a/n: This is not an easy journey.

You can savage this chapter all you like, by the way, concrit is welcome by me.

The darkness in his face was rapidly changing to concern. "Holmes, what were you thinking—you didn't use alcohol or a tourniquet!"

"What?" I looked down to find the inside of my arm covered with dried blood. "I don't understand—it seemed the same as always."

I did not turn to follow his motions as he walked past me carrying the syringe and bottle, but I did hear a drawer pulled open, the rattling of the secreted objects and the turning of a key. "You'll be lucky if you don't get an infection. Sit down in the chair."

I could not help an inward twist at the commanding tone.

"Your arm wants a very thorough cleaning, Holmes; I know you've done this before but I'd rather I did it now." He settled himself on the edge of the bed and lay down his supplies. It seemed to me he took my arm a bit roughly.

The soft rasp of wet cotton on my skin was the only relief from the crackling silence. I wound my feet around the legs of the chair, nose twitching at the rubbing alcohol. "Watson—"

"Yes?" He frowned, wiping off the last traces of blood.

I looked past him to the wall. "What--happens now?"

"I saw your gun out," he said steadily, taking up a bandage. "I think I shall begin by putting it away when I'm finished with your arm. Sit back down, Holmes. I also saw you barely touched your food. We will have dinner together tonight, and neither of us will leave the table until all the food is eaten. Holmes—sit down. I'm nearly done."

I fumbled for my collar with my left hand; the air in that room was much too stifling.

"This is my fault as much as yours, you know; I should have hidden—that is to say: I must have the drug on hand for my patients. Since it has proved too tempting, I will now have to keep it locked up. I would have done that in the first place, only I wanted—"

"I understand. It was a noble thing to do." I stood, pulled my sleeve down and walked to the window. "I expect you will be watching me more closely now."

"I'm sorry, Holmes."

The distance to the ground was relatively high. My hand brushed the sash as I turned to face him. "Watson, tell me straight out. Are you planning on sending me to an asylum?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'd have to be insane myself to do that! But listen, Holmes—I need to know. Why today? What happened?"

"What happened? Only the inevitable," I replied coolly, smoothing my vest. "I recall telling you this quest would end in failure."

"Holmes, no! We'd turned a corner. We breakfasted together today, you seemed much better. Was I only imagining it?"

"You must understand, not all men are like you, Watson—not all have such a connection betwixt the brain and the visage."

He looked at me, uncomprehending. "I wish I knew why this came out of thin air."

"It didn't. You saw everything and deduced nothing. Must I spell everything out to you, always, Watson?"

He looked at me, a slow and horrible light dawning. "I didn't see…I've failed you, then. I've done it all wrong—and this day's action was the crown jewel in my stupidity." He choked on the last word, and tumbling the remaining supplies into his bag, he rushed to the door--though not fast enough to hide his escaping grief.

Two hours had passed since then, yet I'd not moved from the spot. I hated myself for invading his room, and God knew where he'd sought privacy to deal with his emotion, but it had all happened too fast for me to stop him--to do anything really.

He thought he had failed me.

But had we even established what success was?

My mind started on a more normal train of thought, and I stood and began to pace. "When we began, we were not sure what the outcome would be." I held my index finger in the air, captivating my audience right from the start. "It's easy enough to say you will start such and such a project. But putting your hand to the plough and beginning, ah well, that's when you find yourself immersed in the filth of reality, is it not?"

They cheered approvingly and I continued, picking up confidence and vigor in my style. "We were certain we had a good plan in observing and recording. Yet it occurs to me that not only must one know what they are looking for—which we did, viz., the fluctuations in various categories—but one must also define the goal, the ultimate end. Did we do that?" The audience was somewhat hesitant in their response.

"We did, but vaguely. An add—a habit is a difficult thing to change, and I think perhaps, and only perhaps, gentlemen, our plan wants clarification in terms of the goal. It must have subdivisions, timetables; in short, much more than a New Year's resolution!"

The room erupted in cheers and I bowed with a flourish. "No, no, that is quite enough; I cannot go on...champagne is on me, my good men, and I bid you a very fine evening."

"Holmes, you never left the stage."

Choking back a shout, I leaped around to find Watson leaning against the doorframe. He was smiling, though his eyes were red, and he held the silver and blue book in his hands. "Perhaps after dinner we can do a little work?"

After taking a moment to regain my composure, I nodded and reached for the book. My motor skills must have been slightly impaired by stress, for I found myself grasping his hand instead.