A/N: Okay, here is chapter two. These chapters will alternate between Watson and Holmes's journals. Right now I am stuck in Watson's again. . Hopefully I will summon the correct emotions to get it across soon.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Eh? Damn.

Chapter 2-The Incident

July 27, 1894

It is a day that I am unlikely to forget no matter how grey my hair or feeble my mind may become. It has been some two weeks now since it happened and my hand is barely steady enough to place the recollections down on paper. My former colleague would no doubt sneer and point out all of the inherent risks that come with placing such an event, especially in regard to my thoughts and feelings on the subject, down on paper, but I find that I am driven to do so. Cut off as I am from those I might discuss such a delicate topic if I were so inclined and permanently estranged from my past colleague, I am quite adrift. If I do not commit this to paper then it is all together possible that I might lose what tenuous hold on my sanity that I have.

It started off as so many other black moods my past colleague was prone to during the lull between cases that I thought nothing of it at first but endeavored to do my best to draw him from it. A task that is on the level of the twelve tasks of Hercules and, in my opinion, trickier and more delicate than all of them combined. It was rapidly approaching the end of June and the ever-present fog that lay above London descended to engulf the city and its inhabitants, obscuring even the sun in a slightly brown haze. Holmes had declared to the world some two months past that he continued to dwell among the living while his foe, Professor James Moriarity, had met both his mental and physical match in the detective and lay at the bottom of those blasted falls as proof.

I did not tell Holmes, for yes I must be able to write his name, that there were times when the mere sight of water being poured made me violently ill. I did not tell him of how I still woke screaming as if it would drown out the roar of Reichenbach, whose sound seemed permanently etched in my brain. I did not tell him that, at times, I would have rather cut off both my hands than return to my own lodgings. Even with all the time that had passed, some nine weeks, I was loathed to be separated from his side.

So it was that I was quietly helping my patients to find other doctors or informing the ones that would have none of that, that I would be moving soon.

"Back to Baker Street, eh Dr. Watson?" Mr. Kelspar's eyes fairly twinkled under his bushy grey brows. "I dare say Mr. Holmes will be glad of that."

I laughed along with him but some part of me whispered doubt. Despite what I thought of as a joyful reunion, something was out of place. We did not fall back into the easy companionship we once had, but that could be explained away considering the three year absence we had had from one another. But still, I took heart that time would heal the wound of our separation.

I could not have been more wrong. Indeed, time spent together only made things worse, though it was not until after The Incident as I have since dubbed it, that I realized as much.

It was a particularly dreadful Saturday afternoon when I ended my rounds and allowed the cab to take me to Baker Street instead of my own lodgings. Despite the fact that I would likely find Holmes deep in that black mood that had consumed him these last six days, I longed to see him at the end of such a wretched day. I knew that his mere presence would drive away the panic that arose in my breast if I were away from his side for too long. It was irrational and illogical and there was little doubt that Holmes would have mocked me for it, but what could I do? It was fear, and fear is never rational or logical, but it was assuaged somewhat when I sat in my old arm chair across from him even if a word never passed his lips in the entirety of my visit.

Perhaps it was my need, nay, my hunger for him that finally drove him to speak what lay within his heart. It has always been my first and greatest fear that he should deduce exactly how deep my regard for him truly ran. It passed that of an intimate friend and colleague, passed that of a brother, passed all that is considered decent and, if discovered, earn me some time in the gaols. That is, if I were to act upon it. There was small chance of that for I knew that I would lose something far more precious to me than my freedom or reputation. I would lose Holmes.

Strange that I have lost him anyway.

I paid the cab driver and dragged myself up the seventeen steps to the sitting room. The recent dampness combined with all of today's activity was playing merry hell with my shoulder and leg. I wanted nothing more than to stretch before the fire with a stout brandy and Holmes near at hand. I found him, as I predicted, deep into that black mood and, yet, my heart lightened to see that spare figure drawn up into what I had privately termed his "thinking pose" with his knees under his clasped tightly to his stomach and blue smoke from his strong shag tobacco curling like lazy vines around his head. I called out a greeting but received no response save the vague tightening around the eyes. It was not until I passed to his right side that the smile dropped from my face.

"Good heavens, Holmes, what the devil happened to you?" Again I received no response. Kneeling on the floor beside the settee, I visually inspected the damage. He sported an impressive black eye that had to be as painful as it was colorful. Another bruise blossomed just under his cheek and I wondered if he had not lost a tooth in whatever matter he had tangled himself up in. Now that I was closer, the fire highlighted what it had previously hidden in shadow: a long, thin line across his throat that admitted just the barest trickle of blood, but was, nevertheless, enough to stain his shirt collar. He did not acknowledge my presence or even so much as look in my direction as I performed this part of my exam. Indeed, I thought he might be wholly unaware of me if it were not for what happened next. I opened my bag to retrieve a disinfectant and lifted my hand to cradle the side of his face.

I never made contact.

Holmes sprang to life, slapping my hand aside and toppling both me and my bag to the floor in his haste to get away. "Cease your molly coddling, Doctor, for I will have none of it!"

