Some sort of vile disease has struck me….
Posted by Arachne Jericho on Saturday, December 29th, 2007
Part of Anachronistic Holmes
previously: I lie abed, or rather, acouch…
Some sort of vile disease has struck me. I do miss Watson. I do not trust any of these modern doctors nor those in my own time. Quacks, all.
If I die now, how will that impact the stories that supposedly happened after my return in 1894? My head throbs, and not just from illness.
Someone is knocking on the blasted door. They can knock all they like. I am ill and this time I am not practicing my malingering, Watson.
Watson, where are you? It’s Lestrade at the door, I distinctly remember his footfalls and knocking patterns, don’t let him in. Mrs. Hudson?!
Apparently modern quacks do not make house calls. Preston dragged me here, is now watching me. No papers, no identity, that sort of thing.
Preston asks for my name but I do not give it to him for fear of being placed in an asylum. He tells me they may request this anyways. Liar.
Now they are asking me if I’m a terrorist. If so I am a very tired terrorist indeed. Preston looks embarrassed. Not a promising new year.
Spending New Year’s in the ICU of University College Hospital, guarded by policemen. They searched my office; I’m now in custody. And ill.
I am coherent enough now to think of ways of getting out. I do not fancy spending time in gaol, even a modern one. That would be too ironic.
Preston comes in and dismisses my guards, bored of guarding a weak, sickly man. My blood tests indicate I need multiple vaccinations. Joy.
They wheel me away for more tests. I utterly despise modern medicine. Perhaps it is not my Boswell I am lost without, but my dear doctor….
I shall never look at a needle in the same way again. Preston has left a stack of new paperbacks of Watson’s tales of me. How kind of him.
Part of Anachronistic Holmes previously: I lie abed, or rather, acouch…
