The Snake and The Rabbit

I was taken aback by his complement.

“When can I see her?” Holmes asked.

“Give us half hour.” He turned to me, “would you like to help?”

“I would be honored.”

“Dr. Watson will come get you.”

We moved her from surgery to a bed where she could wake up on her own. I went to retrieve Holmes and Hopkins. Hopkins stayed not for very long. Holmes and I sat there watching over her. I could bare it no longer. I had to ask. “Holmes, what were you so angry about?”

“She told me the odds.”

“Of this surgery not working?” He nodded his head. “And with the special gift that she has, you thought it would be a good idea to go halfway across town to get your ass kicked.” He stared at me as if I was the one that had beaten him in a street fight. Since I was kicking my friend in the teeth, I thought I might as well continue. “And furthermore, ‘what do you care?’” I raised an eyebrow toward him.

He lowered his head in shame, “not my finest hour.”

“No my friend. No indeed.”

I was almost asleep when I heard her speak, “where am I?”

“Hospital.” Holmes answered.

“Did it burst?”

I replied, “no.”

She moaned, “thank God.”

A gentle shake woke me. Vernet was standing over me. I noticed Holmes was asleep in a chair and Lizzie was asleep.

We walked down the hall. After we were out of hearing range, he spoke. “Dr. Watson, Ms. Parker has a long way to go. I have to tell you not what her body has been through. The healing process for her is going to be long. I am glad you are at hand.” We walked some more. “There is no reason why she should not make a full recovery.”

“I do worry about her.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, “you should.”

“Why would you say that?”

He shook his head, “I have no medical evidence to base this on. I have a bad feeling that I am unable to shake.”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with her.”

“Perhaps not,” he gave me a half smile. We walked back to our patient in silence.

As we got close, I heard Holmes’ voice. “Ara?”

Her voice was a whisper, “Sherlock.”

“Forgive me.”

Vernet and I stood in silence, not wanting to interrupt.”

“I always do.”

“I am such a fool.”

“Why did you do that?”

There was a moment of silence. “You have always been in my world. I have known that you were alive even though we were worlds apart. For a moment, I saw my world without,” he stopped.

“Sherlock,” more silence. Vernet and I just looked at each other in sadness.

“You may ask Watson, a fortnight before I got your package until here recently, I have been…..”

I could hear a smile in her voice, “an emotional wreck.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“Never.”

At that moment, Mycroft came running down the hall. Poor man was red faced and out of breath. “Dr. Watson.” I know he was trying to scream but the poor man was panting. Once he reached us, he stopped; bent over at the waist, panting. While Mycroft stood there gathering himself, Holmes tore back the curtain. The look in his eyes; I will never forget that look as long as I live. It was a mixture of sorrow and anger. Even as his face was blackened from a stranger’s fist, it was his eyes that spoke to me.

“Brother mine,” he patted Mycroft on the back.

One look at his brother, he shuttered. “What happened here?”

“A lack of judgment.”

“Indeed.” He stood upright. “I am myself.” Sherlock removed his hand from Mycroft’s back. “How is she?”

Vernet answered, “she is fine. As soon as she is able to walk on her own, I foresee no reason that she cannot go home. Whenever she is ready,” she smiled. “We have no intentions on rushing her.”

Holmes and I would take turns watching over her. I had returned one morning to find him lying in the bed next to her; facing her, sound asleep. As I sat there with the morning edition folded on my lap, I watched him. I saw not the grown man that chased problems. The man that solved cases with sometimes inhuman abilities; I saw that unsure little boy in the painting. The sketch of four friends playing flashed across my mind. I never pictured Holmes as a child. He was not the kind of person that I ever imagined playing for the sake of playing. However, he did. He did play. Not so much Mycroft at his side but Lizzie. A child; so full of energy and life that it flowed out of her in waves. I saw that in her painting. The timid, shy Holmes got caught in the current. He never tried to fight it. He let it take him and throw him at its will. The facts stated that her will and his were on the same path until he proposed. As I sat there and thought about all the things she had said to me about Holmes, I was beginning to understand why she chose a different path. His was a household name. He had written pamphlets on numerous subjects. Would he have done that if he would have married? I knew not. Though, she was positive, he would not have.

Lizzie started with wiggling her toes; working her legs as she lay in bed; only after did she progress to getting out of bed. In two weeks, we were all back to Bakers Street, safe and sound.

The Snake and The Rabbit