I stared at him in open astonishment and I dare say that I must have looked frightfully ridiculous with my mouth gaped open as it was. "Holmes?"

"How anyone with such a cold, unfeeling, and clumsy touch ever found success as a physician is beyond even my power to deduce. You are better suited as a butcher than a surgeon."

I could not rise for his words had rooted me in place. What was this? Had he…oh God in heaven above, please let him not have discovered…

"God as my witness, if you should ever attempt to lay a hand on even my shirt cuff ever again, I shall knock you flat, of that you can be sure, Doctor." The pure mockery of my title sent ice through my veins and I begin to shiver despite the fire so close at hand.

"And do not think for one instant that it has escaped me as to what you are doing." Slowly he began to stalk towards me, reminding me too much of a tiger who was cornering its prey. "You are slowly farming out your patients to others in the hopes of closing your practice and moving back in with me." With each step his voice had risen until he was close to shouting as he stood over me. Lifting one foot, he knocked me the rest of the way to floor and dug his heal into my wounded shoulder, sending jolts of agony throughout my entire body. At my gasp of pain, he let out a laugh. I always treasured the sound of his laughter, for it was rare and each instance was precious to me. But this one…my chest seized up at the sound, but the pain had nothing to do with my shoulder.

"I say again, Doctor, I will have none of it! Three years I managed to escape the oppressiveness of your nature and yet it has returned ten-fold! So you may do with your practice and your lodgings as you wish but do not think that you will find a place here with me! I can take it no more!"

There are no words in the English language, or any language, that can adequately describe how I was feeling at that moment. Thrice I have lain down my pen and reached for my brandy though I have managed little of it, considering the shaking of my hand. There is not much I remember after this. I know that I must have picked myself up and removed myself from the sitting room. If I spoke to Holmes, I do not know, but I have some recollection of telling Mrs. Hudson goodbye, something I had once promised her that I would not do unless I had no intention of ever returning. I believe she led me down the stairs and to the street but there my remembrances of her end. I must have proceeded on foot but I could not have had any destination in mind other than to get away. It was not until I had literally run into a solid chest that I came somewhat back to myself.

"Dr. Watson? Dr. Watson, are you well, sir?" It was a voice that I knew well, but it was some seconds before I could force my eyes to focus on the face that swam before me. It was Lestrade. "Doctor, are you drunk?" He leaned forward to sniff my breath but nothing but water had passed my lips that day. "Perhaps we had best take a ride to Baker Street, Doctor, so we can get you straightened out."

The mention of Baker Street did what nothing else had.

"No!" My shout attracted those few who were still on the street. "I cannot, you must not, no!"

It is clear now that my incoherent rambling disturbed the inspector, for he drew me from the street to a nearby alley and propped me against wall away from prying eyes and ears. "Dr. Watson! Watson!" I continued to murmur "no" under my breath and once more ignored him. "Forgive me, Doctor," he whispered before delivering a resounding slap across my cheek.

The shock allowed me to focus on the worried inspector. "Lestrade?" It was barely a breath of a word.

"Thank God, Doctor, you were truly beginning to frighten me. Now, calmly, tell me what's happened. Why don't you want to go back to Baker Street?"

Where do I begin? How do I begin? Could I? At this point, I could not force myself to repeat the vitriol that had passed my detective's lips. I opened my mouth to try and explain but all that emerged was, "Holmes," and I was horrified to feel hot tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

Lestrade's gaze only grew more concerned. "Did something happen to Mr. Holmes?" When all I did was shake my head and repeat Holmes's name under my breath, the police inspector shook me. "Doctor, you must pull yourself together man! What has happened to Mr. Holmes?"

Even as I tried to do as Lestrade commanded, my breath hitched with each deep inhalation, threatening to send the tears spilling over. Some time had passed but the police inspector was nothing if not patient. Finally I mastered myself enough to spit out, "I am no longer welcome," before my control once more slipped and one tear escaped.

Even if my context was not entirely clear, Lestrade divined its deeper meaning, perhaps even better than I had intended. His eyes widened ever so slightly before his entire face hardened. "Don't worry, Doctor, you just come with me."

Bundling me close (why had I not realized that I was shivering? Shock, of course), we emerged onto the street and he hailed a cab. Hustling me inside, he rapped on the top and called "Diogenes Club!" before settling beside me instead of across. With no word of explanation, he once more drew me close. And just as a child would take such comfort from a parent when his heart was broken, so did I from Lestrade. At the time I gave no thought as to why he would do such a thing, or even how he had sensed a deeper meaning behind my simple words. Thought was beyond me; I had indeed descended into shock, but the numbness that accompanied it was a welcome respite from the tumultuous emotions from The Incident. But it was all a lie; this non-feeling would not last and I greatly feared that the storm I had experience earlier would increase a thousand-fold in proportions once released.

End Ch. 2

A/N: Oh I am evil. Next chapter we will be from Holmes's journal. Why would the Great Detective do such a thing? You'll just have to wait to find out.

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