All Hope Abandoned

A/N: *laughs evilly* You guys have no idea how you made my day. It is so good to be evil with characters again. *snickers* If you ever read any of my other works, you would completely understand what I mean. Okay, back to this. Holmes is not going to come right out and tell you why he does this, or, at least, his reasons behind it. Honestly I think they're both being idiots about it but Holmes is most definitely the bigger idiot of this situation. Why you ask? You'll see.

Ch. 3-The Reason

July 20, 1894

I have finally succeeded in doing what I thought impossible. I have driven my Watson away. I find it ironic that with his absence I am driven to do the one thing I would scold him for doing: I am plying pen to paper and placing this account within the handsome green volumes that my dear Watson had gifted me with the Christmas before I took my leave of him at Reichenbach. I cannot help but do this, for, if I do not, I will dive straight back into the cocaine bottle and never crawl out again.

But I digress and am guilty of doing the one thing I implore my clients not to do and have started in the middle. I suppose it is of little consequence for even though it would be a crime, I will need to burn these journals upon my completion of the account.

But then, I suppose the reason for my digression is that I do not know precisely where to begin. I cannot accurately trace the origin of my feelings for Watson, only that I remember one day during the beginning of his first marriage when he had stopped for a visit. We both were seated before the fire and I was regaling him with the details of a recent case. While I will be the first to point out that logic and deduction are always at the forefront of my thoughts when they pertain to a case, when it comes to Watson, the showman rears his head and I spin my tales for his romantic tastes.

It was the laugh that was my downfall.

Just as I presented the humorous climax of my story, Watson let out the clearest, heartiest laugh I had ever heard him or any other utter. No doubt I am biased, but the sheer beauty of the sound stole my breath. He was a sight to behold. Light from the lamps and fire highlighted the light blond hair (I always suspected that he was completely white-headed as a child), the green eyes sparkled with mirth, and that robust frame heaved as he revealed in his amusement. My heart, which I hitherto believed to be dead when it came to such matters, swelled and I was quite unable to speak for some time. So long what I silent that Watson's amusement fled and he drew to my side in concern when I failed to respond to his inquires. It was only when he laid a hand on my wrist to check my pulse that I returned to my senses. I wasted no time in hustling him out of the room and back to his wife.

That was the first time I truly lost myself in the cocaine bottle.

Before this I had only toyed with the use of this addictive drug, but now that I had discovered something much more addictive, I could barely stop my hands from shaking long enough to press the plunger home once I located a vein.

It was some time before I returned to myself but thankfully Mrs. Hudson, whom by the tidiness of the room was very worried indeed, had not fetched Watson. I believe that I may have commanded her not to and even in my drugged states I can be rather imperious. In order to escape these newfound revelations, I dressed and disappeared into the very bowels of the city itself, not returning for almost a week. By my return I had resolved that Watson should never know of my feelings and that in order to keep my mind free of the shackles of these useless emotions I would slowly extract Watson from my side. It was a task that should have been accomplished with relative ease considering his nuptials.

I am afraid that it was not so simple and all together painful. I took cases that took me away from London, even away from England, but it was of little use. Watson was always there when I returned with an eager but sympathetic ear. For him I have put on some of my very best shows and my very worst performances. There is little doubt that he has remarked upon my strange mood swings within his writings. Oh, if he only knew that he was the cause of many of my "black moods" as has so termed them! He would no doubt be horrified that I have considered conducting an experiment on what causes me to crave the cocaine more—his presence or absence.

For years I dwelled in this hell which was only made worse by the death of his first wife. Of course, I encouraged him to return to Baker Street and once more take his lodgings with me. How could I not open my arms to him in his time of grief? A colder man than I would have thought nothing of providing empty sympathy, but when it comes to my Watson, the emotion was all too real. To distract him, I once more asked him to accompany me on my cases and to my delight I had some measure of success in drawing him from his grief so that it did not consume him. It was nearly six months before I could trick that hearty laugh from its hiding place and another six before I did not have to.

And then came Mary Morstan.

A woman more aptly matched for my good doctor I shall never meet again. Not a weak, useless decoration as so many of the women our society produces, but a strong-willed individual tempered by a kind and gentle soul. Unlike the first wife, Miss Mary was always very considerate of my friendship with her husband and never raised one protest when I dragged the good doctor off on some hair-brained, dangerous mission simply because I craved to have him at my side. I always suspected that she divined some deeper meaning to my calling on Watson, but was not until I called and he was not present did she confirm my suspicions.

"Come and have tea with me, Mr. Holmes. John will not be home for some time yet." She drew me into the sitting room, unsuspecting, but still wary as I am with all the fairer sex, save Mrs. Hudson perhaps. I accepted the tea and was shocked to find that it was exactly the way I liked it. "Don't look so surprised, Mr. Holmes. John has mentioned more than once how you take your tea, just so that if the opportunity ever arose, I would be able to make it for you." She smiled behind her tea cup. "I was beginning to despair that I would ever be given such a chance."

