The Hudson Diaries Read Online Free PDF

Watson said gently, “It is nearly over now; only a little more is left, and then you may rest, Martha.”
    I remember little of the days in that interval between the initial poisoning and my eventual recovery. I was chiefly attended to by Dr. Watson, while Mr. Holmes was consistently absent from Baker Street, though I have since conjectured that he was engaged in discovering the whereabouts of the culprit. I have also been told that I acquired a fever after the poisoning, this being the only explanation for my behavior to be hitherto related.
    With his permission, I have included Dr. Watson’s notes of the experience here:
    While I attended to Martha, Holmes conducted a series of experiments. He was constantly in his laboratory; one day, I caught him mixing feverishly when suddenly he drank the mixture in one gulp.
    “Holmes!” I shouted out and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?!”
    He had turned extremely pale, but said to me, “Checking the strength of the poison.”
    “What can you mean, Holmes?” I replied angrily.
    “With this experiment I will have discovered which poison was in that bottle.”
    “You’ll kill yourself!”
    “No I won’t, Watson,” he smiled weakly, “The amounts are not nearly enough to kill me. I have some immunity from my previous studies as a chemist.”
    “And what do you plan to do with this experiment?” Frustrated, I prepared to hear him out, for he had often included me in sounding out his theories without sharing his conclusions.
    “Help Martha.”
    Struck by this straightforward answer, I said, “If you die, your aid will have been in vain.”
    “I don’t believe I will.” He then proceeded to tell me that for the last several days he had been taking drinks laced with minimal amounts of thallium, mercury, lead and other lethal substances when taken in larger doses. Cyanide and arsenic were out of the question—if it had been either of these, Martha would have been dead within hours or even minutes of ingesting them.
    While Holmes attempted to remain unaffected by this experiment, I could see that it had taken its toll. With the promise of no more experimentation from him, I went to see to Martha once more.
    * * *
    For myself, I heard several voices at one time or another, though indistinct, and it felt to me as though they were at some great distance. Though I called for them, they would not come nearer. The terrors generally reserved for night haunted me in my waking hours, and even in those few hours of peace there was little rest.
    In one of my rare lucid moments during this period, I realized Dr. Watson was near my bedside. I took his hand urgently in mine.
    “Death is coming for me, sir.”
    “Come now, my dear girl—do not give up yet. You shall be well again soon,” he answered earnestly, his brow furrowing.
    I shook my head. “If I should die,” I said weakly, “please take care of Mr. Holmes. He needs you.”
    He nodded, and having conveyed these thoughts, I was again tormented by the horrors which accompanied this illness.
    Though Dr. Watson treated me most carefully and I am sure there were many a sleepless night between himself and Mr. Holmes, my recovery was a slow one. From his notes, Dr. Watson recalls:
    As I came down the stairs to sit by the fire in the sitting room, Holmes was already there, pondering. I realized that this was to be another late-night vigil between him and I to discover the culprit. For two weeks we had had many of these similar nights until the coals burned low, but they all ended in erroneous conclusions or no conclusions at all.
    “How is she?” he asked quietly.
    I sighed. “Worse.” I could never hide the truth from Holmes, for even if I had attempted to do so, he would quickly have learned the truth all the same.
    He put his long fingers together, head bowed. The expression on his face reminded me of the Greek god Atlas bearing the weight of the world.
    “Fingerprints?” I inquired, trying to put his great mind