Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 4

"A friend can tell you things you don't want to tell yourself." ~ Frances Ward Weller

Unfortunately, Holmes soon realized all would not simply be returning to normal any time soon.  Watson all but abandoned his practice.  Most days he simply sat in his room, staring listlessly out the window.   He hardly ever touched the food Mrs. Hudson brought up to him, and he often drank whiskey over the carefully prepared tea.  More times than he would like to count, Holmes' own work was interrupted by the young Miss Watson's cries, and he would enter his friend's room only to find him still in that blasted chair, seemingly unaffected by the baby's tears.  The third time Holmes came in to discover that Watson had gone out gambling again, leaving his daughter unattended, was the night he decided to permanently move the cradle into his own room.  If Watson wanted to waste his life, so be it.  But this little girl was not going to suffer because of it.  The very same morning, when Watson finally came stumbling up the stairs and into their flat, Holmes was waiting for him.  "Have you any idea what time it is, Watson?"

Watson frowned.   "You have a watch.  Look for yourself."

"Watson it is ten o'clock in the morning!  Look at yourself!  You cannot keep doing this!"  Holmes said, perhaps more sternly than he had ever spoken before in his entire life.

"And who says so?  You?"  Watson barked a laugh.  "What would you know, Holmes?  You have never loved a woman the way I loved Mary!  You have not had your heart ripped from your chest, the sole reason of your existence cruelly taken from you long before you should have had to let go!"

"Yes, I have," Holmes shouted back at him, matching in volume but not venom.  "I loved Irene, Watson.  Do you hear me?  I loved her!  And I lost her.  She was taken from me before she could ever truly be mine.  But I know she would not want me to waste my life, just as Mary would be devastated if she were to see you now!"

Watson tried to take a swing at Holmes, but the detective ducked out of the way just in time.  Watson continued to throw punches, seldom actually making contact, as Holmes simply attempted to defend himself.  Finally though, enough was enough. 

Situational assessment: Watson, obviously intoxicated, reflexes slow, depth perception off, sleep deprived.  In short, running off fumes of alcohol and his overspent emotions.  Personal danger: Little to none.  General danger: Great, if Watson continues in such a self-destructive fashion.  Only possible solution: Make Watson see reason by whatever means necessary.  First, block right hook.  Next, bruise ribs.  Left cross taking advantage of Watson's old war injury on upper right leg.  In unspeakable pain, adrenaline fades, anger doubled.  Watson on his knees.  Move in to force reason.  Summary: Bruised ribs, aching leg, disoriented and quite possibly filled with rage, but restrained.  Physical healing time, one hour.  Emotional healing time, unknown.

Enacting his plan of action, Holmes had Watson pinned to the ground in a matter of seconds . "Listen to me, Watson," he ordered, both breathing heavily from their brief scuffle, "you have even more of a reason to live than I ever did.  Your daughter!  Remember her?"

Watson's eyes darkened.  "Get off of me."

Holmes stared at him, barely recognizing the man before him.   His heart sank as he obliged, a horrible thought invading his mind.  The Dr. John Watson he once held in such high regard was gone.  And Holmes was not sure when, if ever, he would reappear.

*~*~*

Days passed slowly with Holmes watching helplessly as Watson slipped further and further away.   He could not help but wonder if this was how his dear friend felt when he himself would slip into one of his depressed states where he shut out the world and lived only within his own mind as he turned over every detail of a case.   However, Holmes would always emerge from such states once he had made a discovery.  He was beginning to doubt that Watson would.