The Shower - A Sherlock Holmes One-Shot
[Author's note...]This one came to me without very much prompting at all. I had been chatting with my friend and Beta rather idly, and she for some reason gave me a quote from a book that she had read (she enjoys her research) about Victorian showers; the gist of of it being that they were often somewhat difficult to operate. Having already noticed in the Granada series that Holmes and Watson have a bath/shower combo and that, although it was a very modern (and most likely expensive) convenience, there is no mention whatsoever of their using it, this got me thinking, I am afraid, and here is the result.
"What do you make of it Watson?" my companion, Sherlock Holmes, asked of me as I gazed with wonder, and just a little apprehension, at the bath that he had just had fitted in the spare room that was adjacent to my bedroom.
I did not know quite what to make of it and said as much. It was a curious thing to observe. The bath was of conventional length, but opened out into a circular grotto at the far end, which was surrounded by glass and brass pipes above. Upon the wall were a vast array of valves.
"Well... what is it Holmes?"
He gave me a long-suffering glance from the corner of his eye and shook his head. "It is a bath Watson."
"Yes Holmes, I know that it is a bath. But what is the glass grotto?"
Now he smiled and rubbed his hands together. "That," he replied smugly, "is the latest thing. It is a shower. It provides a means of washing thoroughly at great speed. Would you care to try it?"
I was not at all sure. The controls looked rather complicated and the outlets, from what I could see, were positioned in such a manner that they would spray a fellow from all angles. I had visions of being scalded in the tendrest of regions as I attempted to configure the wretched contraption.
All the same, I did not wish to say as much, as such a very modern item would have been rather expensive. "Later perhaps," was all that I said.
I thought no more about our newly fitted bathroom. Holmes and I, unless cases dictate otherwise, always bathe on a Saturday night and so neither of us were due to try the new shower for a couple of days.
I recall that the following day was a dreadful one. I do not believe that it ceased to rain from the time that I awoke from the time that I retired to bed. My shoulder and leg were both paining me to the point where it was difficult for me to negotiate the stairs to our sitting room.
I found Holmes already up and dressed. He was quietly eating a piece of toast and finishing a cup of tea. He gazed at me searchingly as I took to my chair at the fireside.
"Good morning Holmes."
He snorted. "There is very little that is good about it," he grumbled. "The weather is foul! Why did it have to decide to treat us to a monsoon today of all days?"
I sniffed and rubbed at my aching shoulder. "You have to go out?"
"Yes. I have a case."
I nodded. For once, neither one of us were overly enthusiastic. "I should be happy to accompany you."
"I doubt that," Holmes remarked. "Thank you for the kind offer Watson, but your wounds are paining you quite enough already. In any case, I am not likely to make much progress today; I shall probably only be making enquiries."
"Try to avoid becoming too cold and wet," I requested of him with concern. "It would do your client no good if you were to fall ill old fellow," I added quickly when he scoffed.
He smiled at my words. "I shall take as much care as the case shall allow," he promised me. "Please do not concern yourself on my part Watson. Keep warm and tend to your old wounds; I may have need of you tomorrow."
I almost enquired whether he meant as a colleague or a physician, but I decided it was best not to press the matter. Holmes had already assured me that he would at least attempt to be careful and I would only anger him should I nag.
My day was dull and frustrating. I was in too much pain to concentrate on very much of anything and my mind kept turning to my friend. I only hoped that, wherever he was and whatever he was doing, he was safe, warm and dry.
I heard a cab pull up outside and recognised my companion's cough before the front door had even opened. I heard Mrs. Hudson scolding him as he entered the hall. I was on the landing before he reached it.
My friend was soaked to the skin and dripping from head to foot. He held up a hand to stop me when I instinctively reached out to rest a hand upon his shoulder.
"Don't touch me," he requested quickly. "I am rather too cold and wet. Would you excuse me?"
I naturally asked what I could do to help the poor fellow, but he would have none of that.
"A hot bath is all that I need," he assured me. "I can see to that."
