Young Sherlock Holmes: Bedlam (Short Reads) Read Free Page B

were destructive and
aggressive become as meek as lambs after several hours restrained in baths of warm water. This is my approach, and you will experience its benefits yourself. I hope that in time you will
recover from the mania which you have so obviously displayed, and that you will be able to be released into society again.’ His gaze met Sherlock’s. ‘Now, do you have any
questions?’
    Sherlock’s brain raced. How could he best convince Dr Williams that he wasn’t mad?
    ‘Am I displaying signs of mania now?’ he asked quietly.
    ‘You appear to be in a placid phase of your insanity,’ Williams said. ‘Mania goes in cycles.’
    ‘Then how do you know that I was displaying signs of mania?’
    ‘I have the reports of the policemen and other members of the public at the scene.’
    ‘If I do not display any further signs of mania,’ Sherlock went on carefully, ‘then how long will it be before you decide that I am either cured or that I was never mad
at all?’
    ‘As to the first,’ Williams said, ‘I cannot observe you at all times. Just because you display no signs of mania now, that does not mean that at three o’clock tomorrow
morning you will not be raving in your cell and banging your head against the walls. As to the second – well, of course you are mad to begin with. Why would you have been sent here
otherwise?’
    Before Sherlock could respond to this obviously stupid remark, Williams rang the bell that sat beside the ledger.
    ‘If madness is hereditary,’ Sherlock said desperately, hearing the door opening behind him, ‘then how can it be cured? Surely by that definition people are born with it,
in the same way that they might be born with red hair.’
    Williams stared at Sherlock as if he was disappointed by him. ‘Ah, a display of argumentativeness,’ he murmured. ‘A classic sign of incipient mania.’ He made a note in
the ledger. ‘Take him away,’ he said, without looking up.
    A hairy hand closed over Sherlock’s shoulder. ‘Don’t make any trouble,’ the attendant advised. ‘Remember what I said.’
    Sherlock allowed himself to be pushed out of the room, across the hall, through the grille gate and along the gallery. Despair filled him. Unless something happened, unless Amyus Crowe could get
him out, then he might be incarcerated there forever. How could Sherlock persuade a man like Dr Williams that he was sane when Williams believed that insanity was inherited, and that even arguing
was a sign of madness? Nothing that Sherlock could do would change his mind!
    Padded cells. Being tied down. Restrained in a warm bath for hours on end. Was this what his future held for him? Was this the shape of the rest of his life?
    Not if he could help it.
    As he was led along the gallery, past the caged fires and the slitted windows, past the various men who paraded up and down or just stood around motionless, his brain was racing. If he
couldn’t rely on the medical profession to realize that he was sane, and if he couldn’t rely on Amyus Crowe or brother Mycroft to get him out, then it was left to him. He had to escape
by himself.
    ‘You’re allowed free association wiv the other inmates,’ the toothless attendant said. ‘Until lights out, that is, then you’re locked in your cell. Sorry, I mean
your room . Your palatial accommodation.’ He laughed. Sherlock could smell something rank coming from his mouth: a combination of tooth decay and tobacco. ‘Food trays will be
bought along later. If there’s any trouble – if you start a fight, or start trying to cut yourself – then we’ll lock you up early. Understand?’
    ‘I understand,’ Sherlock said.
    ‘Good lad. I don’t think you’re goin’ to be any trouble at all, are you? I got a sense about these things. Be good and the years will just fly past.’
    He was still laughing as he got to the grille at the end of the gallery.
    Sherlock gazed around. There were six other inmates in the gallery. Two of them