Work Text:
When Holmes collapsed, my own heart nearly stopped. I sprang from my chair and ran to him, visions of Reichenbach flooding my mind. The endless water tumbling into the depths, my friend’s body lost forever to those churning waters.
Even as I flung myself to my knees on the rug and checked his pulse, my vision remained blurred. I could not afford such a lapse, not when Holmes was in need of me, but the memories could not be fully banished. It had not yet been a year since Holmes returned to me, and the thought of losing him…
“Then focus, John Watson,” I said sternly, forcing myself to focus. “Focus, and ensure that you do not lose him.”
Holmes was still not moving, but a weak pulse met my fingertips, and his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. There was no clear sign of injury, and his only recent indication of illness had been a certain lethargy and irritability upon our return from the train station.
That was familiar, and although I remained nervous, the most acute fear eased. I clasped Holmes’ hand and caught my breath.
When he stirred, I murmured softly to him. His eyes focused on me after a moment, dazed. “Dear me, dear me,” he mumbled. “I suppose I am fortunate that Mrs. Hudson installed this thick carpet.”
“You are indeed, my dear Holmes.” I squeezed his hand, reassured by his response. “You are also fortunate that she is a good cook, for I intend to compel you to eat dinner. There shall be no more skipping meals today.”
Holmes agreed, and remained obediently still while I examined him. Aside from inanition, he was in passable health. I would not lose Holmes again, and after a good meal, he would be perfectly all right.