? He decided that it was best to say nothing. "Now, Mr. Holmes, I want you to eat every bite of this steak," she advised. "You need as much protein as you can get after what you have been through." She placed a pillow across his lap and laid the tray upon it, being careful to avoid the wounded area of his left thigh, then she asked, "Will you be able to manage from here?" "Yes, thank you, Miss Trioni," he smiled. "Then, I believe I will go and clean up a bit," she explained. "Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?" In an attempt to hide his thoughts, Holmes looked down at the jar of honey which rested on the tray beside the biscuits. She misinterpreted this action, and assumed he was seeking assistance in spreading it. "Oh, of course...how stupid of me," she smiled. She sat upon the edge of the bed and opened the jar, then broke open one of the hot biscuits and spread a liberal amount of the honey over its steaming surface. The warmth of the bread caused some of the honey to drip onto her fingertips as she placed the biscuit down upon the dish. Not wishing to make matters worse, she held the affected hand up before her. Smiling at her dilemma, she then showed it to Holmes. Unable to resist the temptation, Holmes took her hand and pressed her fingertips to his mouth, savouring the taste of her far more than that of the honey. Her mouth parted softly with surprise, and he quietly exaggerated, "Forgive me, Miss Trioni, but I am very fond of...honey." "Of course, Mr. Holmes," she allowed with a hard swallow. "I shall just leave you, then, to enjoy it." She moved through the drawing room in a bit of a daze, on her way to take her bath in the third floor lavatory. Upon seeing her, I commented, "Excellent breakfast, Miss Trioni, especially the biscuits." She looked down at her hand for some reason I could not comprehend. "Yes, Watson...especially the biscuits," she quietly agreed, then she continued on her way. |
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| STORIES AND SAGAS My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Thirteen |
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| "No! Please!," sounded the muffled pleas from the bedroom which jolted Miss Trioni from her slumber. She moved quickly to the bedroom door. There was no sound. Realizing that anything might be waiting for her on the other side of the wooden barrier, she took the precaution of taking up the gun which she observed to be laying upon my desk, then she returned to the threshold. She opened the door slowly at first, then much more quickly, stepping inside the room as she did so, ready to fire if necessary. Even in the moonlight, she was able to see that the room was empty, except for Holmes, who was lying asleep in his bed. Thinking that she must have imagined the noises, and feeling rather foolish for having done so, she turned to leave the room. She had not taken more than two steps when she heard the call again, more clearly. She spun back around, ready to fire, then she saw the origin of the noises. Holmes was experiencing a nightmare. She placed the gun down upon his dressing table, then moved to the bed. "Mr. Holmes," she whispered as she gently shook him. "Wake up, Mr. Holmes, you are dreaming." Holmes sat up with a start. "Mr. Holmes?," she offered. Seeing her face, he sighed heavily with relief. "It was only a dream, Mr. Holmes," she assured as she encouraged him to fully recline. She waited for him to catch his breath, then quickly moved to the lavatory. She soon returned with a cool compress. Sitting upon the edge of the bed, she moved to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Holmes stopped her efforts by grabbing hold of her wrist. "It is only me, Mr. Holmes," she assured as his eyes tried to focus. "Forgive me," he offered, releasing her hand. He closed his eyes again. She applied the cool cloth to his forehead, and then to his cheeks. "What on earth were you dreaming of?," she asked, seeing the extent of his horror. Holmes swallowed hard, but did not answer. "It may help to talk about it," she coaxed. He swallowed hard again, then answered, "I was reliving the events of my capture. I am sorry to have disturbed you." "Think nothing of it, Mr. Holmes," she comforted. She moved to loosen the collar of his nightshirt, and wiped his throat with the cloth, then folded it and applied it to the back of his neck. He briefly opened his eyes to meet her gaze as she did so, then he closed them again, and relaxed a bit more. "There, now...that's better," she noted. "Thank you, dear lady," he whispered. He was overwhelmed by her kindness, and his voice trembled slightly as a result of the fact. Noting his efforts to hide his pain, she continued to hold the cloth with one hand, and began stroking his forehead with the other. Tears welled in her eyes as she softly asked, "If I tell you something, Mr. Holmes, will you promise not to laugh?" "I promise," Holmes offered readily. "When I have nightmares, I sleep with a lit lamp at my bedside," she admitted. "Perhaps I should try your method," Holmes smiled, grateful for her efforts. She swallowed hard, trying not to allow her tears to betray her as she continued, "May I tell you something else, sir?" "Please, do," he offered. The sound of her voice and the feel of her touch were so soothing to him. She gathered her nerve, then explained in earnest, "I do not know all that occurred, and I doubt if you will ever tell...but I can imagine. If there were a way for me to erase what they did to you, I would...no matter what the cost." With obvious surprise, Holmes opened his eyes to see the tears which were running down her cheeks. She tried to turn away in an effort to hide them. However, he caught her face in his hand. Wiping away a her tears in amazement, he began to tell her what was in his heart. "Miss Trioni, I...," he whispered. She held her finger to his lips to stop his words, afraid that, having clearly seen how much she cared for him, he would ask her to leave. "Good night, Mr. Holmes," she whispered. She moved swiftly from the room, closing the door behind her. She continued through the drawing room and up the stairs until she came to her bedroom. Standing there, alone in the darkness, she allowed her tears to flow freely. |