As I rather suspected, the child-like euphoria did not last long. It's the next day and already things are more mundane, duller, and take more effort to complete. But I still complete them, and it is not as hard as before. My engine is running again, at its lowest effort perhaps but it is going, and that is quite different from the cold, dead internal silence of before.

I tidied up my chemistry corner a little—I am not a tidy man, as Watson will openly attest, but an experiment cannot be properly run without some little order. Some of the labels on the chemicals were peeling off and smudged; I took care in writing fresh labels for the HCl and the Florine.

And then when I was rinsing the ink from my hands I noticed my nails were really in a sad state, unusual for me. I had been neglecting, as Watson put it, my certain quiet primness of dress…I must put this right. I went to my room, found my nail scissors and spent a good of time making myself more presentable.

Watson rapped on my door after a little, and he seemed to have some look of mischief and expectation. "Ah, you are getting ready?"

"Ready for what?"

His face fell. "Haven't you read it yet?"

I glanced about the room and saw he had placed a letter on my pillow. "I hadn't noticed it."

"Well?"

"Watson, do I interrupt you when you're cutting your nails?" Though my tone was severe, I was already reaching for the envelope. I pulled the letter out and unfolded it with a flourish, purused the contents and hid a smile. "You are a ridiculous man."

"I'll pay."

"Watson, you're absurd."

"Three months without it, that means a great deal, Holmes."

"You really want to celebrate?"

"Don't you?"

"I can't say no to Simpsons. Go and change to your evening clothes; I'll do the same and meet you in the sitting room."

------------------------------------------------

Normally I don't pay much energy for trifles, but tonight I couldn't help paying attention to every detail. I was standing in my room with a pair of suspenders in each hand, weighing the choices, when there was a rap on my door.

"Yes, Holmes, I'm nearly ready."

He sprang in and paced about my room with a sprightly step. "Hurry, man, I'm getting hungry."

"Something I thought I would never hear you say. Only a minute, and I'll be ready. Shall we get appetizers tonight?"

"Yes, yes, of course we shall. Haven't you chosen a waistcoat yet? I shall do so for you."

"Holmes, you needn't—"

"It's more time-efficient if I do."

And with a happy hum, he jerked open my bureau drawer and began flinging my things about. "I should think this one, with the buttons—"

"Hm? What about the buttons?" I was having a little trouble fastening my suspenders; it was a moment before I turned. "Holmes?"

His back was to me, but I could see the waistcoat slipping from his suddenly limp fingers.

"Holmes, what is the matter?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps…perhaps I allowed myself to become overexcited. I will sit down a moment." He walked with a faltering step to my bed and sat on the edge, evading my gaze.

I came to stand before him. His eyes…his breathing…

He put his fingers to his temples. "Perhaps as a medical man you can explain, Watson, this curious phenomena. I have not touched it for several months, and yet…" his voice was unsteady, and I could hear his teeth gritting.

"I don't understand, Holmes, and cannot explain." I sat beside him and tried to put my arm on his shoulder, but he pushed me away with a powerful shove.

"Don't touch me, Watson!"

He bent forward until his chest touched his knees, and closed his eyes tightly. "I will not let it master me," he breathed. "I will not let it master me…"

I sat near him, trying to control my own trembling. I hope never again to witness the scene which unfolded next. The expression on his face was enough to choke me. Fear, anger, confusion and then absolute disgust. And it was only downhill from there.

"What would you like to do?" My words broke a silence which had hovered for nearly an hour.

Holmes pushed himself to a sitting position and ran his hand across his forehead. "You don't know what I want to do. But I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to wash up, change my collar and wait for you to finish getting ready. And then we are going to get dinner as we had planned."

"Are you certain—"

"No. but that is what we are going to do." He got to his feet and stood with a set glare, which softened a bit of a sudden. "I didn't hurt you, did I Watson? When I…pushed you?"

"Not at all, Holmes."

"Good. I will meet you in the sitting room in a quarter of an hour, then."

"Holmes, forgive me, but I cannot leave you alone. Neither of us knows what happened, and I--I'm worried for your health, for all we know you may collapse. You must wait a moment for me, then I will accompany you downstairs."

He surveryed me a moment. "So it is only because you worry for my health?"

"Absolutely. Any distrust I have, old fellow, lies with your circulatory system, not your character."

"Very well. I will indulge your fears this time." Straightening his tie, he leaned against the wall and watched as I quickly finished putting on my waistcoat and tie. "All done? Then let us go. I wouldn't be entirely averse to taking your arm on the stairs, no."

His eyes were heavy-lidded in apathy; he couldn't even try to smile when I made a little joke about the appetizers we had spoken of earlier.

There was one moment, as he was washing his face in his room, where he paused, held the sides of the table and allowed his head to hang. "Watson, there is a definite difference between a celebratory dinner, and one choked by undesired joviality. And I am afraid I've dragged us over that line, old fellow. We cannot celebrate now."

"Not as we were going to, perhaps," I amended, handing him a towel. "But I still say we have cause for a quiet celebration. Do not assume, just because I am not in your position, I don't know what an effort you are making."

He took the towel and dried his face, then flung the towel on his bed and went to hunt up a fresh collar. "Watson…I confess I hardly know head from tail at the moment. I hear your words as sounds, but all is very cloudy and black. Ah! here we are." He nipped up the collar and began to fasten it on. "I am not easily rattled, as you know, but…"

"Yes, we must talk it over. But first let us have something to eat. And that gleaming cart, well it is a hard thing not to be cheered by it, eh? Are you ready now, Holmes? Let us set off."

He nodded curtly, and we adjourned to the sitting room to fetch our hats and coats. He settled his top hat on his head with a cool look, and took up his stick with assurance, but his hand gripped my arm with a desperate tightness as we stepped into the evening, and he was quiet the entire cab ride.

A/n: When Cocaine is used a good deal over time, the body can't get rid of it all and some is stored in the body; it is released over time during normal metabolism processes and it is as if the person took the drug. Or so my reseach turned up. :p