Alrighty! Working on the last two ficlets I wanted transferred over here, so bear with me for just a little while longer! This one's kinda angsty, kinda romancey, kinda dark too. It's an interesting mix of... stuff.

Also, please ignore my drug abuse failure. I didn't even realize the symptoms did not match the substance until after I wrote it, and now it's too late and I'm gonna be lazy about it. Lol

RDJ!Holmes & Watson are property of WBS, but they're too much fun to play with sometimes. ;)

"Watson! Watson!" Frantic shouts echoed through the hallway of 221b Baker St. "Watson!"

The aforementioned man awoke, groggy and rather grumpy about all the ruckus his roommate was creating. It was the first day he had off in quite some time, and now his hysterical companion was badgering him for god knows what. There was a long silence, and Watson assumed he was no longer needed, and attempted to go back to sleep. But when he went to close his eyes again, the shouting returned, with more vivacity than previously expressed.

"Watson!"

"Quit with your irritable, irrational behavior at once! What on earth do you want from me?" Watson shouted through the oak door that separated his room from the hallway of their quaint little abode. He was determined to avoid getting up for as long as possible. Another drawn out silence replaced the frantic shouts of his roommate, and Watson couldn't help but let a sigh out, frustrated and annoyed with his companion. He laid back down, staring at the ceiling, unable to return to his slumber.

It wouldn't have mattered anyways, for he was disturbed one more by his colleague's noisy endeavors. At first, the strings of the violin were silently plucked, soft and melodious. It began to rush, growing in noise and intensity. Loud picking sounds rebounded off the strings, resonating through the hollow body of the instrument, random notes and rhythms were being forced into an obnoxious forte.

Watson's hand came down on his forehead, sliding it over his face in disgust.

"Holmes!"

"Watson! You're alive!" Watson looked at the door, bewilderment across his face. Why wouldn't he be alive?

"Of course I'm alive, Holmes! Why on earth wouldn't I be? More so, why would the thought even cross your mind?" There was a minute stillness in their conversation, the light plucking noises returned to fill the emptiness.

"Watson!"

"What?" Watson was getting rather annoyed with this game. He sat up, waiting for a response.

"Watson! I need you to come here, quickly, please!" This time Holmes truly sounded like he was in a state of panic. Normally, Watson shrugged off these manic episodes, but this time it felt different. He begrudgingly got out of bed, padding down the hall to the sitting room in which Holmes took up residence. He swung the door open with the palm of his hand, revealing the disheveled mess that was Holmes' quarters.

Holmes himself was sitting in the middle of one of the tiger-skin rugs, rocking back and forth to the sporadic tempo of his violin-plucking. It was still soft, peaceful almost, but was very fast as well, Holmes bobbing his head from side to side. Watson scanned the room, spotting the substance at fault for his companion's odd and erratic behavior. He picked up the needle, placing it on one of the many end tables in the sitting room. Holmes continued to play as Watson cleared the area around him.

Holmes paused his playing momentarily, tilting his head back to look up at Watson. His chocolate eyes were big; watching his colleague like an animal watches his prey. Watson soon noticed the eyes boring into the back of his head, and he turned around to look down at Holmes.

"Hello, my dear." Holmes said, breaking the silence. You could almost see his thoughts, going through his mind at a hundred miles a minute. Watson sighed, tousling his hair slightly.

"Holmes," he sighed again, thinking how to phrase this so Holmes would understand, even in his maddened state. "This is getting out of control. As your friend and doctor, it's not healthy to - inject yourself - almost 3 times a day! I mean, its 8 o'clock in the morning for god's sake!" Holmes continued to stare up at Watson, his head cocked to the side, like he was trying to comprehend what his friend had said as well as formulate a response.

"Really? I thought it was only 10pm." Holmes looked a little apologetic, but was soon chipper and excited once more. He began to play again, more of an upbeat tune this time. Watson covered his face in embarrassment, wondering why he still lived with Holmes and his insane ways. He went to leave when a lithe hand grabbed at his ankle, nearly causing him to fall.

"Holmes!" he shouted angrily, growing tired of his friend's foolish behavior. He wanted nothing to do with the odd little man when he was like this. "Let go of me at once! This is ridiculous!"

"Please stay," Holmes began softly. Watson turned around and looked down at his companion. He was looking down at the floor, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Watson's face contorted into one of concern, kneeling down by Holmes, struggling a little to hear him.

"I – You – it's hard to play… I need you." He managed to stammer out. Holmes looked up at Watson, locking sad, brown eyes with Watson's steel-blue ones. He was pleading with him to stay. Watson looked back at Holmes, who looked absolutely pitiful. Dirty, greasy hair, dilated pupils; Holmes honestly looked like a bum.

"Holmes…" Watson started, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a seat next to his friend on the rug. Holmes smiled widely, picking his violin back up and returned to the song he was playing not moments ago. He was happy. Even Watson, who continued to disprove of his companion's nasty habits, couldn't help but smile back.