To Keep From Drugs
by ElenaC

I had watched Holmes scrape desultorily at his violin for half an hour as he kept eying the morocco case, and I knew that the time for action would soon come. I once more consulted my note-book, memorising and re-reading, and so I was ready when he finally put down his instrument with a bleak sigh.

"I say, Watson," he said mournfully, "has there ever been a drearier day than this one? I swear that never has time seemed to creep along at quite so snailish a pace as today." He then began an aimless pacing that, I noticed, kept manoeuvering him closer and closer to the mantelpiece and the salvation of the cocaine bottle.

"We could take a little walk," I suggested, even though I knew already what he would say.

He looked at me, at the morocco case, and then at the window with, I felt, studied nonchalance. "It does not look particularly inviting outside," he pointed out.

I refrained from mentioning that such had, before, rarely influenced his decision. In fact, much to my frequent dismay, he was wont to ignore the clemency or lack of clemency of the weather whenever he felt that he should be outside, and more than once had come home soaked through and chilled to the bone. "A little fresh air would do us both a world of good," I persisted. "I could do with some exercise. My leg does not take too kindly to immobility for too long a time."

He sniffed and flung himself down upon the settee. "You'll forgive me if I do not join you, Watson," he said forlornly. "I simply do not feel like abandoning the comfort of our sitting-room."

Indeed, I did know how he felt. "I shall not leave you to yourself while you are in this mood," I said gently, moving over to him and sitting down next to him.

He looked at me with a bleak expression, his eyes like liquid pools in his pale face. "I'm afraid I am not very good company today," he said softly, uncharacteristically pointing out the obvious.

He did not move away when I put my arm around his spare shoulders, which I took to be a good sign. So I used the opportunity to gently guide his head towards my shoulder and placed both my arms around his slender shape.

This scene, in many permutations, had unfolded countless times before over the course of the last few years. I had, for a long time, been aware of the fact that my friend's occasional use of cocaine had threatened to become more than a habit. Whenever he was not working, he was using it ever more frequently in higher and higher dosages, and I was beginning to fear that he would soon be doing irreparable harm to himself.

As a consequence, I was constantly searching for ways to distract him from the depression that lay at the root of his need for the cocaine. There were actually several tactics that had proved successful, and I was glad to use them as often as Holmes would let me. Still, I feared that there would come a day when he would withdraw from me the way he was withdrawing from everyone else, for then he would surely be irretrievably lost, which would not only be the ultimate triumph for the criminal world, but a terrible tragedy to me personally.

For now, however, there was still hope. He half turned towards me and wrapped his long thin arms around me, apparently content to use me as a live pillow, and I was equally content to let him.

"There is a man lying dead in a closed room," I said softly, kissing the side of his face. "The only other occupant of the room is another man, unarmed."

"Cause of death?" Holmes asked immediately, apparently having expected me to come out with something like this.

"The back of his head is smashed in," I explained, closing my eyes to recall the facts exactly.

"Shocking." Holmes turned a little more, resting his head against my shoulder. "And I suppose the other chap is physically weak and does not look capable of such a violent act?"

"Exactly. The other chap, let's call him Jones, is a weak little man, and he has nothing in his possession besides his clothes."

"What else is there in the room?"

I began to move my hands over his slim body, trying to relax the tenseness I encountered in each whip-cord muscle. "Furniture, some paper-back books, a carpet, a window, closed, and a bed. Oh, and the door was locked from the inside, of course."

"Of course." He snuggled his face into my neck, the tension leaving his body with each passing minute. "Could he have been done in with, say, a chair?"

"All movable furniture is of inferior quality and would certainly show signs of abuse like cracks or some such. There is no such trace."

"Hmm." He kissed my neck and began his own exploration of my body, something I whole-heartedly welcomed. "Time of death?"

"A few hours ago. Four, four and a half, maybe."

"What does this Jones fellow have to say for himself?"

"He remains silent."

"Anything unusual about the room? Something a close examination would reveal that the likes of Lestrade would miss?"

I tousled his hair, delighted to find a smile upon his face, the first I had seen today. "Well, a typical, painstaking Holmesian examination would reveal a wet spot upon the carpet."

"How big? Stemming from how much liquid approximately?"

"Half a gallon, maybe."

"Colour? Smell?

I kissed his temple and one closed eye. "Neutral. Smells of carpet."

"And, raising the carpet at that point, one would find...?"

"One would find that the liquid has soaked into the floorboards."

He shifted around further until he was almost sitting upon my lap. "So it has been there for some time." His arms tightened about me. "I should deduce that, in this room without any blunt instruments that can be used for the purpose, our man has been clubbed over the head with a weapon that has since turned into water. A big block of ice or something similar."

I smiled. "You are too clever, Holmes. The book said this would take many more questions to figure out."

"So that was what you were so avidly reading earlier, Watson. I was wondering what book of an obviously non-medical nature should engender that studious expression upon your face." He shifted a little more and finally settled down against me with a sigh. "Still, it afforded me some minutes of mental exercise, and for that I thank you. I truly do not know what I should do without you."

He said it half-jokingly, but I, by no means his equal in observation and deduction, still detected the utter sincerity of his words, and my heart swelled with pride.

"I require your word of honour that you will not read that booklet behind my back, Holmes," I admonished him. "It is at present the only means of distracting you at my disposal."

He raised his head to look at me, and I was relieved to see the old twinkle in his grey eyes. "Not quite, my dear fellow, not quite. But maybe you should demonstrate your not inconsiderable talents in those areas your modesty prevents you from mentioning later today, and in the bedroom."

I smiled modestly, only too glad to follow his suggestion.