Now updated to include a REAL drug!

Dr. Watson settled into his chair as Sherlock went off to his microscope. He looked at Bridgette: she was staring at him, but it was almost as if she was looking through him, seeing something far away.

Neither he nor Sherlock had any idea what to do with her until they found the antidote, so they just left her on the couch where they, or Dr. Watson, at least, could keep an eye on her. He was beginning to worry about her and wished the consulting detective would hurry up in his detecting. Tachycardia for a long period of time was never a good thing, and his patient was beginning to become short of breath.

John turned to his magazine as Bridgette pulled her feet up onto the sofa and sat back, as if she was waiting for Sherlock's deduction too. He had just become moderately engrossed in an article about how gastric bypass surgery was being used to treat Type 2 diabetes when he heard Sherlock call from the kitchen. "I've got it!"

John sighed with relief and went to peer over his flatmate's shoulder at the strange compound shown on the computer screen. "Scopolamine? But that's used for treating motion sickness and stuff."

"In much small quantities, John. See? It's also known as Devil's Breath and has been used in South America for centuries, dating back to before the Spanish conquest."

"I must admit that the symptoms certainly seem spot on," the older man conceded, scanning his eyes down the list that included hallucinations, tachycardia, confusion, and blurred vision.

"And there are accounts of criminals using it on their victims. Seems that they become completely compliant and are unable to form new memories while they're under the influence."

"I wonder if there've ever been cases of the re-awakening of old memories..."

"Come now, John; that's absurd!"

Just then, Sherlock's phone made a little "ding" noise, which Sherlock ignored and prevented John from having to think up a witty retort. "Aren't you going to answer that, Sherlock?"

"Why should I?"

"That's Lestrade's ringtone."

"So?"

"So it's a case!"

"So what? I've got a case here; if he can't wait until I'm done with this one, then he's being an even poorer excuse for a DI than usual."

For the second time in one day, John couldn't believe what he was seeing. Sherlock, refusing a case from Scotland Yard to work on a case that could barely be called one?

"Well, Dr Watson? Where do you want to go from here?"

"Wait, you're asking me for an opinion? What's to say that you won't immediately disregard anything I say?"

"Don't be daft, John. I've seen the way you've been looking at her," at this John's eyes almost bugged out of his head, but Sherlock continued, "you've clearly taken her on as your patient, and I even I know better than to get between you and a medical decision."

John leaned back into the computer screen, verifying the treatment plan he, admittedly, had already formulated.

"Well, there weren't any needle marks on her when she came in, so I think it's fair to say that she didn't get it that way."

"I think it was inhaled, rather than ingested," Sherlock added.

"Right. Then I don't think a dose of physostigmine would go amiss; I don't think she's had enough to warrant gastric lavage or induced emesis."

Sherlock nodded in agreement and quickly began to put on his long coat and scarf.

"Come along, John. I knew you'd see things my way."

John rolled his eyes, but watched at Sherlock knelt down in front of his patient and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Stay by me, alright? Don't leave my side." Bridgette nodded before standing up obediently and taking Sherlock's hand like a small, trusting child. John stifled a giggle and Sherlock glared at him.

John looked away, but not before noticing that Sherlock did not remove his hand from hers.