OK, thanks for all the reviews, and in reply: I killed Holmes because a) I am an evil human being, b) life is being mean so instead of hurling objects at fellow humans, I can actually take it out on a fictional character, as lovely as he is. Just to let you know, I'm not THAT messed up, simply mocking you. And on the plus side…just read on and see what happens, because reviews and Aristotle have indeed managed to improve my well-being.

John? Where are you? I'm still cold and you were so warm and comfortable…Stop it, old friend. Why are you crying? I hope it's not because of me, I'd hate to be a burden yet again. Now, I should probably use my powers of deduction to find out where I am. It's black. And cold. And I can't feel anything. This can't mean anything good, I hope I'm not dead. But I should be, shouldn't I? Any other option would be rather unreasonable. At least it doesn't hurt anymore.

However…John is sad and if I'm dead, who's there to comfort him? I can't leave him like this when he needs me!

Watson! Watson, what happened? How can I help? Oh, but it appears he cannot hear me. This is most distressing. Why is it so dark?

Wait Sherlock, wait…There's a light over there. Maybe that's where John is? I should probably go and check, there is no time to lose. And so Holmes started moving towards the bright spot at the end of the tunnel.

XXXXXXX

And I think your heart just stopped beating.

Or it hasn't quite, but Watson was sure that it would any second now. The slow heartbeat was irregular, as if it wasn't sure if it was allowed to be there at all. As Mary entered the room, her husband was sitting on the bed, holding Holmes's limp body in his arms and fruitlessly trying to suppress the tears streaming down his face.

'John…' she whispered, gently rubbing his back, as she sat next to the doctor. 'Is he…?' her voice trailed off, as Watson sobbed quietly and shook his head, knowing how the question would conclude.

'Not yet, that is,' he added after considering the words for a moment. Mary felt that she was somehow invading her husband's privacy. There would be time for comforting later. For now, he deserved those few moments with his friend.

Watson didn't even notice the door closing. His whole world was suddenly reduced to the bundle of bandages and sweat-soaked hair, lying in his arms. Suddenly, everything that Gladstone had to go through, seemed like praiseworthy attempts to better modern science rather than pointless experiments of a bored mind. The idea of a barter system instead of stealing clothes suddenly started looking legitimate enough and his anger at Holmes's attempts to sabotage his relationship with Mary turned into compassion for his friend who must have simply felt lonely. How Watson wished that he had said all those things, instead of leaving the detective on his own, with no one but a dog to lean on… One thing he feared was that Holmes would pass away thinking of himself as a burden, and not knowing how much he meant for the doctor.

'If you could just stop this and …come back Hol…Sherlock…Maybe you could even talk me into going to Chichester or something. God…if you could just…get better and stop dying on me!'

Stop this? Stop what? Dying? I'm…I'm not…I can't be…I'm coming to help you…I'm…

'Just come back…just stop it! STOP IT!'

Fine mother hen. Just stop yelling. It's fine. I'll come back, I'll come back. Having cast one last glance at the light in the tunnel, Holmes turned around and started walking back into the darkness.

XXXXXXX

Mrs. Hudson came into the bedroom with a tray of food and tea. She was closely followed by Mary, who had been pacing around the living room since she last saw John. He had not moved an inch since then. The bags under his eyes have grown bigger and he looked even more tired than before, but he still seemed determined, constantly talking to the patient who probably couldn't even hear him and his grip on Holmes has not loosened at all.

'John, you need to eat something. We've brought you some steak and tea.'

'Thank you, I'm not hungry. Nor thirsty.' He replied, without looking up at his visitors.

'John…' Mary whispered, desperate to make sure that her husband doesn't fall ill himself because of the exhaustion. 'John. You've been sitting here for four hours.'

'So?'

