Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes, the characters or the original Sherlock Holmes works. They belong to their respective owners.

Notes: Another angsty mood, another depressing story. Well, I'm sure you're used to it after my track record this year. It was mainly due to rewatching Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes, the Granada adaptation of Sherlock Holmes and reading the original works that the idea set into my mind to write an angsty chapter fic for these two. Since I am not quite ready to do so for the original Holmes and Watson, I am doing it for the pair to help develop my interest in the first place.

Pairs are platonic, so no slash this time around. Might be a bit OOC at times. As always, to avoid confusion from his human counterpart, Holmes is Hound.

I hope you enjoy this!

(Linebreaks hate me so I will use SHJW.)

SHJW

It had been a very long, tiresome and depressing day. Dr. John H. Watson wanted nothing more than to return to 221B Baker Street and have a few drinks while his dearest friend, Sherlock Hound, helped distract his mind from the Week from Hell, as he'd so aptly put it. But, a doctor's work was never done; he had a Duty of Care to his patients and they would always come first.

There was an epidemic of influenza in London and while many recovered, there were others who weren't so lucky. Over the last three days, Watson had uttered I'm sorry, I did all I could a grand total of forty times. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear shrieks of grief from mothers who'd lost a child or wives who lost their husbands, wails of children who'd lost a parent or sibling, barely repressed sobs of men who had lost someone dear to them. He'd heard I understand, thank you for your efforts from some and what kind of doctor are you?! from others. He'd had to contact the morgue for the deceased to be collected from their homes and offer advice to the bereaved about funeral services.

All in all, it was a week he'd just as soon forget.

SHJW

Hound was playing a melody on his Stradivarius when he heard the click of the door. He opened his eyes and turned to regard who had entered. It was Mrs. Marie Hudson, their beautiful and kind-hearted landlady and housekeeper. He immediately noticed concern on her features and ceased playing, returning the instrument and bow to its case. "You've heard from Watson?"

She nodded. "He wired ahead to inform he may be late for supper this evening."

"That blasted influenza epidemic! If he's not careful, our dear Watson may find himself done up and under the weather before long."

"Have you seen the reports in the paper about it?"

"I hadn't noticed any, but I deduce the epidemic has much to do with the growing list of obituaries."

She nodded. "I hope the doctor doesn't take it to heart..."

"As do I, my dear Mrs. Hudson." He turned to look out the window, eyes skyward. "As do I."

SHJW

The toll had reached forty-one after a newborn contracted the illness. He was familiar with the family and knew they'd been trying for years for a baby. Their son was barely a month old and he was taken away from them.

Thank goodness he could finally go home. He wasn't sure how much more death he could take in that day, and he was a veteran of the Afghan War. He sighed and hailed a cab, not feeling strong enough to endure the walk.

SHJW

Hound was in his armchair, pondering to himself just what he could do to help his friend. He'd seen the signs of distress each day of the Week from Hell; a name Watson had come up with. Smoke drifted from his pipe as he gazed to the sofa, imagining Watson sitting there. He knew he had to do something to help his dearest friend through such a difficult time, but what?

He'd soon find his answer; Watson was ascending the seventeen steps to their floor. He could hear him stopping at his bedroom first; presumably to put away his medical supplies and change into something far more relaxing than his usual.

SHJW

Watson tiredly opened the door to the sitting room and forced a smile. He didn't want to bring his friend down into despair with him, so why not keep up a positive front?

"My dear Watson, you should know by now that you cannot deceive me with a false smile," Hound remarked, looking to him.

Watson sighed and allowed it to fall. If Hound was going to see through him anyway, then there was no use for any pretense that the situation wasn't as bleak as it truly was. He made his way to the sofa and sat down heavily, head bowed in a mixture of exhaustion and sorrow.

Hound rose to his feet, making his way to the sideboard and pouring a couple of glasses of brandy. He carried them, as well as the decanter, back to the armchair and sofa, offering a glass to Watson.

"Thank you, old boy." Watson gulped down the brandy and saw his glass being refilled instantly. He realised why Hound had brought the decanter with him. He wasn't one to drink away his sorrows, but after the week he'd had, he could use a stiff drink. He had to make sure not to overdo it though; he might be required in the middle of the night to take care of another patient. Not that I'd make a difference to them anyhow judging by my run this week...

Hound sipped at his own brandy, observing Watson and wondering what he should say to him. What was the best way to open up the conversation? "Are you alright?" He inwardly cringed; it was clear the good doctor was not alright. He just had to look into his eyes to see he had lost hope.

