This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Hope you guys like it.

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.

(Holmes)

I could feel the morphine steadily spreading all around my body with every beat of my heart. Drowsiness was slowly bringing my overactive thoughts to a halt and leaving me with a sense of calmness that most likely resulted from the decreased heart rate and lowered blood pressure. A feeling of the most euphoric kind.

As I laid there, on the floor of our hotel room in Southampton, having just injected the drug into my blood circulation, I simultaneously tried to forget the failure that took place just a few measly hours ago and the expressionless face of the doctor when he had felt the poor woman's pulse.

Young Catherine Cleverton had had the dubious honor of being the fourth victim.

It did not bring me any salvation that I, the master of deduction, had failed to take into account the possibility of Miss Cleverton actually killing herself. She had apparently been truly in love with her abductor.

As the bumbling idiots from the local police had finally apprehended mister Welsham, accusing him of brutally murdering three innocent women, Miss Cleverton had grabbed the dagger lying around the floor of the small and run-down hut and stabbed herself in the chest. None of us present at the scene had foreseen that.

After proclaiming the woman dead, the far too predictable doctor had waited until we had reached our lodgings and gotten, expectedly, furious as I had not taken Miss Cleverton's feminine softer emotions into account. Afterwards he stormed angrily out into the streets of Southampton in order to calm his rage.

I was left alone in our room with only my syringe for company.

At last the drug-induced relaxation started to make the pain of being shouted at by my dearest friend, and having failed in such a manner, lessen. The warm feeling of drowsiness spread wider in my body as my breathing grew shallower and the shadows on the bare wooden walls formed the oddest of shapes appearing as if participating in some primal dance of sorts. When my eyes closed the dancing figures were painted against my lids.

I was swept away by the unconsciousness.

(Watson)

When I finally felt calm enough to return to our hotel room, my heart almost halted. Lying still on the floor was my dearest friend. Fear took over as I was certain that this time he had taken too much of that blasted drug and killed himself.

"Oh, lord! Holmes!"

Rushing to his side I felt for his pulse. It was too slow and I could barely feel it, but it was there. To rouse him I gently slapped his face and shook him by the shoulders. After a few shakes Holmes finally opened his eyes.

"Ah, good to see you, my friend." Smiling he grabbed my arm and hoisted himself up.

In silence I guided him to the bed as the two chairs in the barely adequate room were highly uncomfortable. Holmes would need to lie down for a while. Even though he might not feel like it.

He looked at me skeptically as I had not said anything after he had regained consciousness. I sighed and laid my hand over his head. "Holmes, you are a good friend and a valuable companion, but as your physician I must ask you to refrain from taking that god-awful drug after our every bloody argument." I could see that he was not even listening to me.

Exhaling loudly I practically fell on the nearest wooden chair and hid my face in my hands. That apparently made Holmes look at me as he asked, still distracted, "Watson, what is the matter? You seem tired." I could hear him sitting up on the bed and then his feet met the floor. His steps were nearly silent on the hard planks.

When he had crossed the few steps between the bed and the chair, he put his hand on my right shoulder. "I apologize for not thinking of Miss Cleverton's feelings sooner. I'm sorry, Mother Hen." He squeezed my shoulder gently and removed his hand. "You may have the bed, old boy. I have some questions that need answering."

Muttering to himself, Holmes took his pipe and settled comfortably on the floor with a far-away look in his eyes. With one last glance at his direction, I laid on the bed and closed my eyes.

At least he had said he was sorry about the girl.

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