A/N: Yep, switched up a bit from the "A" theme I had going there for a while. The underlying theme of the whole string will either be proven correct, or I will have to remove it. Nonetheless, starting off, I am posting the definition of the fifth and final word in the "set".

A special shout out to medcat for her correct guess some time ago!

These fics represent the five stages of dealing with grief as outlined in the Kubler-Ross Model. As is sometimes the case in real life, they are not in the "traditional" order. However, there is a reason for this, as I hope you will understand in these, the final, chapters of this set of stories.

I was going to give myself a break before launching into this next one, but I was too depressed after the epilogue of Part IV, so I had to do something. Besides, the characters changed the original story into this, and have been beating me over the head with it all day since I posted the finish for Part IV. Might as well get started then. Enjoy!


an·ger

1. a strong feeling of displeasure and belligerence aroused by a wrong; wrath; ire

-ing (verb)

to arouse anger or wrath in


Prologue

Holmes sighed heavily as he heard the front door opening downstairs. From where he sat in his fireside chair in the sitting room, he could already deduce where his friend had been and why. His annoyance was only overshadowed by his concern as he heard Watson stumble up the seventeen stairs. Part of him wanted to go to his friend, to help him. The greater part of his mind remembered how badly that had ended for the both of them only two days ago. The man was stubborn. Even in his condition he would accept no help, of any kind.

As Watson stumbled against the sitting room door and apparently slid to the floor, Holmes set aside his pipe. Maybe if the man were unconscious he would be less likely to...

"What do you want?" Holmes heard Watson slurring drunkenly as he reached for the sitting room door.

"Dr. Watson! You are drunk! Again!" Mrs. Hudson fumed as she stormed up the stairs. "I would have expected such behavior from—"

Her next words were cut off as Watson gave a surprised yelp before falling backward into the sitting room when Holmes opened the door. As expected, Holmes found himself staring down at an inebriated, slovenly picture of what had once been his friend and partner, Dr. John Watson.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes started soothingly. "I'll—"

"It is not alright, Mr. Holmes!" she all but shrieked, her face turning a crimson that did not bode well for her tenants. "A month of this is too much! I will not stand by and—"

This time her words were cut off as Watson forced himself to a sitting position. "Enough! I'm right here!"

"Obviously," Mrs. Hudson said frostily, crossing her arms. "As you seem unable to even make it up to your room."

"Please, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes attempted placatingly, "I will take care of him."

Still quivering with fury and disappointment only a mother could convey to her children, Mrs. Hudson took in the entire scene one more time before turning to head back down the stairs to her own quarters. "See that you do."

Holmes waited just long enough for Watson to register the fact that she was gone before he took Watson by the arms and carefully hauled him to his feet. Staggering, he managed to get his friend to the settee with only a few bumps along the way. Unable to support himself, Watson instead fell to grumbling things best not repeated in polite company about the woman that had just berated him.

"That's enough, Watson," Holmes chided gently. "She means well. You know we all do."

"Is that what that is?" Watson slurred, his eyes half-closed once more. "And you always telling me to get back to work."

"It's more than that, and you well know it," Holmes snapped. "Do some writing. Play with your sketches. Something other than drinking, I think, would be more beneficial."

Watson seemed to fall into himself. "I can't. There's nothing left."

"So it seems now, dear friend. But it won't always be so."

Watson gave a rude snort. "What do you know about it?"

"I know you. That's all I have need to know."

"You think...you think..." Watson laughed mirthlessly as Holmes removed his shoes to make him more comfortable. "You know nothing!"

This anger did not come as a surprise, anymore. Watson seemed to run in cycles. Anger, depression, even something of denial from time to time would chase themselves around Watson's moods. Holmes had seen them in all their varieties. Every night Watson came home drunk he presented the same arguments over and over. Holmes had begun to wonder if his friend would ever snap out of it. He did not respond to this latest sample of rising anger, as he knew it would get him nowhere.

"Lie down, Watson. Sleep it—"

"I don't need your help!" Watson roared, pulling away from Holmes only to land unceremoniously on the floor.

"As you wish," Holmes said placidly, watching Watson struggle back to a sitting position. "However, when the vomiting begins, it would be best if you were not lying in it this time, at least."

Watson's face turned a magnificent shade of red at this volley. The verbal return from Watson had Holmes cocking an amused eyebrow in his direction as he crossed his arms.

"That's a good one. Pick that up at the Dancing Duck, did you?"

"Leave me alone."

"Alone is not what you need now."

"Go away."

"I'm not the one incapable of leaving the room, at present."

As expected, Watson covered his face in his hands as if to hide his misery. "Please..."

For a moment, Holmes hesitated. He still bore the bruise from the last time he attempted to comfort his friend in one of these fits. But, Watson had done no less for him over the years of their friendship. Kneeling beside his friend, Holmes gripped his shoulder and shook him gently.

"It was not your fault. You know that."

"You keep saying that," Watson sighed. "What makes you think it even matters to me anymore? He's still dead. They're all dead! And I'm still here."

Holmes heart ached every time he heard these words. What could he really say to that?

"I want to sleep. Leave me alone."

Sighing for probably the hundredth time this week. Holmes nodded sadly before helping his friend back onto the settee. He waited for Watson to settle before covering him with a blanket. Stoking the fire, he returned to his chair.

Mrs. Hudson crept quietly back down the stairs from where she had listened through the still-open sitting room door.