A/N: Until further notice, I am switching over to Holmes's POV.


I could never remember having such a headache – such a complete body ache, as a matter of fact. Even after a lengthy case, I had never felt such painful weariness as I felt just now. I wanted to just sink into the darkness and sleep for days upon end.

But my body evidently had other plans, for its pain was making itself felt very vocally, and I spent the better part of five minutes lying quietly, categorising where I was and what had happened.

Then the events slowly started to come back to my muddled brain – and how muddled it was! The fact that I could very much tell a marked difference in my thought processes frightened me to no end – what if the drug had permanently impaired my powers?

I had never much worried about the idea before, but then I had never overdosed on the drug before. It had been a pure accident – I had certainly not meant to risk my health and my life in such a fashion, I had not even realised I was taking too much until it was too late to rectify the error.

I vaguely remembered eating lunch, feeling somewhat better, and sitting by the fire…then Watson had come back, and he was angry about what I had done. No wonder, either, I certainly deserved it.

But halfway through my apology my head had started to spin and I only could recall bits and pieces of what had happened after that…it was as if my mind were a book and someone had torn a few pages out of one of the chapters. What had occurred?

I opened my eyes, realising that I was warmly covered by blankets and lying on the sitting room couch.

Then I glanced down and saw something that made my heart sink, realising I had done something terrible.

Watson was slumped against the couch, obviously fast asleep, his open medical case beside him – for some reason he had had to use his supplies on me, evidently…I could vaguely remember feeling dreadfully ill…and no doubt he was exhausted, for I did remember, most vividly, him coming in and saving me from suffocating, on more than one occasion last night.

But that was not what arrested my attention – it was the fact that it took no powers of perception whatsoever to see the faintest traces of tears upon his pained, lined face.

What had I done? I could not remember a thing clearly – was this fog ever going to leave my brain? Would I even recover my powers?

The thoughts frightened me to no end, and in my panic I started to move, falling back with a moan as pain shot through my head and aching limbs, still sore from the convulsions of last night.

But my pathetic noise had woken him on the instant – he was such a light sleeper – and he scrambled to his feet worriedly.

"Holmes? Are you in pain?"

That horrible coldness that had been in his voice had faded slightly, and I could see genuine concern in his hazel eyes as he bent over me.

"Not really," I said, wishing I did not sound so confoundedly weak, "just a little sore, that is all."

He breathed a sigh of relief, and I saw gladness shoot through his features before that stony mask I had seen him wear earlier dropped back over them, puzzling me greatly.

But now, bits and pieces of the last few hours began to vaguely come filtering back into my consciousness, and I could remember losing my temper in a heated argument of some kind…but more than that I could not remember…

As my brows furrowed in frustration, Watson pulled the blankets up round me and spoke calmly.

"You don't remember much of the last few hours, do you?"

"No," I whispered, trying to think.

Was that relief I saw on his face? Or regret? Or a combination of both?

Suddenly…suddenly the whole sordid thing came back and struck me like a ton of brick. I sat up with a sharp gasp, alarming my friend who tried to push me back.

"Holmes, lie down!"

"Watson, I –"

"Lie down, you idiot!" he snapped worriedly, pushing me back into the pillow.

I moaned and turned away, facing the back of the couch in my shame – what had I done? How could I have done such a thing?

Never before, even under a fairly heavy dose of the drug, never had my mind lapsed enough to allow me to even contemplate raising a hand to the man who was now gently shaking my shoulder, asking if I was feeling quite well.

I shook my head wordlessly, wanting to be left alone with my shame, knowing anything I would say would only make matters worse. Everything he had said was true. I had broken my word, and that was the bottom line. I had promised him to abstain from the drug, and I had gone back on that promise.

And much as I would have liked to have just brushed the matter under the rug and forgotten about it, I knew it could not be. I had already done a good deal of harm to my friend, destroying his trust in me for one thing and putting him through rather a bad fright for another, not to mention my breaking a vow I had solemnly sworn to him two years ago.

