Tales from Baker Street

Reprehensible
by Alia
Notes

As a doctor I am only too aware of the damage that can be sustained by the human body in the heat of passion, or in our case, during those moments when propriety inevitably gives way to violence.

Although it is not often spoken of, and certainly never in polite circles, being a member of the medical profession can sometimes require the treating of patients, who through no fault of their own, find themselves at the mercy of less than considerate partners. I have colleagues who shun such cases, refusing to accept that the presenting woman had anyone other than herself to blame for her injuries, sometimes giving names to them that could only be rivalled by those imposed upon the poor unfortunates who live and work the streets in the White Chapel district.

Of course, having served abroad, I also know that it is not only the fair sex who sometimes find themselves injured during an act of intimacy. Sadly, there were a number of young men in my regiment who suffered terribly at the hands of some of the older officers, men who had found themselves far from home and in need of what was considered suitable company in the absence of an obliging woman. Unlike some of my colleagues I have always believed myself to be completely professional, true to my oath to treat all in need, never minding their status in life or their ability to pay for my services. With this is mind I have given the same care and advice to all I have seen over the years of my practice. More care and less haste.

My experiences abroad and at home here in London have stood me in good stead, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that it may be necessary for me to treat a partner of my own for a similar complaint.

Not someone I cared about, not someone I loved.

I shake my head at the miserable sight before me. I want to turn away, deny what I know to be true, but I know there is no other explanation for the current state of the man who at one time might have been considered my closest friend. That was a time long ago however, long before either of us had realised that the fates had already weighed our chance for happiness, deciding as they must, what could never be.

During times of war the taking of a compliant partner of the same sex can still be explained away as a necessary means of survival to those who understood such circumstance. Whereas the love between men was something that was abhorred by decent society and would never be understood I feared. There was no hope for us. There never had been I realise. For a time infatuation and foolishness had led me to believe that I could revive the long still heart of Sherlock Holmes, but I know now how wrong I had been.

The man lying in amongst the tangled and stained bedclothes alternately tries to cling to me and fend off my efforts to tend him. I do my best to ignore his protests and the look of sorrow I see in his eyes. I needed my wits about me. Condemnation and regret would come soon enough, they always did.