A/N My entry to the first Biweekly challenge at sherlockfest, yes it's yet another sad tale, but this one turns out much better...promise!
Much much love to darmed, my fantastically wonderful beta!
The Pains of Loneliness
It was quite overwhelming really, the harsh boredom and stagnant loneliness brought on by my dear Watson's departure. He had been rather persistent about his marriage to Ms. Morstan and, although I had seemingly given them my approval on the outside, it was the feelings deep down I had to suppress, for both our sakes. Nothing was able to keep my mind stimulated for long, leaving me to wallow around in a morose state; not even the velvet ecstasy I procured from plunging that sweet piston down and into my hungry veins.
The times were changing ever-so slowly, dragging out the inevitable. The warm red and orange tones of autumn would soon be replaced by the harsh, wet, cold, baron white of winter. The leaves had already begun to fall, floating down to the ground, being left there to dry and be crushed into dust.
The same was happening to me.
I had fallen away from my metaphorical tree, only to be trampled upon by the harshness of matrimony.
"Still sulking I see," Mrs. Hudson said as she weaved her way into my room, picking up a tea tray and replacing it with a new one.
"Your constant badgering does nothing to help the matter, Nanny," I replied flatly, placing the syringe back into it's Moroccan case and letting it fall to the floor.
"Thought you'd might like some tea."
"You thought the same thing merely an hour ago. Now please, if you don't mind I'd rather be alone."
Shaking her head she made her way back out, leaving me to sit in my preferred silence.
Sinking back into my velvet lined armchair; I slipped my eyes closed and tried to soothe my troubled mind. It hurt to think about what the east wind had taken away from me, or the pain that I would now associate with this time of year. I most certainly did not want to think about the future cases I would have to face alone, or the now empty room that was on the other side of the hall, even our customary bickering would be missed. He was happy now, I had to accept that. He had a fine home, with his new wife at Cavendish Place, as I sat here feeling alone and betrayed in my Baker Street hold up.
It was the same dreadful routine day after day; punishing myself while sitting in the stale tobacco filled air, engulfing myself in smoke and indulging in an affair with my syringe. I could see his unmistakable form, even carrying his cane, standing in the fog before me. The hallucination tugged at every single one of my heartstrings.
"Leave me Phantom, you can do nothing for me now," I spoke to the figure, waving it away with the back of my hand.
"Get up Holmes!" the phantom retorted, nudging me with the toe of his shoe, and I could feel it. How could I feel something that was not real? Could it be that Watson had indeed returned to me?
"Watson! Is that you Watson?" I coughed out.
"Yes Holmes," he said. "Now get up."
"Why have you come?"
"Mrs. Hudson came to me, said you could use some cheering up." He opened the window, letting the smoke escape and allowing him to better come into view.
"Why on earth would I need cheering up?" I asked attempting to mask how much his presence had lifted my spirits.
"She told me you were sulking."
"Ridiculous! I was simply-"
"Holmes!" he cut me off, gazing at me with raised brows. "I'm married Holmes, not dead."
"And I'm working Watson, not depressed."
Watson looked around the disastrous state of the room; the Moroccan case lie open on the rug, tobacco leaves were scattered all along the floor, countless half empty, unlabeled bottles sat upon the table tops.
"Who are you trying to fool? Me or yourself?" He frowned, bending over to pick up the case and return it to its proper place on the bookshelf. I slumped down into my chair, letting my head fall into my hands.
"It doesn't matter," I said rubbing my scalp. "What's been done has been done."
I heard Watson sigh and felt a warm gentle hand land upon my back.
"Come to dinner with me, Holmes."
"Just us?" I asked, afraid of what his answer might be.
"Yes Holmes," he said quietly. "Just us."
I cleaned myself up and we treaded down the seventeen steps of 221B.
"I'll do my best to visit you more often."
"I think that would be best," I said, holding the door open for him.
"Holmes, you are aware that it has only been a week, correct?" Watson said with a sideways smirk.
"Don't remind me, old boy. It was perhaps the longest week of my life."