Reminding myself that we now had a bath plumbed in upstairs I nodded and left him to his own devices. I returned my attentions to the novel that I had been endeavouring to read for much of the day.
I leapt from my chair at the sound of a cry from the bathroom. "Holmes? Are you all right?" I called anxiously as I ran to my friend's aid, knowing the question to be a foolish one even as the words left my lips. Sherlock Holmes does not cry out for no reason; he rarely does so when he has good reason.
There was a crash before I had reached the door, which I was relieved to find unlocked. My companion and I are not in the habit of intruding upon one another's privacy and so we neither of us usually think to lock the bathroom door.
I found Holmes lying very still in the bottom of the bath, the shower running and the water hitting his lower legs and feet, with a dazed expression on his face. He was shivering with alarming violence.
"Holmes!" I knelt beside the bath and wondered how I should move him should he remain unresponsive. "Are you hurt?"
My friend groaned softly and gazed up at me. "Watson."
I forced a smile to my lips. "Yes Holmes, it is I. What happened? Can you move?"
"Must have slipped," he muttered as he attempted to stand.
I could see that the bath was indeed slippery and offered my assistance, for I hardly wished for him to take another fall.
"Are you hurt?" I repeated, seeing him flinch.
He shook his head and silenced a sneeze. "Cold! Too cold! The water..."
He was rather lucky that the water had been too cold as opposed to too hot, but I kept that thought to myself. I hastily helped him to leave the bath, noting a number of bruises on his arms, legs and body as I did so, wrapped a towel about him and made him sit upon the wicker chair that stood inside the door.
"I shall run you a hot bath," I assured him.
He gave another sneeze and pulled the towel closer with another cold shiver.
"Bless you," I removed my shoes and climbed into the bath. A gasp escaped me as the jets of water struck me and almost lost my footing myself, for the water was indeed icy. I hastily switched the shower off, scrambled from the tub and then ran my friend his bath.
"Thank you Watson, but you need not trouble yourself," my friend protested. "I am sure that I can manage."
I assured him that it was no trouble. I wanted to be sure that my friend would meet with no further mishap.
"Thank you."
I assisted my companion in climbing into the bath and then left him to enjoy it in peace. He has never again attempted to use the shower. Neither, for that matter, have I.
"What do you make of it Watson?" my companion, Sherlock Holmes, asked of me as I gazed with wonder, and just a little apprehension, at the bath that he had just had fitted in the spare room that was adjacent to my bedroom.
I did not know quite what to make of it and said as much. It was a curious thing to observe. The bath was of conventional length, but opened out into a circular grotto at the far end, which was surrounded by glass and brass pipes above. Upon the wall were a vast array of valves.
"Well... what is it Holmes?"
He gave me a long-suffering glance from the corner of his eye and shook his head. "It is a bath Watson."
"Yes Holmes, I know that it is a bath. But what is the glass grotto?"
Now he smiled and rubbed his hands together. "That," he replied smugly, "is the latest thing. It is a shower. It provides a means of washing thoroughly at great speed. Would you care to try it?"
I was not at all sure. The controls looked rather complicated and the outlets, from what I could see, were positioned in such a manner that they would spray a fellow from all angles. I had visions of being scalded in the tendrest of regions as I attempted to configure the wretched contraption.
All the same, I did not wish to say as much, as such a very modern item would have been rather expensive. "Later perhaps," was all that I said.
I thought no more about our newly fitted bathroom. Holmes and I, unless cases dictate otherwise, always bathe on a Saturday night and so neither of us were due to try the new shower for a couple of days.
I recall that the following day was a dreadful one. I do not believe that it ceased to rain from the time that I awoke from the time that I retired to bed. My shoulder and leg were both paining me to the point where it was difficult for me to negotiate the stairs to our sitting room.
I found Holmes already up and dressed. He was quietly eating a piece of toast and finishing a cup of tea. He gazed at me searchingly as I took to my chair at the fireside.
"Good morning Holmes."
