The Courtesan (Johnlock-Historical)

Chapter 4

Over the next few weeks, John settled even more into the rhythms of the house.

After breakfast, he often took a ride, either around town to do errands, or in the green parks of the city, preferring to find trails with more wild growth instead of manicured gardens. When he got back mid-morning, he tinkered around in his office, making sure he had enough materials on hand and working on some of his own concoctions.

After lunch, he did the scheduled appointments with staff, and usually found time for a walk in the garden before tea. After tea, he read in the library, with Molly frequently joining him there and suggesting books when he finished one. Her work was early in the day, and she often squirrelled herself away in the library for most of the afternoon and evening.

Overall, he was quite content with his lifestyle. He liked who he worked with, liked the chatting with the clients, liked the comfort of the house. Financially, he was able to save most of his salary, as he didn't need much beyond the room and board provided.

But after a couple months, John felt a sense of unrest growing inside him. It was harder to settle and concentrate on a book. He went for longer, more vigorous walks, trying to tire himself out physically, but he still found it hard to sleep some nights. What was missing?

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John tidied up his office as his client left, getting it ready for the next. He went to the washbasin, pouring fresh water over his hands and lathering up, before rinsing them.

Billy knocked softly on the door and let in John's next client.

"Jeremiah. It is good to see you again. How are you?" John waved the young man into the office, closing the door behind him. The dark haired man was a client John had seen in his first week at the house.

Clearly no stranger to the process, Jeremiah got up on the examination table. "I'm doing good, Doctor." He gave an easy smile.

Stepping closer, John made polite chit chat as he ran through the familiar routine. Starting at his hair and moving downwards. No signs of lice, the whites of his eyes clear and bright, his lymph nodes perhaps slightly swollen, but that could just be from a cold.

"I heard that you bought a new team of horses lately." John commented as he undid Jeremiah's robe, and listened to his heart and lungs with his stethoscope.

Nodding, Jeremiah looked proud. "A perfectly matched pair of Friesians." He gushed on about his horses as John continued, adjusting the wick on his kerosene lamp to be as bright as possible as he examined Jeremiah's skin.

And there it was. A small red mark. John tilted the young man's palm towards the light, and could see several other fainter ones. Holding his breath, John scanned down his legs and lifted each of his feet in turn. No sign of the rash there.

"I also had a new crest put on each door of the..." Jeremiah's voice trailed off when he caught John's still expression. "Doctor?"

Taking a deep breath, John let it out slowly. This was the hardest part of his job. Pulling up a stool, he sunk down on it heavily, and looked at the man in his early thirties, appearing so vibrant and alive, and wondered how long before the symptoms were more obvious. How long before confusion clouded those clear eyes, and tremors shook those steady hands?

"Jeremiah, who is your regular doctor?" Perhaps, if it was a quack, he could steer the young man to Mike Stamford.

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As soon as Jeremiah was escorted out, John rushed down the hall to knock on an office door. He was relieved when he heard a voice inside bid him to enter.