He could not do it anymore. He would not do it anymore. The still form on the bed began to stir after what must have been an eternity of lying still as though an effigy. He glanced at the bruised and scarred underarm of the patient. Why did his patient feel the need to do such a thing? What pleasure was there to be had? He had come from his practice to find his barely living lover crumpled on the floor, too pale and still for his liking, empty glass vial and needle close by. This was the third time he had come home to such a sight; he was determined for it to be his last.
Holmes opened his eyes, blinking at the harsh light let intruding through the window. He felt so drained, so heavy and leaden. Holmes tried to move but it was to no avail; he did not have the strength to do so. Perhaps he had finally done it. Perhaps this was what death felt like. The detective tried to sit up, but found himself being forced back into the pillows by hands he knew so well.
"Oh, no you don't old boy." The owner of the hands held a familiar voice. Holmes tried to remember whose voice it was, but his mind was sluggish. "I wouldn't like you dying on me, would I?"
Oh. So Holmes hadn't succeeded. "Why am I still alive?" he heard himself say.
Of course, he had not meant for the thought to leave his lips, yet it did. Reality slapped him hard across the face, as the owner of the familiar hands and voice revealed itself to be Watson. Watson still wore his over coat, which meant he must have just come in from his practice; his bag lay at his feet. This was just like the previous times. But this time the good doctor wore an expression of defeat and disappointment instead of concern.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you Holmes." Watson's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Do you have nothing worth living for? Do you not care what consequences your stupidity has for those who care?"
The detective wasn't thinking straight. "No." his voice was barely a whisper.
Watson laughed. "Then next time I shall not stop you in your selfish path of self destruction."
Holmes was to slow to react or prevent what happened next. He watched as his Doctor rose and left, shutting the door behind him, his doctor no more.
