The Revenge of the Mummy
by John Pirillo
The urgency of the moment drove Watson into action. "I can do this!" He swore, then cursed himself for even thinking that thought and then steeling himself, he ran as fast as he could and leaped.
"Bollocks!" Watson screamed as the air frigid air rushed into his face from his leap, while at the same time he thought he had just gone to bloody hell by his dratted actions.
He landed on the opposite roof, where he had seen the eyes and skidded on the icy surface, sliding dangerously towards the hiding spot where he had spotted the hideous eyes. He hit a venting pipe and collapsed to the surface, sliding the rest of the way on his stomach, still screaming at the top of his lungs.
He struck a chimney and his scream stopped, as did everything else. He descended swiftly into a merciful loss of consciousness as the pain of his impact blasted into his mind. The last thing he remembered as he descended into a painful black maelstrom was something peering at him from almost the same level as his face was turned. Something that should not have been able to do what it did. Something impossibly large and slimy. Impossibly withered looking, as if its skin were rows of paper that had been to a crisp and stuck together, then he was gone.
"Sherlock!" A voice called urgently in the darkness. "Sherlock!" The voice called out urgently again.
Blackness and flitterings of light and sparks of awareness dancing about each other.
His father sat him upon his broad lap and rode him up and down like a cowboy might a horse. He felt so free and happy, like he hadn't for many years now as his wonderful father sprang him up and down, higher and higher, and yet higher still until he spun in the air.
His father, brushing his moustache with his right pinkie as he was wont to do, reached up and caught him and spun him around in a circle of laughter and dizziness, his screams echoing from one end of the room to the next.
"John." His father spoke to him as he finally stopped and put him down on his feet.
Watson spun in a circle a few times, striving to regain his balance as his father waited patiently for him to do so, then caught him before he could tumble to the floor and lifted him into his arms and hugged him. "I love you."
Watson threw his arms around his father's big neck and held tight. "I love you, father!"
"What's he saying?" Inspector Bloodstone muttered angrily. "What's all that gibberish?"
"It's not gibberish." Watson told his father, who gave him a surprised look.
"Of course it isn't. Love is never gibberish, it's the treasure of a man's soul. The true value and measure of one's life."
"What!" Sherlock cried out. "Doctor, quickly. I'm afraid we're losing him!" Sherlock shouted, his voice filled with fear and grief.
Watson smiled into the face of his father, who raised his left hand, which held a very large hypodermic. "This is going to hurt son."
"What are you doing?
"It' s not time for us to be together again. Remember. I love you, Little Stinker!"
Watson giggled. "I'm not a Little Stinker."
His father didn't laugh. He just plunged the hypodermic into Watson's chest.
Professor Langdon and Sherlock flew back from the hospital bed as Watson, with all his strength, rose up swiftly and swatted them aside. He raised his fists to strike at Inspector Bloodstone who was trying to push him down again.
"You touch me and I swear!" Watson started to say, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back on his bed, unconscious.
Sherlock looked over at Inspector Bloodstone, who was wiping at his nose. Evidently, Watson had connected with him after all.
"It's nothing!" The Inspector insisted, but Sherlock could see his nose was plainly broken.
Professor Langston looked across at them from the other side of the hospital bed, where Doctor Manfred and Nurse Redstone stood mute in terror from what had just transpired.
The Doctor looked across at the Professor. "What in heavens name did you just put into that poor man?"
"The essence of Hyde!" The Professor announced, somewhat weakly.
Unseen by the Doctor, the Professor's right leg flickered in and out of visibility for a moment. He quickly moved to the other side of the bed, where that could not be seen and eyed Sherlock. "We'll know in twenty-four hours if he will regenerate or not."
Sherlock looked like hell. His lips were terse in his mouth and his eyes bloodshot. The Inspector was not much better. None of them had slept the entire night.
Sherlock thought back to what had happened.
"Watson!" He hollered upwards as Watson shot across the rootops. "Have you gone mad?"
He spun on his heels and ran for the front of the building and pounded on its door. A few moments later an older man, holding a candle, opened the door.
Sherlock shoved his way past and ran up the four flights of stairs of the apartment building, not even daring to breathe, for fear that might mean the death of Watson or not. He reached the top landing and spotted the exit to the roof and flung that door open and mounted its twenty steps as swiftly as he dared.
He slammed into the roof top door and it smashed outwards.
And that is probably what saved Watson from the same horrible death as the others, for as he dashed onto the rooftop he saw something horrible leap to the next building, carrying the stolen broadcast antenna over its...shoulders, if you could call them that.
Sherlock had only a moment to watch that, then he spotted Watson lying on the rooftop. The sight brought back horrible memories of when his own Watson had perished. His dear, dear friend of so many years and so many adventures. But he didn't allow that to stop him for a moment. He ran to Watson's fallen body and put a finger to his neck.
"You're one tough and lucky sod." Sherlock muttered, then carefully feeling Watson's head and neck, he carefully lifted him up in his arms, the weight not bothering him at that moment as his adrenaline was giving him a giant's strength and his fear even more.
He hurried to the rooftop exit and began descending as the older man came up the stairs. "Hey!" He cried out, then swiftly went back down and out of the way as Sherlock came down with Watson.
A moment later as he descended, Inspector Bloodstone and three Constables rushed into view.
"Hurry! We must get him to the hospital at once!"
They had relieved Sherlock of his friend's weight and rushed him to the Constable's wagon where they laid him down gently in the back. Sherlock and the Inspector rode the side bumper all the way to the hospital, neither one of them giving in to the freezing snow and hail that was now falling from the skies, as if hell were doing its damnedest to harm them all!
The hospital loomed in the distance. Sherlock looked inside and Watson hadn't moved once. He feared for his friend's life even more.
As soon as they reached the hospital, medics rushed out and helped them get him to the surgery, where Doctor Manfred immediately took over.
"Inspector, you need to do a favor for me. It might make the difference between my friend, your friend, surviving this night."
"Anything!" The Inspector agreed, his face as filled with hopelessness as Sherlock felt at that moment, but refused to be a prisoner of.
And so he had told him and now they stood over Watson and waited. And then he came back and was lost again.
Professor Langston put a gentle hand on Sherlock's arm. "He's one of the codgiest, strongest bastards I've ever met. If he doesn't survive, it won't be because of anything we did, but because he has a greater calling."
"I refuse to believe that!" Professor Challenger almost shouted as he rushed into the room, followed by Conan and Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh John!" She cried out immediately and went to his bedside and threw herself across him, weeping terribly.
Challenger and Conan both take out handkerchiefs and blow their noses. They were both doing their best to not cry, but finding it impossible.
"And now we wait." Professor Langston said, and settled himself down on a stool next to the bed. "Wait and pray!"