Disclaimer: None of the characters from Sherlock Holmes belong to me. Dr. Harvey does, though. You want an appointment, you schedule through me. GOT IT?

A/N: I apologize for the delay. It's been a crazy first week of school and I just now got around to sticking this up. But it's a good chapter, I think, so be happy. Even if it isn't...really...happy.

Creak.

Pause.

Creak.

Pause.

Creak.

Pause.

Creak.

"Holmes, stop pacing," Watson muttered.

Creak.

Watson sighed and put his hand over his eyes.

"I hardly think you should worry about an obnoxious noise at a time like this." Holmes jabbed his finger at the door across from Watson. "Mrs. Hudson is in there on her deathbed."

"I'm well aware," Watson said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Doctor Harvey is good with poisons. He'll…he'll take care of her."

The bitterness in his voice was plain. Though Watson held the reputation as one of the best doctors and surgeons in London, his medical experience with poisons wasn't nearly enough to deal with this. Therefore, their unfortunate landlady had been turned over to a colleague more skilled in the area. He had barely arrived in time. It had been a close call—the verdict was still undecided as to whether or not Mrs. Hudson would pull through. Holmes could see all too clearly that Watson was blaming himself for being unable to offer immediate aid.

He stared at Watson for a moment, before sighing and leaving the hole he was wearing into the carpet. He leaned against the mantle of the lit fireplace.

Something had to be said, anything, to break the silence. "You contacted Mycroft?" Watson asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Yes. He was planning on taking a holiday in Spain anyway."

Watson clasped his hands together and leaned forward, looking blankly at the floor. "Mary has gone to her cousin's home in Norway…her parents have gone to France…."

The sleuth said nothing.

Slowly Watson looked up. "And…what of Miss Ad—"

"I'm sure she can take care of herself," Holmes said briskly. "After all…she placed herself in this position…the consequences are hers to bear, not…not anyone else's…."

Doubtfully, Watson wondered how long Holmes would keep that viewpoint.

Minutes passed before either of them spoke again. When Holmes did say something, Watson didn't know what he was talking about.

"It was her, you know."

The doctor didn't understand. "…what?"

"The woman. In the garden. The one who…who poisoned Nanny. Irene."

Watson was taken aback and sat up straight. "But…but she rode here with us! She was in the carriage, sitting right next to me!"

"Yes."

Suddenly something struck Watson. He stared at Holmes. "You knew."

Holmes avoided his gaze. "Yes."

"You knew who she was, you…you knew what she did! And you did nothing?"

Holmes replied with a very quiet, "No."

Watson could feel the heat of anger rising to his face. "She's working with Moriarty! She helped him try to kill me! Because of her, Mrs. Hudson may die! And you let her go?"

The sleuth was melancholy. "Watson, please…what choice did I have—"

The doctor grabbed Holmes's collar and yanked him up. "You had a choice, Holmes. You had hundreds of choices, and all of them better than that one!"

Holmes looked at his friend with wide eyes. "You don't know what it's like, Watson—"

"I don't care what it's like! You're a genius, Holmes, and you wittingly allow yourself to be manipulated by this snake of a woman—"

"She's not a snake," Holmes interjected.

"She is a terrible person!" Watson retorted. "Who does terrible things!"

"Moriarty would kill her if she—"

"Holmes, listen to yourself! You just said she got herself into this, and that she could get herself out! Now you're making excuses for her? You're defending her, for—"

Holmes grabbed the doctor's arm. "Let go of me, Watson. I have things figured out," he said icily.

"Oh do you? From where I'm standing, it looks as though you have no idea what's going on! You don't know anything, Holmes! You haven't a clue what to do, yet you're too proud to admit it!" Watson shouted. "You're an arrogant, selfish child who expects everyone to bend to your will just because you—"

"Watson!" Holmes snarled. "I can do this! I can stop him, I only need—"

"Need what, Holmes, more time? How much more time? Enough for him to murder the rest of us?" Watson shoved Holmes away. "You and I both know that he can find them, no matter how far away they go. You think country borders and oceans matter to him?"

"I'm only asking you to trust me, Watson," Holmes said. "He won't get to them. I can prevent it, I—"

"How, Holmes? How are you going to prevent it? You're not a miracle worker!"

"I never said I was!"

"You seem to think you are! The great Sherlock Holmes, the smartest man in the world, practically invincible!"

"I'm not invincible, Watson!"

"And neither am I! Neither is Mycroft, nor Mrs. Hudson!" Watson clenched his fists. "We are not pawns, Holmes. We are people. We can be killed. And no one, not even you, can bring us back. You have no right to risk our lives this way."

Holmes looked at Watson with a confused mixture of anger and helplessness on his face. "Watson…it's the only way."

The doctor laughed coldly. "Fine, Holmes. Do what you want. You would anyway. But I will tell you right now—if Mary dies, if she is killed because of you…you will wish Moriarty's man had succeeded."

A chill went down Holmes's spine at the look on Watson's face. "So that's it, then? That's your decision?"

Watson turned around and opened the door.

"Yes."

Holmes flinched as the door slammed behind the doctor. Feeling hollow, he walked numbly towards the chair Watson had left vacant. The same spot on the floor creaked as he walked over it and he winced as though he'd been stabbed.

Silently, Holmes sank into the chair.

A few minutes later, the door across the room opened. Doctor Arthur Harvey, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines on his face, stood in the doorway.

"She'll be weak for some time," he said, "but she'll pull through."

Holmes breathed a sigh of relief and buried his face in his hands.

Harvey looked around the room. "Where's Doctor Watson?"

The sleuth closed his eyes and clenched his fists, leaning forward and setting them on the arms of the chair. "He…he left."

"Oh. Will he be returning anytime soon?"

Holmes opened his eyes and stared at the carpet.

"No. No, I…I don't think he will."

Cliffhangers. They may very well be my specialty. R&R—I'm just dying to get chewed out for this one. ;D