9. Dark (yes I skipped a few. I'll get to them)
I've been going through a rough patch and it's been hard to write. I don't know how often I'll be updating, but every review I get gives me motivation :)
When Holmes was on a case life seemed vibrant, full of movement and interest. The cases drove, inspired, and sustained him. They were as necessary to my friend as air to breathe and water to drink. So it was for obvious reasons that I dreaded the time when no case presented itself and nothing of the slightest interest appeared to amuse him. These were dark times. He turned to his cocaine, to isolation, to the black moods that seemed to seize him in their wretched grip and never, ever let him go. I knew of these black moods. When I had returned from Afghanistan I was miserable and nothing could give me pleasure. It was remedied by my introduction to the very man over whom I now worry. But no such solace was offered to him. The moods came on as fast as thunderclouds, only dissipating when he needed to shine light on another obscure mystery. It was all I could do to keep him alive and sane in the intervals.
My marriage significantly detracted from the time I spent at Baker Street, but I tried to visit - especially when I found out that Holmes's latest case had been brought to a successful resolution and he was once again in the grips of boredom. I could but watch as he slipped slowly down the slope that he had traversed so many times before. First he stopped eating, and only sat in his armchair with his pipe as companion. Then the morocco case appeared, with its syringe of relief and destruction. At last he stopped - everything. I could tell from the bags under my dear friend's eyes that he did not sleep. Mrs. Hudson swore that she brought him his meals as usual, but they went untouched. More often than not I found Holmes in bed or curled up on the settee, lacking even the energy to rise. I had seen this sort of melancholy before. I knew where it too often led. So I excused myself from my home and wife for a few days, and came to stay in the flat that had once been my living quarters.
Holmes did not acknowledge my arrival, nor did he comment upon the bag I had brought with me. He did not move a muscle as I sat myself in my regular place and studied him carefully. That he was in ill health was obvious, though I was sure it was caused by his own neglect and not any physical malady. He was even more gaunt than usual, and over the thin keen face his hair fell uncombed and mussed as if he had been running his hands through it. My heart grieved to see a great man brought to this, and I feared now that I would not be able to restore him.