Thank you soooooooo much to everyone who have reviewed and added story alerts to this story! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting for this latest instalment. I was unwell over the New Year and then I adopted a rescue cat!!! She is sixteen months old and is called Zilly-Joan. I am looking forward to welcoming her home next weekend! Anyway without further ado, onwards to Chapter Four!!

Chapter Four

He was standing at the edge of the Falls. Holmes was dead. Tears flowed freely down Watson's cheeks as he took in the scene before him. The sound of the torrential waterfall grew louder and began to take on a mocking tone. On and on. Watson held his hands to his ears, trying to block out the terrible, malevonant laughter, falling to his knees as he did so. As Watson looked up the scene altered, the waterfall was no longer white and foaming, it was gushing blood. Holmes's blood. And out of the mists came a face. Moriarty, laughing and jeering. Watson screamed out in agony and rage on seeing the face. He fell back, crawling backwards away from the apparition and in terror called out for Holmes over and over again. Holmes appeared, Watson reached out towards Holmes, desperate for the comfort and support of his friend, but wait...Holmes was dead, he died…the falls. Watson cried out for Holmes once more. He felt a strong force of pressure pushing him back. And then Holmes changed. No longer the familiar Bohemian figure he had come to love and protect but instead morphed into Moriarty. Watson screamed.

Then the scenery changed. He was no longer at the Falls. Where was he? Where was Holmes? Why was it so dark? Watson whimpered as he felt cramps attack his body. He felt weak, nauseous, his head was swimming in the darkness, his legs gave way, but he did not feel himself fall. Something had prevented that. He could not determine what though. Why was it so dark here? I feel so alone here. As if to shut out the darkness, Watson clutched wrapped his arms around himself and sat down in a corner and whimpered. Where was Holmes? What is happening to me?

Without warning Watson was plunged into a landscape of fire and heat. The cannons fired, ringing his ears. He was at Maiwand. People collapsing around him, Horses shrieking in fear as the bullets whizzed past them. Watson felt helpless. He wanted to aid the soldiers, but they were dead, all dead. Watson covered his eyes to shut out the sea of blood. He stumbled and then fell over dead bodies. Watson called out for Murray, looking for his orderly. And then saw him dead amongst the fallen. Watson collapsed next to the still form. Clutching Murray in his arms he felt for a pulse and found none. He looked at the face of his Orderly once more, only to find it was not Murray he now held in his arms, but the bloodied body of Holmes. Watson let out a cry of pain and grief, rocking Holmes in his arms protectively. No no no no. cried Watson, as he buried his face into the still form of Holmes. Not Holmes, please God Holmes, you can't be dead, nooo, I failed you... HOLMES!

Maiwand dissolved, and Watson was back in the sitting room at Baker Street. My God, that was some nightmare thought Watson grimly as he sat back in his chair by the fire. And then he saw Holmes slumped in his chair, head forward and an arm outstretched rubber band hanging slackly from it. Still holding a syringe in one hand and his cocaine box in the other. Watson rushed forward and grabbed his friend, reaching out and searching for a pulse. There was none to be found. Holmes was dead. Overdosed. He had destroyed himself. Watson cried out in rage and hurt as he held his dead friend, throwing away the vile box into the fire. Holmes, Holmes what have you done? You let that poison destroy you, how could you do that to me? Why would you leave me in this way? Watson broke down completely and cried bitterly, he took up his revolver and held it against his temple. He could not go on living with Holmes dead. And then a voice rang out as clear as a bell, pleading, begging which said simply

"Don't give up Watson, you can fight this, I am here, with you"

It was a strong commanding voice; Watson dropped the revolver and turned round towards the direction of the voice. It spoke again, calling to him

"Watson, please, don't you dare do this to me, fight this"

Watson got up and moved towards the voice swaying as he did so and noticed that Baker Street no longer existed and he was now standing on an empty plain. Staggering forward a familiar figure was coming into view.

"Holmes!" cried out Watson weakly.

Pushing himself forward, he put one foot in front of the other and stumbled towards his friend. He was tired, so very tired. Watson looked up and found Holmes smiling, his arms outstretched in greeting, reassuring.

"Watson, it's alright, you are safe with me. Let me help you rest".

"Tired...So tired..." responded Watson wearily, falling asleep in the arms of the one man he regarded as his safe harbour.

Watson awoke to a world of dimmed gaslights and the welcome sight of one very tired detective looking over him.

********

It was not long after Watson had lost consciousness that Holmes soon found himself plunged into a long night struggling to help his ailing Boswell. Holmes helped Watson as he screamed many times during the night as nightmares plagued him. He heard his own name over and over again in the fever filled dreams that haunted Watson. Holmes held Watson tightly in his arms giving him comfort, a sense of security as the nightmares threatened to overwhelm him. And then there was they physical struggle as Watson burned with fever. He repeatedly laid a wet cloth on Watson's forehead and spoke softly to him, reassuring and soothing. Anything that would calm his troubled friend. Worst of all Holmes watched and supported Watson as he retched, the body rejecting the cocaine that was in his body. As the night wore on and watching Watson fight, Holmes thought of only one thing

Is this what you had to do for me when I was lost to my own form of escape? How many times must you have watched me self inflict myself with the drug with the medical knowledge of what the consequences would be? Oh my dear Watson, what have I done to you my poor friend?

Holmes looked at the still form of Watson, his body completely exhausted and buried his face in his hands. He could not bear seeing the reflection of himself in Watson. He had failed. He had let his Watson down. He fought off his own cravings for that seven percent solution. He could not take it now and escape into oblivion. Not while Watson was fighting so hard against it. Holmes curled his hands into fists in frustration and his thin aquiline frame shook in anger and frustration. His attention was arrested by the sound of Watson suddenly struggling to breathe. The cocaine was attempting to take away the one and only friend he had ever known. Panic stricken Holmes took hold of Watson and held him firmly.

"Don't give up Watson, you can fight this, I am here, with you…." Commanded Holmes.

Watson struggled and almost choked as his cracked ribs rubbed against one another as he fought for another breath of air. Holmes clutched his Watson once more and drew closer to him, struggling to maintain his composure and to stop his voice from breaking down completely. He had to remain strong.

"Watson, please, don't you dare do this to me, fight this. " Holmes pleaded.

He felt Watson slowly stop struggling and beginning to breathe more easily. Holmes closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks. Watson had survived the most critical moment of the night. Still holding Watson he was gently laying him back on soft pillows when he saw dulled pain filled hazel orbs meeting his own tired grey ones.

"Holmes..." whispered Watson weakly, too tired to say anymore.

Holmes fought back tears as he tucked the covlet round Watson.

"Shhh, rest Watson, you have had a bad time of it, but it is over now. Sleep my friend; I will still be here when you wake up". Said Holmes raggedly as his own exhaustion tugged away at him.

Watson obeyed, too exhausted to fight anymore and his eyelids closed once more as he slipped away into the arms of Morpheus. Holmes slumped back in his chair. Watson had survived the first battle; he knew there would be more to come. Holmes smiled grimly and as he succumbed to his own exhaustion he reassured himself. My Watson is a soldier as well as Doctor. He has seen many battles in his time. This would be another. Except this time he will not have to face it alone.

I hope this was worth the wait !! What will happen to Holmes and Watson now? What lies ahead for them both ? I will be writing more soon! :)