Under the Weather

by Angela Tircuit, a.k.a. Uniformly Swarthy

The world has always viewed Sherlock Holmes as an extrodinary human being. Some people almost seem to view him as God-like. Now that I've known him for so long, I've discovered him to be far from God-like. Exceptional, yes. I don't deny it. Uncle John's accounts of his mental abilities have not been exaggerated. But, I've known him to be as human as any other person.

I discovered this fully about three weeks after our first meeting. By that time, I thought nothing of running over to his cottage, with just a quick ring on the telephone as a warning. This time, he wasn't there to greet me, but I thought nothing of it. If he had an experiment, he wouldn't want to leave it for very long. I heard sounds from the kitchen, so I went to chat with Mrs. Hudson before seeking him out.

I'd often wondered what it was like to spend so much time with Holmes, and that day, it appeared to be a difficult prospect. Mrs. Hudson certainly looked harried, for I saw her banging cupboards open and muttering to herself.

"Stubborn man. As smart as they come, and doesn't have the sense..." she broke off when she saw me. "Hello, Mary. Would you like some tea?"

"He doesn't have the sense to what?" I asked, putting the kettle to boil. My cooking was disgraceful, but I could boil water, and she looked as if she could use the help.

"He has the worst cold I've ever seen, and instead of taking himself to bed, he wants to putter around that old laboratory of his, messing with chemicals. And cross as a bear he's being. He won't let me see if he has fever, or even eat the soup I made. I swear he's going to kill himself. Or I will."

I laughed at the wrath in her eyes. If anyone could keep Holmes from being too proud, it was this woman.

The sound of a wracking cough from the direction of the laboratory illustrated the truth of Mrs. Hudson's statement. Seeing how tired she looked, I told her to sit down, saying I'd see to Holmes.

She accepted my offer, and told me to take him a cup of tea. "He won't eat any soup, and he needs something hot."

"He'll eat soup when I'm done, but I'll begin with the tea." I made my way to the laboratory, an impish feeling of delight forming within me. After all it isn't every day one is faced with the prospect of ordering the great Sherlock Holmes around.

"Holmes! It's Russell," I called.

The door opened, and a sorry sight appeared before me. His eyes were red, from rubbing, and so was his nose. He couldn't greet me at first, because he had a coughing fit. I took advantage of it.

"Mrs. Hudson says you have a cold, and I can see she's right. You need fluids and bed rest. I brought some tea. Drink it while it's still hot." I held the cup out to him.

"Hang the tea. I have an experiment to finish," he answered as soon as he was able.

"Hang the experiment," I answered back. I set the cup down, and went to feel his head.

He fidgetted, trying to stay out of my reach. "Stop fussing!"

"Don't be such a baby." He gave me a startled look. I'm sure no one had ever spoken to him like that, but I didn't care. It was a good thing Scotland Yard couldn't see him like this, because he reminded me of a spoiled child. I put my hand on his forehead.

"You have a fever, and anyone who has as much intelligence as you would be in bed right now. Or is it that you lack common sense?"

He squirmed away. "Would you stop touching me!" he cried.

It seemed like an odd request, and I took my hand away, thinking his was even sicker than I'd first suspected.

"I apologise, Russell. It is a queer side affect, but human contact aggravates me at these times."

I nodded in understanding. With me it had always been sound. Whenever I had a bad cold, every whisper sounded like someone shouting right in my ear.

"Holmes, obviously, you're sick. Go to bed."

"If the mind cannot overcome the body's weakness... Achoo!" his pompous speach ended as he grabbed his handkerchief. I giggled.

"Holmes, trust me, your body has won the battle this time."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Very well. I suppose even I can't argue with two determined women. You'd better dispose of the tea. It's too cold to do any good now."

"Mrs. Hudson will make you some more." I followed him out the door.

"Your minion has succeeded," he told a startled Mrs. Hudson. "I'll be in my room."

"Mary, you're a wonder. Why, for him, I'd say this was meek. I'll fix him some more soup right this minute."

I decided my presence would just distract him from his much needed rest. "Don't touch him too much. It irritates him." I said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, and made my way back home.

Two days later I returned, to see how the patient was doing. Once again, I saw Mrs. Hudson in a disheveled state.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Wrong! He's wonderful, and all, but troublesome enough when he's well. He's impossible, sick. Listen."

"Mrs. Hudson! This blasted sore throat is interfering with my thought processes. If you'd be good enough to bring some hot tea." It may be sacreligious to suggest his tone was whiny, but I couldn't think of any other term for it.

Mrs. Hudson shook her fist in the direction of his room and hurried away. I watched her go, and walked out of the cottage. My education with Holmes hadn't touched on sick teachers. It wasn't a lesson I was ready to learn.