Dangerous Company - part 12
by Holmesianlove
Chapter 12: The Truth Will Out
I stumbled drunkenly through the streets. Lost and angry and confused. For some reason, I had hoped that by wandering about, I would find him. Or he would find me. Something in the way he had cared for me so fiercely, so protectively, made me think he might appear and demand that I go home and take better care of myself, but he was nowhere. For the first time in days, I felt alone on the street too, like no one was watching me. It was then that I realised my stumbling had led me to his apartment. I was standing, well wobbling, on the step right outside Baker Street. I stared at the door, its brass knocker mocking me. Goading me. Daring me to go forward. Yet, despite having the key in my pocket still, my fingers already running over the hard metal, I felt improper using it. He had asked me to leave, and I had respected his wishes. Even though I was about to do something very improper, at this late hour, there were lines I would not cross. Using his key was certainly not one of them. So I raised my fist and banged on his door loudly instead.
“Holmes!” I cried. ”Holmes! I know you're awake! Let me in! Sherlock Holmes! I demand you come downstairs right now and let me into your apartment. I demand to speak to you! We will discuss this as gentlemen! Don't pretend to be asleep. I know you're awake. I see the light on upstairs. Let me in, I tell you. Let me in!”
It took me quite by surprise that when the door finally opened, it was not Holmes, in fact, but his older brother that opened the door.
“Doctor Watson, are you quite finished with that racket? Do you intend to wake up the entirety of Baker Street?”
I straightened my shoulders. “I wish to speak to your brother.”
“Well, I believe we all know that's what you're wanting,” he said stiffly, gesturing to the buildings surrounding us. “Are you sure that's a wise idea with so much liquor under your belt?”
“I think I have just enough liquor behind me for the conversation I wish to have, yes.” I puffed my chest out proudly.
“I see. Well, my brother is indisposed right now, and unable to take your... visitation. You will have to come back at another time.”
“What do you mean indisposed?” I demanded, my mood shifting instantly. “Is he unwell? He can't be sleeping. He never sleeps at night time. He sleeps during the daytime, and it's well within his hours of being awake. Is he out? Where is he? I will go and find him.” My words came out in a flurry of concern.
“No, he is indisposed,” he replied calmly.
“You’re enjoying this. Let me see him. If he's unwell, I'm a doctor. I can look after him. He looked after me when I was unwell, and I feel that... if he's…” I swallowed, “If he’s still upset with me, I'm here to rectify the situation. It's completely unfair that he won't speak to me. I can’t fathom what happened at all. I did nothing wrong, and all of a sudden he has turfed me out, and I'm living in this ridiculous, uncomfortable, lonely apartment. I can be of real use to him here, and if he doesn't wish to speak to me… I still have things that I wish to say, and you can't just kick a man out of his apartment, and his livelihood, with no notice. It's disrespectful…” I huffed. “Let me in.” I pushed past Mycroft Holmes, walking upstairs before he could stop me. “I wish to see him, I wish to see him immediately.”
He chased after me. I could hear panic in his voice which only spurred me on. “Doctor Watson, when I say he's indisposed, I mean that he is indisposed, and he would not wish to have visitors at this hour when he is in the state that he is in. I mean it.”
“Where is he?” I called back over my shoulder, removing my gloves and coat as I walked into the apartment. “You can't possibly mean that he really is indisposed? He's actually unwell? Let me see him. I’m a doctor. Let me help…” I dumped my coat and started for his room.
“You can't help. There is nothing that you can do to help him. He would not want you to see him like this.”
I moved straight down the hall on a mission pushing open his door. The door he had made me promise never to open. “ Ridiculous. If he needs medical care, then it is my duty, as his friend, to help, and I…” I gasped at the sight of him. He was pale, shivering. I froze. I looked back at his brother. “W-what's wrong with him? He does need help. What have you been giving him?”
“Doctor Watson, you can't help him.”
“Well, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Of all the people in this room, I am the most able to help him. Tell me what's wrong with him at once.” My head instantly started to clear with the fear of what was wrong with him. “How long has he been like this?”
“Doctor Watson, it's perfectly under control. I am aware of the situation.”
