A/n: Heads up, this is kind of a strange chapter. Heavy on philosophy and theology, I guess is the way to put it.

I once had care of a man who was subject to fits without warning. I could recognize him in silhouette because of his halting, timid walk; no one else I knew lived in such continuous fear, that any moment his body would betray him. No one else looked about himself every moment, starting at harmless noises—it was as if he felt every eye in the world upon him in judgment.

"Holmes?"

"What! Oh, confound it…Watson, look at this—what a mess…"

"It's nothing, no trouble at all," I assured him quickly, grabbing my napkin and blotting up the water. "I did speak without warning—"

"Oh come off it," he mumbled, rubbing his twitchy hands together. "Waiter, could we possibly have another glass of water? Thank you. Oh—another napkin, too?"

"We'll be ready to order when you return," I added.

"You're optimistic." Holmes sank out of sight behind his menu.

"Does nothing appeal to you, Holmes? Let me see." I moved around the table and sat in the chair next to him. "What about—"

"No."

"I hadn't even said it!"

"I can see where you're looking." He was knotting his napkin into something that resembled a tortured origami swan.

I sighed behind my hand. "Maybe we should have stayed home."

"We said we were going out for dinner, that's all there is to it. What are you having?"

"Potted shrimps, I fancy."

"Hm. Hardly remember what they taste like."

"They're succulent little morsels, Holmes. And with the sauce, and all on crisp toast—"

When the waiter returned, we placed two orders of potted shrimps.

I was enjoying sitting next to Holmes, and thought nothing of it until the two plates were placed side-by-side; I coloured then, getting to my feet. "Dear me, Holmes, I was so absent, I didn't realize I'd—well, I'll move back to my seat of course."

I paused at a pluck on my sleeve, looking round—Holmes was inspecting his shrimp quietly, his left hand just returning to his side.

I sat back down and picked up my fork. I was crunching into the first shrimp, the tiny bite rich with flavor, when I noticed Holmes wasn't really making any attempt to eat; he was stirring the shrimp about, and drawing intricate patterns with a fork tine dipped in sauce. He paused every few seconds, looking over his shoulder, then out the window, then at his own hands.

"Holmes—are you going to try one?"

He shrugged uneasily, leaving off the patterns and starting to make little dots of sauce on the edge of the plate. "Eventually, perhaps." He took a drink of water and glanced at me, lowering his voice as he spoke next. "Well, you should be easier now, Watson."

"How's that?"

"Your work is over. I'm obviously beyond all efforts, for now it controls me."

"No!"

"Yes." He rested his chin on his palm and looked down at his plate. "We buried it, but that was no use. It puppets me from the grave, Watson. Don't feel badly, and don't look like that—it's the way science works: you learn through experimenting. But now we know it's impossible, that I went too far and am a hopeless case. Surely you can see a bright side for yourself? You'll have a good deal more time to read your novels. Who knows but you might write one, without me for once."

He patted my hand with a sad smile, and I felt as if the shrimp I'd eaten had tired of my stomach and decided to crawl back up. "Stop this nonsense," I growled, setting down my fork and fixing him with an icy stare. "We are not giving up, this does not mean it's hopeless."

"Then what does it mean?" He asked quietly.

"I—I don't know. I'm—as baffled as you, Holmes. But we can't give up, look, we're here! You're determined enough—"

"To go out for dinner, yes, it's amazing. I'll be leading revolutions next." He stabbed a shrimp with a sudden thrust. "I'll own I've had little triumphs. But I can't do the impossible, as much as you'd like to think otherwise. I can fight—I'm no coward—but against an impossible foe? Not for long, Watson. I'm only human," he finished in a whisper, looking away.

The clatter of patrons' forks and knives, and happy chatter, easily filled the silence between us, but the hollow in my heart remained. I tried to keep eating, but it was impossible.

"Dr. Watson! And Mr. Holmes, of course!"

I looked round to see Lestrade coming toward us—it was wonderful to see him back in his uniform. "What brings you here, Lestrade?"

"I was on my way to begin a night's work, thought I spied you through the window, well, I couldn't help stopping in to say hello. My arm's better than ever Doctor, you see? I'll always be indebted to you for that."

"I was glad to help, Lestrade. I'm happy for you, I know you've missed your work."

He nodded, looking down a moment. "They were terrible times, I'll own that…over now, thank the Lord! I'd better go, I really can't linger, have a good evening Mr. Holmes! Goodbye."

He swaggered out of the restaurant, and I heard him mention casually to at least two people he had to walk past that he was "just on his way to work."

I turned back around, to see from the corner of my eye that Holmes had set his napkin-ring on its side and was subtly batting it between his hands, rolling it along the table. I watched for a while.

"Holmes?"

He slapped his palm on the ring at my voice. "Yes?"

"It's not—I don't believe it will be this hard, always. It's not like rolling a boulder up a hill, for the rest of your life. Not like Atlas, carrying the world. No one should have to do that."

He looked at me suspiciously. "Why should it be easier? Why not torture for the rest of my days?"

"I refuse to accept that for you, I won't let it happen. And I don't believe it will. It will get easier. It has to, Holmes. And it has been easier, hasn't it, this morning you seemed…your old self, almost. This is only a setback, we've dealt with those. I don't have all the answers, but I believe we will win in the end. Please hold on a little longer."

He lifted his hand from the napkin-ring. "We're gaining momentum, is what you're saying? The hard work stems from inertia, but we've only to bring the pace up, then…"

"Yes! It will be easier then."

He paused, then laughed quietly. "I'm too tired to argue with you, Watson. You've proven yourself many times—why should I doubt you now? And after all—man cannot be happy, not always, anyway, in this world. There's too much…pain, suffering. To go through a shifting of the soul—seeing things light, or darker, is natural. Everything is always changing."

"No darkness is eternal while we live."

"Yes, that's so." He managed a smile. "The dawn will come. No, it is coming. Haven't I felt the rays, today and yesterday? It must be so. The night is almost over."