He snorted. "There is very little that is good about it," he grumbled. "The weather is foul! Why did it have to decide to treat us to a monsoon today of all days?"
I sniffed and rubbed at my aching shoulder. "You have to go out?"
"Yes. I have a case."
I nodded. For once, neither one of us were overly enthusiastic. "I should be happy to accompany you."
"I doubt that," Holmes remarked. "Thank you for the kind offer Watson, but your wounds are paining you quite enough already. In any case, I am not likely to make much progress today; I shall probably only be making enquiries."
"Try to avoid becoming too cold and wet," I requested of him with concern. "It would do your client no good if you were to fall ill old fellow," I added quickly when he scoffed.
He smiled at my words. "I shall take as much care as the case shall allow," he promised me. "Please do not concern yourself on my part Watson. Keep warm and tend to your old wounds; I may have need of you tomorrow."
I almost enquired whether he meant as a colleague or a physician, but I decided it was best not to press the matter. Holmes had already assured me that he would at least attempt to be careful and I would only anger him should I nag.
My day was dull and frustrating. I was in too much pain to concentrate on very much of anything and my mind kept turning to my friend. I only hoped that, wherever he was and whatever he was doing, he was safe, warm and dry.
I heard a cab pull up outside and recognised my companion's cough before the front door had even opened. I heard Mrs. Hudson scolding him as he entered the hall. I was on the landing before he reached it.
My friend was soaked to the skin and dripping from head to foot. He held up a hand to stop me when I instinctively reached out to rest a hand upon his shoulder.
"Don't touch me," he requested quickly. "I am rather too cold and wet. Would you excuse me?"
I naturally asked what I could do to help the poor fellow, but he would have none of that.
"A hot bath is all that I need," he assured me. "I can see to that."
Reminding myself that we now had a bath plumbed in upstairs I nodded and left him to his own devices. I returned my attentions to the novel that I had been endeavouring to read for much of the day.
I leapt from my chair at the sound of a cry from the bathroom. "Holmes? Are you all right?" I called anxiously as I ran to my friend's aid, knowing the question to be a foolish one even as the words left my lips. Sherlock Holmes does not cry out for no reason; he rarely does so when he has good reason.
There was a crash before I had reached the door, which I was relieved to find unlocked. My companion and I are not in the habit of intruding upon one another's privacy and so we neither of us usually think to lock the bathroom door.
I found Holmes lying very still in the bottom of the bath, the shower running and the water hitting his lower legs and feet, with a dazed expression on his face. He was shivering with alarming violence.
"Holmes!" I knelt beside the bath and wondered how I should move him should he remain unresponsive. "Are you hurt?"
My friend groaned softly and gazed up at me. "Watson."
I forced a smile to my lips. "Yes Holmes, it is I. What happened? Can you move?"
"Must have slipped," he muttered as he attempted to stand.
I could see that the bath was indeed slippery and offered my assistance, for I hardly wished for him to take another fall.
"Are you hurt?" I repeated, seeing him flinch.
He shook his head and silenced a sneeze. "Cold! Too cold! The water..."
He was rather lucky that the water had been too cold as opposed to too hot, but I kept that thought to myself. I hastily helped him to leave the bath, noting a number of bruises on his arms, legs and body as I did so, wrapped a towel about him and made him sit upon the wicker chair that stood inside the door.
"I shall run you a hot bath," I assured him.
He gave another sneeze and pulled the towel closer with another cold shiver.
"Bless you," I removed my shoes and climbed into the bath. A gasp escaped me as the jets of water struck me and almost lost my footing myself, for the water was indeed icy. I hastily switched the shower off, scrambled from the tub and then ran my friend his bath.
"Thank you Watson, but you need not trouble yourself," my friend protested. "I am sure that I can manage."
I assured him that it was no trouble. I wanted to be sure that my friend would meet with no further mishap.
"Thank you."
I assisted my companion in climbing into the bath and then left him to enjoy it in peace. He has never again attempted to use the shower. Neither, for that matter, have I.