“Does he use substances? Morphine or cocaine, perhaps?” I could feel the colour drain from my face as I observed him. The worry setting in, as I catalogued what could be wrong.
“It's not a substance, Doctor Watson. Please. You need to go. He would not want you to see him in this state. You of all people.”
I looked at him, confused by the statement. “Is this why he let me go? Is this why he didn't want me around? This is the condition, isn’t it? Why he was worried about me being cut by him? He has some… mad… contagious… condition? You need to tell me what it is immediately, and I will assist you. This is my entire livelihood, being a doctor, and I wish to help!”
“Doctor Watson he simply… ingested something that made him unwell. All you can do is sit with him. If you refuse to go, you can sit. And that is all.”
I frowned. He never ate. Was this why? It made him unwell like this? What had he eaten? Something told me I wasn’t going to be told. “Well, then I shall sit. I refuse to leave his side. He sat by mine, when he thought I was unwell, and I will do the same. If you're going to be obstinate and difficult, you can make me a cup of coffee so I can sober up. That would be useful, and any information you can provide me would be helpful.”
He sighed heavily. ”Very well, if you insist.”
“I'm not leaving. You can't make me.” I jutted out my chin.
“I very much doubt that,” he said stiffly.
“I am a soldier. And I'm very stubborn, so you could try. But I have precious few people in this world who care about me and this man seems to be one of them. So I’m staying. At least I thought he was one of them until… he turned me out on the street. I certainly care a great deal for his well being, and I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. Now get me that coffee.”
He looked at me for a long time. “If you... open that drawer beside his bed, he has some journals. He would not want me to tell you, but it might provide you with some information that would be of use.”
For two days, I sat by his bed and watched him suffer, tossing and turning with a fever. I placed wet cloths on his brow to try and ease it, and I read journal after journal that his brother delivered to me, more from elsewhere in the house, and tried to absorb the horrors that I read. I tried to understand what it was that I was reading. After our discussions over my fantasy novel, it felt ridiculous to be reading these as if it was possible that such things could be real. I felt that this had to be some sort of practical joke at my expense. Could it be possible that he was either afflicted with some sort of condition that made him believe he was a creature of some kind? Or was it true that vampires were real? I could almost have let a hysterical laugh bubble out of me at the very thought. But I thought back to the alleyway when I first found him. The lady, who was so very pale and dead on the ground, and the group hovering over her who had disappeared so quickly. Holmes had been among them. Could they have been feeding on her? Had I truly stumbled across vampires? Was that really what this was? Or was Holmes simply working on a fiction of his own? Of course they couldn't be real! And yet, the things I had read, the things he had journalled… Suddenly, so many things were starting to click into place. The historical papers I had been cleaning up, the fact that he never could go out during the day, the incident with the sunlight. The reason he was scared when he had cut me. He never ate. He was always cold. Could it be true? Was it possible that Sherlock Holmes was a vampire? However, he let me live with him. He had not tried to feed on me. I looked at him with a new fascination. He was still a complete enigma. Somehow the things I was reading had filled in so many of the gaps. If he was indeed a vampire, based on his own writings, I suspected that Holmes might have fed off someone with infected blood. It had happened before. This would explain why his brother was unperturbed despite his harrowing state. But I couldn't seem to let my scientific brain believe such fantastical things could be real.
Mycroft had given me a wide berth while I cared for Sherlock. I suppose he hadn't wanted to answer any questions until I had read everything that I could. He made sure that meals were brought. So I ate and drank, read, and sat with his brother. Sherlock's breathing had gradually become more normalised. His colour was returning. His fever had broken, but he was still sleeping and I felt relieved. I knew I couldn't stay. He would be angry to find that I was here when he woke, that I knew everything.
The more I read, the more I realised how much I loved him. Despite it all. But also how different our worlds were. If this was all really true, if he was truly this creature, there was only one thing for it. He would live forever, and I would die. I knew vampire law. I'd been reading books – fiction though they may have been. Before I met Sherlock Holmes, I had felt so worthless and pointless, and had thought of taking my own life. This was certainly a different option. Something I hadn't considered before. Maybe now I could.