'Dr. Hoffman is next door. He could stay here while you get some rest and eat properly. You should really…'

'No.' Watson's eyes were still focused on the window looking out onto the back street. It had already turned dark outside, but he had not even made an effort to get up and turn the lights on. As unreasonable as it was, he somehow felt that the moment he let go, Holmes would slip away once and for all. His heart was still beating, now a bit more steadily, but his temperature was still high and he remained unresponsive. Watson knew that Holmes would rather be dead that get some sort of brain damage. Not that he could live with that for long having been locked up in a dungeon for 'becoming possessed' or 'losing his mind' as the authorities would undoubtedly call it. 'No,' the doctor repeated more firmly, hoping that he would be left in peace this time. Instead he was approached by Mary who tried to move one of his hands away from Holmes's shoulder. 'Mary, please. I can't. I mustn't.'

What's going on? Why are you saying this? I really don't mind, you need to look after yourself, mother hen. Just go, I'll be fine.

'Why?'

'It's my fault. It's all my fault. I could have done something faster, so that the bloody infection wouldn't have set in. Or…or I could have warned him in the first place. If he dies, it's my fault…'

Don't say this. Of course it's not. Stop it Watson. You're my best friend, remember? You've done all you could. And I'm fine…well, that is rather debatable, but still…I'll be fine as long as you're safe and happy…

'And he already died on me. Twice. First Heilbronn, and that damn hook …lord, I shouldn't have left him, as I left him now…' Watson decided he needed to stop talking. Otherwise, he risked experiencing a breakdown, right here, right now.

WHAT? Mother hen, are you out of your mind? You really, really mustn't think that. If anybody's, it was my fault. I should have been more careful, I should have come up with a better way of getting the notebook. Don't you even dare blame yourself. Ow, ow…oops, it hurts again. Some opium would do. Wait…I'm really comfy again. And…for the love of God, who is hugging me?! Physical contact with other human beings is not welcome! I told you a million times! Who would dare…?!

'Doctor Watson, let go of him and get some rest. I beg of you! You can do no good if you carry on like this,' this time it was Mrs. Hudson who spoke.

Oh, so it's you Watson. Ok, forget it, I don't mind. Physical contact with best friend is bearable…quite nice in fact. But my reason dictates that you should indeed get some rest, old fellow.

No reply came from the doctor. Mrs. Hudson and Mary looked at each other meaningfully. Mrs. Watson left the tray on a chest of drawers standing next to the door and the women left again. The doctor wasn't allowed peace for long. Dr. Hoffman soon entered the room with a kit in his hand and a sad smile dancing on his lips.

'Dr. Watson. You do realize you are doing your friend no good and that you can only damage your own health in the process.'

The physician looked down at Holmes. Watson might not have been paying attention to it anymore, but the detective was breathing more comfortably again. He was breathing. After his heart almost stopped.

You are doing good John. Why else would I want to come back. Just give me a minute. I'm still walking and walking and this tunnel seems to be never-ending.

'John, from what I've heard from the lovely ladies next door the fever seems to have broken. He should get better.'

'He's still not responding to anything.' Watson mumbled. He didn't care about all his medical knowledge. He stopped paying attention to the detective's pulse. He was still breathing and he had to wake up. There was no other option.

I'm trying Watson, I really am. Ow, ow, ow…this is getting worse.

'Give him some time. And give some yourself as well.'

He didn't have time. Holmes's heart almost stopped again. He said his damn goodbyes, he saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. His friend almost died again. He was never leaving him again, never ever letting go….He wiped his wet eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. Four hours. Going on five. No response at all. Another quiet sob escaped his lips.

'Who…d-died mother hen?' Holmes said upon seeing the distress of his friend through a hazy mist, as soon as he lifted his eyelids with great effort.

'If you do that again Holmes, I'll kill you, bury you, dig up the grave and then kill you once more. Oh…and it is indeed a welcome change to see you're with us.'

Done. Dusted. Back to Aristotle. Bits of his Politics are a good read indeed (yes, I am weird but you already noticed, didn't you?)

Please, REVIEW and give me motivation to write some more. Unless of course, my writing turned into absolute crap that just litters the Internet. If so, do tell me as well, so that I don't waste neither my, nor your time.

Once again, pretty please REVIEW and cheerio!