Watson knew Hound had good intentions, so he bit back the snappish of course I'm not!, settling with, "it's been a long week, Hound, and it is just getting worse. No matter what I do, I've lost more patients than I could save. I've had to see children clinging to a parent while they wept for the one they'd lost, I've had to hear the agonised wails of a woman who lost someone dear."

He nodded silently. It was a dire situation; was there anything he could do to help? He saw Watson had emptied his second glass and quickly refilled it.

"A couple I've known for a while now...they lost the baby they'd been hoping for for so many years. He was not even a month old, Hound. Worst of all is that it's not over yet. As long as this epidemic continues to plague our fair city, more will become ill. Some will be saved, but more will be lost." He drained his glass. Before Hound could refill it, he put his paw out to decline any more. "I have been in a warzone, lost many friends and, though I tried, I lost many patients. You'd think that by now, I could handle this. No. I honestly can't."

Hound became alarmed when he saw his friend's eyes beginning to glisten.

Watson blinked rapidly and swallowed down a lump in his throat. "I can't take it anymore. I don't think I can go to another patient only to lose them as well. I've lost forty-one patients this week...forty-one in three days, Hound! What kind of a doctor am I if I lose that many patients?!"

Hound knew at that moment that what he and Mrs. Hudson had feared had come to pass; their dear friend had taken it all to heart and let it get to him. He could understand where the good doctor was coming from, he'd been in circumstances where a failure of his had resulted in loss of life. But, at the same time, he couldn't understand just how hopeless it had made Watson feel. His failure was not stopping a criminal in time, but Watson had his Oath to hold to and each loss felt like he'd done a great injustice to doctors everywhere.

"I'd heard that a lot this week too. I know their grief was speaking for them, but I can't help asking myself the same."

"You can't work miracles." Another inward cringe as he mentally cursed himself. Watson knows that already!

Watson sighed. "I know that, Hound. I've known it since Maiwand! I just..." Another sigh. "None of them deserved to die like that. None of the deaths were peaceful, they were all in pain and great discomfort. Imagine wanting to breathe but you can't and you may as well be drowning on land. That's how a small boy, no older than seven years, died this morning. I'm tired. I'm done with having to say, again and again, that I could do nothing more. I couldn't even make them comfortable in their final minutes."

"You tried your hardest, my friend, that's all anybody can do."

"It's not enough though, not if it means informing parents they need to arrange a burial for their child or trying to break the news to small children that their mother or father would not awaken." He set his glass down on the floor by his foot and buried his face in his paws. "I'm tired, Hound, I'm just...so tired..."

His concerned frown deepened. He finished his own brandy and set the glass down before rising to his feet, crossing the floor and sitting beside Watson. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "My dear Watson, you need to take a break before you experience a total breakdown."

"I can't refuse a call though. As much I would love to take a much needed respite from all of this, I can't."

"Not even for your own health needs? Watson, a doctor who is not of sound mind and body can do little more than an inexperienced amateur. I am not saying you're completely unsound, but at this rate..."

He shook his head. "I know what you meant, and you're right."

"I'll have Mrs. Hudson send a wire to the clinic to inform them you absolutely must take some time off, for the benefit of yourself and everyone around you. At this rate, my friend, you'll work yourself to your own grave, and that is something I refuse to permit."

He lifted his head and looked up to him. "Hound..."

"We shall arrange a holiday. Thanks to this epidemic, there are no cases so I have time. As for you, it would serve you well to leave London, if only for a brief time." He gave him a squeeze before releasing him and rising to his feet. He moved over to the desk, grabbed a slip and scribed a message.

Dr. John Watson is on the verge of a breakdown and must take some time off to prevent it. It is understood that all doctors on duty be required to care for the patients suffering from this epidemic, but there are grave concerns that he may also be lost if it keeps on. Sherlock Hound.

He hurried out of the sitting room.

Watson sighed and closed his eyes, only for them to fly open when his mind conjured the reminder of a girl of ten years pleading for her mother to wake up.

SHJW

"Mrs. Hudson, I understand you were called somewhere this evening?"

"Yes, I was. A friend requires my company."

"Might I ask you have this wired to the clinic? I'm deeply concerned about Watson's wellbeing and if things keep on the way they are now, he'll only decline."

She nodded and accepted the slip. "It is on the way there so I can have it done as soon as possible."

"Many thanks to you."

"I was just getting ready to head out, actually, you caught me in time."

He had noticed she was no longer in her pink dress and apron, but in her yellow dress. "Do you require a ride?"

"It's alright, I shall take a cab. You should stay with Dr. Watson, I believe he needs a good friend more than ever right now."

"Very well, Mrs. Hudson. Please take care."

She smiled sweetly at his concern and nodded. "I shall, Mr. Hound."