Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far. Here's your next chapter

Conversations

It had been almost two weeks since the case of Mary Smith, and yet Holmes was still spending copious amounts of time in his office. Along with this, he still wasn't eating. It worried me that my appetite was once again plunged to a bear minimal. Yet if Holmes was like this, then he must have found another case - one he hadn't told me about...

"Holmes, have you got another case?" I'd asked my friend as we sat quietly in the living room in our chairs.

But my question didn't seem to rouse him from his concentration. He continued staring into the fire pensively, fingers interlocked over his stomach.

I waited a little while longer before deciding not to pry, trusting that it was for a good reason he kept the answer from me. So I left the detective to his own devices and I went to bed to get another night of restless sleep.

The following day I found Holmes in his study. We had a brief conversation from which I found out that he was no longer working on a case. But he did not answer my question as to why he was still behaving like he was still working on one.

I left his study feeling rather concerned and even more confused than before. I spent the next few days trying to figure out what was happening. Why was Holmes acting the way he was?

During this time I was also still trying to figure out my own concerns, my feelings. What were they? Were they just confusion?


I picked up the tray I'd prepared for Holmes. It was a simple dinner, but at least it was something and I was hoping that since I went to the trouble of making it for him he would eat it.

When I reached the study, I knocked on the door and waited a few moments before opening it (knowing he wouldn't answer).

"Holmes, I've made dinner for you." I said as I entered the sickly room.

It was full of smoke and papers were everywhere. I could hardly breathe or walk. But I persevered and placed the tray on his desk. "Please eat something." I almost begged.

Holmes didn't even look at me. He continued staring aimlessly out the curtained window.

"Holmes!" I said, raising my voice. "Don't just ignore me!"

He finally looked at me for the first time in a number of days. He then eyed the food briefly before staring back out the window.

"Holmes!" I repeated. "Please, you've been like this for over two week now and you've not had a case since. Why are you still acting like this? Is something wrong?" I couldn't keep the alarm out of my voice. "I would have-"

"Watson." He finally interrupted, his voice soft and sound quite weak. "Please leave." He said.

"Holmes-"

"Leave now!" He said, considerably louder, without looking at me.

I felt anger build up in me. "Holmes, look at me at least. I don't have to tolerate such behaviour. I don't know how or why I have for so long. You have been a real try of my patience as of late! If something were bothering you this much I would have thought you'd have the decency to confide in me or at least behave better. You've eaten nothing these past number of weeks, and said very little to me. Do you think I enjoy watching you deteriorate?"

He didn't answer me, he didn't react to my words; he just sat there.

I continued when he gave no response. "I was only concerned at first, because this is what you are usually like when on a case. But when I learnt you were not, I became worried. Not concerned, worried. I don't know what to do either because you won't talk to me. And now you won't even look at me!" I just didn't know what to say to him. "If you aren't going to talk to me or look at me anymore, I have half a mind to leave - leave Baker Street. It would seem you no longer want me around anyway seeing as I wasn't wanted on that case." I waited only a moment before turning to leave. As I stepped out the door I turned back. "Please, just eat something." I said, very weakly.

I then returned to my room without eating either and went to bed for another night of restless sleep. I was sure I would soon die.


I didn't know what time it was when I began to stir, but it was still in the night as there was no sign of dawn yet. Waking up more I was aware of a presence in the room giving me a fright before I could figure out who it was.

"Watson…" Came the familiar voice of my friend. It sounded weak, defeated and despairing.

"Holmes? What in heaven's name has you in my room at such an hour?" I asked, my anger from earlier gone and forgotten. Sitting up I squinted as my eyes adjusted. I could just make out Holmes' figure next to my bed.

"My apologies, but you sleep so restlessly as of late." He said.

The implication didn't hit me straight away. "You've been in my room other nights?" I asked, unsure if I wanted an answer.

"No." He said quickly. "But I hear you at night, moving about constantly." He paused. "You weren't really considering leaving Baker Street, were you?" He asked me.

I was quite taken aback. "Sit, Holmes." I said, moving my feet so there was a space for him. He did so promptly. "Why do you ask such a question?" I then realised to what he was referring. "Holmes, I…" But nothing came out. I couldn't finish the sentence.

When I didn't answer, he stood. "I see. I'm sorry to bother you at such an hour." He said.

"Can we discuss this in the morning?" I asked as he went to leave.

"I'm unsure if I'll still have the courage." And he left. I could've sworn I'd heard a sob in his voice.


I spent the most of that night going over what had occurred, but by morning I was unsure if it even happened. So I decided that if Holmes didn't say anything, then there was nothing to be said.

I found Holmes in his chair in the living room that morning, smoking his pipe quietly. He was still in his robe and it looked as if he'd been there the whole night. I did not enter the room. Instead I left the house and went for a walk to try clear my mind.

When I returned, Holmes was once again in his study doing whatever it was he was doing. After what transpired the previous day I decided against disturbing him again.