“Doctor Watson, you seem very deep in thought.”
“Why did you let me read these journals?” I asked Mycroft.
“My brother has never had a friend before. And I…”
“Think he needs one?”
“I realise you have become important to him, and... it frightens him. You have sat by his side for longer than anyone, and cared for him. And I... think you deserved the opportunity to know the truth. I was curious to see what you might do. Someone with a scientific mind. With medical knowledge, to see what that information might mean to you.”
I nodded. “This may be unorthodox, but I... feel a great deal for your brother. He has been a good friend to me, taken me in when I needed someone to take me in, but beyond that. Yes, I... he’s very important to me.”
“That has become apparent. It seems my brother has taken to you as well. Despite what you may think after his recent behaviour.”
“I... He asked me to move out, and I... complied with his request, but I... was not happy about it.”
“That is also very clear.”
“I apologise for the way in which I... stormed the castle.” I blushed.
“You had every right to demand more answers from him. You have formed a bond, the two of you and he threw you out without an explanation. I think you scared him. But you deserved more information.”
“I think I got a lot more than that.”
“I apologise for bombarding you with so much.”
“No, I appreciate it. It has been… very illuminating.”
“You seem… surprisingly calm. What will you do with all that you have learned?”
“I won't tell another soul if that's what you're worried about,” I said, giving him a sincere look.
“I doubt anyone would believe you if you did.” He gave me a tight smile.
“No, I... I agree.” I nodded. “How long have you both… been…”
“Probably best you don’t know everything.” Mycroft gave me a stern look. That was sobering. I thought back to Sherlock’s joke about Mycroft being hundreds of years old. “What are you planning to do now, Doctor Watson?”
“I want to stay. I want to move back in and stay with him. I... care a great deal what happens to him. And I know he thinks he's protecting me by asking me to leave. He probably thinks that having someone close is dangerous. But I want to stay. And I know you don’t think much of me as his flatmate but I think we were really building something good here.”
“Doctor Watson, he'll… he'll never…” Mycroft Holmes shuffled uncomfortably. It made the hairs on my neck bristle with the anticipation of what awful new information he could possibly add to the pile. “He'll never be with you in that way because he won't want to bring you into this world with him. You saw what happened with that one little cut on your cheek. The risk… how upset he became that he might have caused you harm. That you might have become one…of us.” “I thought it was just the blood… You mean to say that little cut could have…?”
“I know it was only small. Unlikely, but there’s always a risk. A small cut can become more. There have been a few cases. He is always very careful. He would never want to do that to you. He would never forgive himself if he had cut you and made you one of us by pure accident. After all the times he…” He stopped himself from saying more and his eyes drifted to his brother, watching him as if saying more were some sort of betrayal.
I sat with that information for an uncomfortably long time, dwelling on what I knew of myself. And what little I knew of Sherlock Holmes so far. The things I had read. He had even journalled in there about the times we had spent together and I had gleaned a lot of information from those entries. “Well, then... If that is true, I know what I have to do. I appreciate you being so candid.” I stood, closing the journal in my lap and grabbed for my coat.
I could see that the elder Holmes had an inkling of what I might be thinking as well. “Doctor Watson, don't… Don’t do anything rash.”
“I’m sure you're happy. Now that he’s removed me from his life. But I'm not. I'm miserable without him. Completely miserable.”
“John.” He frowned.
“If I… don't survive this, you tell him... Tell him… Thank you… for loving me. In his way. I read everything he wrote. I saw what he wrote about me too. You tell him that he was loved too. And… Give him this.” I handed him a note that I had already written. It had taken me an hour deep in thought. A letter explaining my feelings.
His journal spoke of others. Like the others I had seen in the alleyway with him. So I knew there were more out there. I just had to find them. Someone else who would be willing to do what he would not. And then he would never have to worry again. We could be together.
“John.” Mycroft tilted his head in disbelief, urging me to stay.
“Mycroft.” I gave him a stiff nod of respect, and with that, I was gone from Baker Street and out to find my fate.
The link to AO3
A huge thank you to @helloliriels for the stunning cover art created for #FTH2026
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