Self-Destruct 1
by elfin
My greatest fear was of being too late.
Damn him, why had he gone? He knew! He knew about Stapleton
and still he'd gone.
Lestrade threw his whole weight against the heavy wooden door of Merripit
house, losing purchase on the wet mud as he did so. He almost fell
headfirst into the well-lit kitchen when the lock finally gave way.
I pushed passed him, desperate in my need to find my friend before my
fears were realised. I raced up the wooden stairs, calling his name,
straining to hear some notion of reply. But I heard nothing.
I opened each and every door, throwing them wide in my search.
But there was nothing.
Frustrated, almost panicked, I descended two steps at a time and left
the house.
Outside, the rain was lashing down as it had for the majority of my stay.
I paid it no heed and ran, sure-footed, around to the stables.
"Holmes!"
When at last I laid eyes upon him, as terrifying as that one moment was,
I felt relief like never before.
He was hanged, but struggling still. His bleeding fingers were clawing
uselessly at the rope crushing his throat, but he was obviously weakening.
He was kicking out with his feet, with the last of the strength in his legs.
I shouted with all the power of my lungs to Lestrade, and in two strides
I crossed the damp, dirty floor of the barn.
Taking out my knife, I split the thick, taut rope with a single slice,
and he dropped. I managed to catch his head in the cradle of my palm,
before it could crack against the straw-covered stone of the ground, and
eased him down as best I could as Lestrade came running into the barn and
swore brightly under his breath.
"Dear God...."
Being careful with my blade, I sliced through the noose around Holmes'
neck while Lestrade crouched next to me.
The rope gone, the inspector assisted me in loosening the collar of Holmes
shirt. I pressed two fingers to the pulse point in his neck as gently
as I could. But I needn't have bothered with that, for immediately
his eyes flew open and a rough, pained cry escaped his throat.
"Easy." I settled him against me in an attempt to make him comfortable,
ensuring his breathing was now unrestricted. Looking up, I caught Lestrade's
concerned gaze. "Stapleton did this. Find him!"
He seemed relieved to have something to do, nodded quickly and left me
to tend my ward.
It was a couple of seconds before Holmes looked up at me, eyes bloodshot,
expression one of unguarded terror.
"I have you, Holmes." It was the most reassuring thing I could think
to say. But it seemed to calm him and he closed his eyes, letting his
taut, stressed body cease its relentless fight for life. He lost consciousness.
~~~
It was late when Baskerville Hall finally sank into an uneasy silence.
Having settled Henry, I went to check on Holmes, expecting him to still
be sleeping off the mild sedative I'd administered upon reaching the Hall.
He was no longer in the bed, but sitting on the sill of the open window.
I had opened the door quietly so as not to disturb him and for a moment I
silently watched him.
He was smoking a cigarette held in fingers that trembled with every movement.
His usual composure was gone.
I stepped into the room and he started at the slight sound I'd made, turning
to glance at me with a sudden fright I had not ever known in him.
Without a word, I moved to perch on the sill opposite him. Outside,
the moors still howled; that strange, haunting call particular to the untamed
lands of Dartmoor.
Holmes flicked the stub of his cigarette out into the darkness beyond
the window and immediately lit another. In the flare of the match,
I saw the bruising around his throat, left by the bite of the rope.
It was darkly livid. By the morning it would be a vicious purple.
"Are you all right, Holmes?"
He stared into the cold, wet night and after a moment of hesitation he
shook his head quickly. The drags on his cigarette were longer than
was his habit. He was more rattled than I'd ever seen him, and frankly
it scared me.
He was my rock. The foundations of everything I depended on had
been shaken that night.
"Would talking of it help?"
It was a short time before he replied. "What, Watson? Of my
humiliation? Of my defeat by a man I'd thought to bring to justice?
No, I do not wish to talk of it."
"Hardly humiliation, Holmes. He almost killed you."
He glanced at me then. "He would have succeeded had it not been
for you." His expression softened, and his voice quieted to a tone
I hadn't heard from him before. "How very much I owe you."
I was seeing vulnerability in him that was new to me, and suddenly I was
angry with him for putting me through the ordeal of that night. "Why
did you go with him?" I asked, as pertinent as a child and yet with an adult's
refusal to regret the question.
His expression became a sad apology. "His words at the festivities,
Watson."
Yes, I remembered. It had only been a few hours ago, but despite
everything that had happened since, I saw clear in my mind the exchange between
them. And I felt the same stab of jealousy.
I'd watched Holmes' usually closed expression open up into an interested
smile for just a moment. And apparently Stapleton had seen it too.
Holmes must have read something then, on my own face, for he leaned forward
and for a moment was his old self. "I wanted to see his eyes darken
in desire. His lips parted and swollen from kissing."
His words lit a flame of arousal deep within me that I quashed immediately.
He sat back, shadowed once again, taking another log, shaky drag on his cigarette.
"Do you think me self-destructive, Watson?"
I barely had to think. "Yes, Holmes. Yes, I do."
"And do you hate me for it, my old friend?"
I was surprised. "Hate you? No! Never."
Silence again, for a time, and then without warning he reached for my
hand. Surprised, I let him stretch out my fingers and press them against
the warm wool of his gown, over his heart as he leaned toward me.
"It's still beating," he told me needlessly.
"One day, it won't be." But my words were mere murmurs, for my attention
was completely on the warmth under my fingers, the subtle trembling of his
body, the slightly elevated heartbeat.
Touching him, if only for this moment, was a wonder.
I met his gaze, loving him with my eyes as was the only way I knew he
would allow. He smiled at me for a second, and I could imagine just
for that second that his feelings mirrored my own.
Until he broke the tenuous contact and released my hand.
Flicking the half-smoked cigarette out into the night, he swung his leg
from the sill and reached to pull the window closed.
"I will rest, as per your orders, Watson," he told me with a smile, and
I nodded, leaving him to climb back into the large bed.
With a sigh I hoped he hadn't heard, I closed the door quietly behind
me and went downstairs to sit alone by the open fire.
~~~
end part 1
elfin
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