Chapter Three

The Christmas morning sun's rays lazily made its way to the bed where Holmes was slumped over the still form of Watson. Holmes awoke and wearily rubbed his eyes. After the shock and his initial breakdown at seeing Watson so very badly hurt, a nurse had tried to get Holmes to leave but he had spent the next hour arguing with hospital doctors over where Watson would recover. He knew that Watson would not want to spend Christmas in a hospital and after a lot of persuasion, it was arranged for Watson to return home to Baker Street under the care of Holmes with the provision that a doctor attend to him the following day. Holmes stared down at Watson who lay in his bed unmoving. Holmes had given over his bedroom to Watson, knowing that if Watson recovered when he recovered Holmes corrected himself; Watson's mobility would be severely restricted during his convalesce.

"Watson?" whispered Holmes softly in the hope that there would be a response.

There was no response at all from Watson. Holmes shoulders slumped in defeat. Just as he was about to get up there was a gentle tap at the door and it opened to reveal Mrs Hudson who announced

"Mr Holmes, I'm sorry to interrupt but Doctor Anstruther is here to see to the poor Doctor".

Holmes got up and vacated his bedroom and entered the sitting room to see Watson's colleague standing there. Holmes need only to take in a casual deductive glance to see that the Doctor disapproved of the removal of Watson from the hospital and before Anstruther could protest Holmes raised his hand warningly.

"Dr Anstruther I know you disapprove of my bringing Dr Watson back to Baker Street, he may be your colleague at the practice but he is also my colleague and partner as well. Not only that but he is also my fellow lodger and I know his habits. He would not want to spend Christmas Day on a hospital ward" said Holmes assertively.

Dr Anstruther glared at Holmes before entering the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Holmes paced the sitting room and anxiously awaited the outcome of the ministrations of Dr Anstruther. He did not have to wait too long. The door to his bedroom opened within ten minutes of them being closed and Holmes stopped his pacing and faced Watson's colleague his eyes boring into him as Dr Anstruther began to report on his prognosis.

"He is still not responsive Mr Holmes. His other injuries have been tended to of course, and I have left some morphine and bandages to last over next few days. I shall forward you the bill and will be round tomorrow to check on the Doctor."

And with those final words Dr Anstruther saw himself out, leaving Holmes alone in the sitting room. Holmes stared at the floor. Watson was still in a coma. This is my entire fault. I should never have let him go out at all yesterday. Holmes walked to the sitting room window and saw Baker Street on Christmas morning. Carol singers were gathered on the corner of the street, their carols full of joy that Holmes did not feel. The snow was still falling. Unable to observe the Christmas joyfulness any further Holmes turned and saw the breakfast Mrs Hudson had prepared. The long suffering landlady had decided that Christmas celebrations should continue despite what had happened. Watson would have wanted that he thought bitterly. Walking back towards his bedroom his hand brushed upon the parcel left on the chemical table the previous evening, although the brown paper and string were somewhat torn, sodden and in a pitiful state, the label half peeling off was addressed to him. He recognised the writing as being that of his dear friend. Carefully Holmes sat down with the parcel and slowly unwrapped the remaining paper, cutting open the box with the jacknife from the mantelpiece. Inside and well wrapped up was another well wrapped up parcel but in a shape he instantly recognised. Holmes proceeded to unwrap the item to reveal a violin case, his initials inscribed in gold lettering on the case. He rubbed his fingers against his initials and then opened the case to find inside there laid a bow and a Stradivarius, a card sitting on top which Holmes opened. It read simply as follows.

My Dear Holmes, please accept this gift from me, I could not bear to see the strings of your heart broken over your destroyed Stradivarius any longer. Just promise me you won't screech on it as you usually do in the early hours of the morning over Christmas.

Watson

Holmes laughed as he lifted the violin from his case and gently plucked at the strings. He would truly be lost without his Boswell. He took the violin with him into the bedroom and saw the still form of Watson. Carefully placing the violin under his chin and with a careful sweeping of the strings with his bow, Holmes began playing a melody of Christmas carols and immersed himself into the music, his whole body flowing with the flow of music. And as he played he switched from Christmas carols to music from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to Pablo de Sarasate's Gipsy Airs.

Pluck pluck. Watson's eyebrows furrowed in confusion on the sound of the plucking reaching his ears. What on earth? Thought Watson as he struggled against the wall of blackness. He had not expected to wake up to this sound. He strained to hear further and fought back the sheer exhaustion preventing him from opening his eyes. But his efforts paid off and Watson wearily opened his eyes to see Holmes playing his new violin totally absorbed. The music was deliciously wonderful thought Watson and he knew Holmes was an excellent violinist but his head was aching and he needed a glass of water. He tried to call out but his throat ached and was so infernally weak. Watson tried to raise a hand and that felt like a weight of bricks was pressing him down. He tried once more to call to his friend.

"Holmes" rasped Watson weakly.

The sound of a thud followed and within moments his weak hand was supported by shaking strong ones.

"Watson! Oh my dear fellow it is so good to see you awake at last" cried Holmes shakily.

Watson opened his tired eyes once more and found Holmes close to him, he looked terrible. He tried to get up but was gently pushed back by Holmes.

"Easy Watson, you have been badly hurt when you were attacked by those two thieves. You are not going anyway for the next few days" warned Holmes.

He began to pour out a glass of water for Watson and placed his arm behind Watson's back and raised him slightly to allow Watson to drink, which Watson did so greedily and then slumped back exhausted. The attack came rushing back to Watson who shivered involuntarily at the unpleasant memories and then stared at Holmes wanting to know more. Holmes acknowledged the unspoken question and said quietly

"No Watson they have not been caught yet, but they will be and when they are caught they will be sorry they ever laid a finger on you" said Holmes with a voice of steel that betrayed his seething anger at Watson's attackers.

Shakily Watson placed his hand on Holmes's arm, it took all his strength to do it but he had to.

"Holmes, please don't go and do anything foolish on my account. Not without me anyway. It is Christmas and it was your music that brought me back from the darkness. Your music reached me, calling me home. I don't to spend it on my own without you and without your music. I will never quibble about your late night screeching again..!" Watson stopped to catch his breath as one of his cracked ribs grated against his lung, and he held his side tightly waiting for the pain to subside.

Holmes stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Watson to fear he had somehow offended him. But Holmes swiftly returned carrying a large tray which he set on a dresser and carried over a plate to Watson.

"Watson I will never leave you alone, you have my word. Have some of Mrs. Hudson's excellent scrambled eggs! Merry Christmas Watson!" cried Holmes jovially as he poured himself a cup of tea.

As Christmas Day morning became afternoon the only sound that could be heard from 221B Baker Street was that of laughter and joy and the sound of Holmes playing his violin, the music of love and friendship forever playing forever echoing in the mists of time.

I hope you enjoyed my seasonal offering of Holmes and Watson. Is'nt Mrs Hudson just simply wonferful getting on with things without any fuss! Defintely the best landlady in all of London! Merry Christmas to you all!