it is a rather long wound. I’ll have to clean it and then stitch you up. Better safe than sorry.’ With one foot I pulled up my stool and sat down. ‘Careful now,’ I warned when I had adjusted the height of the table, ‘this will hurt.’
He nodded his assent and I rinsed the wound carefully before cleaning it. Wherever he had got stuck, it had better been worth it, for the souvenir would remain with him for the rest of his life. Even cleaned up the injury looked ugly, and it would require more than the eight stitches I had thought it would take. With the exception of one single hiss at the very beginning of the treatment, not a sound came from him and I looked up to see if he had lost consciousness – happens more often than you’d believe, and it’s usually not the members of the so-called weaker sex who faint – but his eyes were fixed on me.
‘No anaesthetic,’ he said when I reached for the syringe.
‘You sure? That’ll be some eleven or twelve stitches. You certain you want to do this to yourself?’
‘It’ll be fine. I’ll live.’
I looked at him with raised eyebrows, but when he nodded again and closed his eyes, I shrugged and got to work. He lay perfectly still, fingers interlaced above his diaphragm, inhaling through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. Impressive.
‘Done,’ I finally said, satisfied with my work. He would keep a scar, obviously, but if it ended up an ugly scar, my stitches couldn’t be blamed.
He sat up and inspected his thigh.
‘Well done,’ he approved. ‘Looks better than anything I could have done with the stapler.’
‘Thank you. All these years of training weren’t for nothing then.’
He gave me a weak smile and moved as if to swing his legs over the edge of the table.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘This needs to be bandaged. You’re not leaving like this.’
He huffed but stayed where he was while I removed gloves, mask, and hat and binned them, along with the coat.
‘Do I need to tell you about aftercare?’ I asked after I had bandaged his leg.
He shook his head.
‘Want me to prescribe you some painkillers?’
Another resolute shake of the head, but when he got off the operating table to reach for his trousers, he had to lean against the sideboard for balance.
I rushed to steady him. The last thing I needed was an unnamed burglar fainting in my operating room.
‘Are you certain you want nothing prescribed?’
‘Painkillers,’ he informed me, ‘are deceivers. They cloud your mind and make you believe everything’s just fine when in truth, it is not. And this will lead to a very wrong assessment of your current capabilities. I prefer to stay sharp and not let drugs lull me into false security.’
I shrugged. ‘Your choice, your pain.’
He scowled at me, all but shook my hand off his arm and snatched his trousers off the chair to pull them on again. For a fleeting moment I considered helping him with his boots but decided against it. Let the stubborn git look after himself. I cleaned up my work area, rinsed the instruments I had used and put them into the steriliser. When I was done I turned around, half expecting the room to be empty but he was still there, leaning against the door.
‘What, you still here?’
‘Did you expect me to sneak off?’
‘Given the fact that you sneaked in, well, the idea came to mind.’
‘You wound me, Dr Watson.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out a few banknotes. ‘What do you normally charge for the repair work you’ve just done?’
‘Repair work?’ I straightened and frowned at him. ‘That, my dear boy, was a tad more than mere repair work. Must I remind you that you were about to use the stapler? Imagine what that would have looked like. Apart from the bloodbath, that is.’
‘Well, treatment then. What do you normally charge for treatment such as this?’
‘Normally my patients make an appointment and everything goes its normal and proper NHS way. But I don’t assume you’re inclined to provide me with your personal details.’
‘You assume correctly. But you are right, I would have made a mess of my leg and it would not be right to run off without payment. So,’ he flicked through his bills, ‘how much?’
I pursed my lips. ‘You know what,’ I said slowly, knowing I would question my sanity later for what I was about to say. ‘Consider it my Good Samaritan deed for this week and promise me you’ll come back if anything is amiss.
‘Here’s my card.’ I reached for the small tray that sat next to the computer, fished for one of my cards and scribbled my mobile number on the back. ‘If you experience unusual pain, if anything feels wrong–’
‘I promise to be a good boy and give you a ring,’ he finished the sentence for me and took my card, cast a fleeting glance over it and put it into his pocket, along with the banknotes. Giving me a mock salute, he turned to go. ‘I’ll let myself out. You’ll have your day to prepare, Doctor, and I’ve taken up quite enough of your time.’
‘Oh no. You will not deprive me of the pleasure of seeing you out myself. Besides, we’re about to open in,’ I checked my watch, ‘20 minutes. Chances are good our receptionist will show up any minute.’
As if on cue, somebody knocked on the door.
‘Come,’ I called, and Jen’s round face appeared in the door.
‘Oh,’ she said when she saw I wasn’t alone. ‘If I had known you had a patient scheduled in the middle of the night, I would gladly have got up an hour earlier.’
I groaned inwardly. Such a ray of sunshine, our Jen.
‘It was an emergency,’ my patient said, flashing her a boyish grin. ‘I had an accident and your surgery was the closest I could find. I was grateful Dr Watson agreed to take a look and patch me up.’
‘Well, lucky for you the good doctor has chosen to make one of his rare early appearances.’ She shot me a venomous look. Must have detected my bike then. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it inside but it had been pouring when I had arrived here. ‘Come along with me now, laddie, so we can get the paperwork sorted.’
Laddie? I was never sure whether it was a good or a bad sign when she got Scottish.
‘There is no paperwork to sort out,’ he said and adopted the look of a puppy well aware it had done something wrong. ‘I’m a private patient, you see, and Dr Watson and I have agreed I would settle the account when I come for the check-up.’
Had we? I raised an eyebrow but the puppy look seemed to have the desired effect. Jen’s features softened.
‘A private patient then. Very well, Mr, uh–’
‘Holmes,’ he said with another charming