And while every fibre of my being wanted to tell him I was sorry and it would not happen again, I knew that it would be a lie – I even now was wishing for the escape that the drug brought to my mind, how nice it would be to just slip away from the wreck I had made of my life at this moment…

Having taken the drug twice, taken it just twice, had reawakened the long-dormant appetite. I had not been strong enough to resist the temptation, and now I was again enslaved by that infernal cocaine. Watson had worked so hard to help me with the matter, and now I had undone all the work he had been trying to do for fifteen years. But much as I wanted to promise him I would not do it again, I knew I was not capable of keeping that promise.

Not that he would believe my word anyway, for a long, long while at any rate, because of my deception in this matter.

His hand had not left my shoulder, and I became aware that it was trembling slightly. I wanted to just sink through the floor, but I refused to give in to that emotion of fear and shame. If I was going to be ruled by an emotion in this weakened state, it was not going to be that one.

I turned back over to face him, and was startled to see the unnatural brightness of his eyes.

"I – I'm sorry," I whispered again, for the second time today.

"I know," he replied softly.

Still not a sign of forgiveness, but no longer was there that anger I had seen roiling under his calm exterior all the morning. Well-deserved anger, I would freely admit – but he was not one to succumb to rage very easily, and such outbursts were extremely rare.

But I was too tired to think further upon the matter, too ashamed of what I had done to even want to think of it, and so I closed my eyes and in a few minutes had drifted back off into a deep, foggy sleep.


"I won't allow it, Holmes; you've been ill all throughout this case and it's getting worse."

"You have very little choice in the matter, Watson," I snapped, curtly motioning him out the door.

"You are in no condition to go about the country like this, lying in wait for a dangerous criminal!" he insisted, his eyes narrowed with worry.

"I am perfectly fine, Doctor, I am coping more than adequately."

"Do you think I don't know what you've been using to help you cope, Holmes!" he cried as I pushed him out the door and into the driving storm.

"When I need a medical opinion, Doctor, I will ask for it. Now be a sport, old chap, the game's afoot!"

My mind was filled with the thrill of the chase, the end of the case was drawing ever nearer, and such a triumph it would be too!

Some dim part of my fogged brain voiced a meek protest that Watson might be right, that I was not thinking clearly enough…

No, I was perfectly fine. Now, all we had to do was wait for the criminals to emerge and make their way across the moor.

They did, but not on foot as I had thought – why had I not seen the horses hidden in the trees? Was I really slipping that much?

No matter, there was a small trap standing in the inn's courtyard and I appropriated it, pushing Watson up into it despite his protests and jumping up to take the reins.

"Holmes, you can't drive this, not in a storm and when your mind is full of that infernal drug!" he shouted above the wind, trying to take the reins from me as we pulled out at a gallop after the men on horseback, fighting their way along the road against the driving rain.

"Watson, just keep your gun at the ready, I am perfectly capable!"

"You are not, you're driving too fast – there's an embankment all along this road!"

I ignored him, he was merely being his usual over-protective self. Surely I could catch the men – their horses were tired whereas this one had been freshly taken from the stable, the trap was light, I was an excellent driver – yes, we were gaining upon them. Perhaps at that next bend in the road…

"Holmes, slow down!"

We flew around the curve at an exhilaratingly fast clip, and I turned triumphantly to Watson. He was white-faced, gripping the seat tightly, looking fearfully at me.

"Let me take the reins for a while!" he shouted over a peal of thunder.

"No, no," I laughed – we were gaining on the men rapidly now.

At that next curve we should have them! I flicked the reins and the horse leapt forward in obedience to me – I reveled in the power, the speed with which we were covering ground. Almost to the bend now…

"Holmes!"

I laughed exultantly.

"Holmes, look out!"

The frantic cry registered in my ear only a moment before I felt the two right wheels of the trap go over the soft edge of the steep embankment on the side, teetering on the edge. Before I could even realise what was happening there was a shrill shriek from the horse and a crunching, sickening crash as the vehicle went over the edge, rolling over and dropping to the rocky ridge some ten or fifteen feet below.

