A/N': This is a slightly different one that I did late at night a few days ago
Begin
I can feel Watson's eyes on me again. They say what he does not. He is worried.
The black mood is upon me again. It creeps into my bones and traps my mind with a cage of lethargy. I haven't moved away from this chair in days, yet I am exhausted, as my mind turns around in circles, driving itself to pieces. Scenes from past cases replay themselves in my mind repeatedly, particularly those where something went wrong, driving me to my Stradivarius or cocaine to escape the "what-ifs". I tell Watson that my mind rebels from stagnation, and that is half-true. The truth is that I need something to distract myself from what has already happened, so I can focus on the present and the future.
My friend is worried about my health; after all, he is both friend and doctor, and my black moods trouble him. I sense that he does what he can to capture my attention, but most of the time, the faces of criminals and friends alike insert themselves in my vision in front of my friend and his discussion is lost.
To our mutual relief, there is a reliable cure and my mind's prison crumbles once more as we hear footsteps pad up our stairs. I see relief in Watson's eyes as my deductions begin.