I was thrown clear of the trap, landing hard on what I assumed was a rock, crying out in pain as I took the blow to my stomach, knocking the wind completely out of me. The rain was pelting down upon the scene, and the cold of it as well as the shock of what had just happened suddenly drove the cloud back from my senses.

Watson!

I scrambled to my feet, desperately trying to reorient my dazed mind, and staggered back to the wreckage of the trap. The horse was dead, its neck broken, and the vehicle itself was in pieces, some of which were strewn upon the rocky ground.

But I was suddenly sickened by the sight of a hand, nearly buried under the wreckage of the vehicle. Ignoring the pain of my own slight injuries I started to desperately haul the pieces of the wreck off my friend, finally freeing him and dragging him out from under the cab.

I choked, my stomach churning, seeing even in the pale moonlight the amount of blood seeping through his clothing and covering the side of his head. He was breathing, but only barely, so shallowly I had to check three times before I realised he still lived.

As I cradled him in my arms and tried to rouse him, he moaned faintly and stirred, the rain beating down upon us and helping to revive him. The wind howled as I desperately tried to get him to respond, calling him again and again…

Finally his eyelids fluttered open for a moment before squeezing shut once more against the pain. I was thankful for the rain, for then he could not tell that half the water on my face was made of tears of guilt as I bent my head over his, fighting for control of myself.

"Watson, please, forgive me," I whispered brokenly, not knowing if he could even hear me.

His eyes opened weakly.

"H-Holmes, Promise m-me –" he gasped, a shudder wracking his frame and causing a strangled cry of pain.

"What?" I whispered, blinking my vision clear.

"Promise me – you won't – use that drug – ever again," he coughed deeply, clenching his jaw with a low moan.

I could not speak round the lump of guilt in my throat, and his eyes turned to meet mine in the semi-darkness, filling with desperate pleading.

"Don't – don't jeopardise – your c-career – any longer – with that," he gasped, his crushing grip on my hand weakening as he spoke, his voice becoming fainter, "p-promise – promise me?"

I nodded wordlessly, unable to talk, and I felt him relax in my arms, giving me the faintest of smiles. Then his eyes closed and he went limp.

"Watson!"

The choked cry came unbidden from my lungs…

"Holmes! For the love of heaven, man!"

Something shook me violently and I snapped my eyes open with a sharp start, absolutely terrified. In the brightness of an afternoon sun I saw that I – I was in Baker Street, in the sitting room, not out on the moors in that horrible case back in '95.

Watson was sitting on the edge of the couch, one arm round my shoulders, holding me tightly in a half-sitting position, his other hand gripping one of mine intensely, his face dead-white. I only then realised that I was drenched in sweat, trembling violently, and that I was only seconds away from a very embarrassing and (for me) unheard-of display of tears. Curse this dreadful weakness I was under!

"What the devil were you dreaming about?" he whispered, "I've not heard a scream that anguished since I left Afghanistan."

I was not strong enough at the moment for prevarication, weakened in both mind and body and therefore not in full control of my emotions as I most definitely would have liked to be.

"The – the Stevenson case," I said shakily, clinging to him in my still-vivid fear.

I saw recognition, then sympathy flit across his face as he realised, and his arm tightened round me protectively.

"It's all right, old fellow," he said gently as I shuddered, and the sound of his strong voice was oddly soothing, "I'm right here, it's all right."

And for once in my life I welcomed the emotional comfort that I so normally rejected as being unfit for my line of work.

But my mind refused to be put at ease, as the sickening dream replayed over and over in my mind, together with the horrible events that had followed that portion of it during that near-fatal case two years ago.

Because of my drug-induced confidence, we had gone over that embankment and Watson had nearly died – it was only a kind Providence that spared him, that sent a man and a country doctor from the inn where I'd stolen the trap out after us that awful night, that allowed him to survive his very serious injuries.

If he had died, I would have been as guilty of murder as if I'd held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. And the price of promising him to never again indulge in that vice was small payment indeed for having his life spared to me.

And that was the vow I had so flippantly broken yesterday.

What had I been thinking?


To be continued...reviews are very much appreciated!