"My apologies, Miss Mary," I hastened to reply, "It is just that…"

"You find most people to be positively pedestrian and the idea of having to spend an evening making small talk with a virtual stranger over such matters as lace doilies makes you want to shoot something." My astonishment over this frank assessment must have shown, for she gave a little laugh. "I have had much instruction in your ways from my husband, good sir, and have longed to tell you that you are welcome here at any time and that lace doilies need never be mentioned. I would, in fact, love to hear about some of your cases." There was that smile again. "If you do not believe that the details will offend my delicate nature."

That tricked a bark of laughter from me, but cold sobriety soon followed as I sat the tea cup aside and leaned forward. "You do not mind that I take him with me, away from you, on potentially dangerous cases? Because, have no doubt, madam, that what I do can be very dangerous and our lives have been threatened more than once." It was a test, but she had to understand the true gravity of the situation.

She only continued to smile. "John would follow you to the very depths of Hell itself to prevent you from coming to harm. Indeed, I believe he has already done that. I could no more force him from your side than I could cut off my own hand, nor would I wish to. He belonged to you, Mr. Holmes, long before I was ever present in his mind or heart. But I know the love that he holds for me keeps good company with the love he holds for you." Here she paused and laid a delicate hand over one of my own which had clenched into a tight fist during the speech. "And I know that because of your love for him that you will do everything in your power to keep him safe." She paused again to make sure she had my eye. "Even going so far as to deny yourself his company for propriety's sake."

I closed my eyes and turned my head, unwilling to believe on some level the double meaning of her supposedly innocent words. No, she could not… Surely I was placing false meanings behind her words. That had to be it.

"And why, madam, would I need to deprive myself of my Boswell? His company is a welcome respite to the clients and Scotland Yarders, but certainly not necessary to my existence as you have so implied."

"That remark was unworthy of you, Mr. Holmes, and unworthy of your regard for my husband. But, considering the delicacy of the subject, I can let it pass. I would ask, however, that you not pretend to not understand my meaning."

I gave in then, my head hanging in defeat. It was not often that I was bested by the fairer sex, the name Irene Adler was still fresh in my mind, but Mary Watson had completely dumbfounded me. She had guessed at the truth even though I was quite certain I had kept a tight rein on my affection for Watson. I leapt to my feet, pacing to a fro before the fire even as Miss Mary watched, her gaze inexplicably calm. But how could she not be? She held all of the winning cards to this game. She had no proof of what she spoke, but a dropped comment here, a trifling rumor there and she could ruin me.

Or worse, she could tell Watson.

That very thought sucked all the air from me and I would have assuredly collapsed straight into the fire had it not been for that woman. She collected me close and deposited me back into my seat before retrieving the brandy and pouring a healthy dollop into my tea and bringing it to my lips. She was right not to trust my hands, for they were shaking terribly. Nevertheless, I secured control of both my cup and my composure once more and looked her squarely in the eye.

"You hold my future in your hands, Mrs. Watson," I addressed her formally. "If you wish me to withdraw from your husband's company, then I shall endeavor to do my best to honor your request." I swallowed back the bile that had risen in my throat at the thought of never seeing Watson again.

Mary shook her head and clasped my cold face between her warm hands. "How can a love so great and powerful be bad?" She stroked one stony cheek and drew me to her chest. I allowed her to do so. Indeed, I allowed Miss Mary many more liberties than others of her species. She petted my head. "You have suffered for this love that is obvious." She pulled back and once more our gazes locked. "I would not add to your sufferings, Mr. Holmes, and it was never my intention for you to believe that I would. What I did intend was for you to know and take some measure of comfort in that I understand what John means to you. You are just as much a part of him as he is of you. I know that his first wife did not understand this. Hah! Then she did not understand John and love him as she should have. Splitting you from his side would be like splitting away part of his soul."

She fell momentarily silent after this passionate speech and held my gaze, perhaps searching to see if I believed or even grasped what she spoke of. "There are things that I would have you promise me, Mr. Holmes." She must have felt my body stiffen for she patted the hand she held. "Only two favors, good sir, and both are well within your power. The first is that you never attempt to cut yourself from John's life. It would hurt the both of you and I would not have it."

I dared not move. "And the second?"

There was more than just a touch of the light-hearted imp in that smile. "That you take tea with John and me here at least once a month."

This tricked another laugh from me, but it was breathy with relief. "As you wish, milady, I will implore all my powers to see that I fulfill your requests."

She adopted a haughty manner. "See that you do, sir." She broke down in her own laugh and returned to her chair, glancing at the clock. "Now finish your tea, Mr. Holmes. John will be home any time now."

"Will he not be suspicious that a man has come to call when he is not home?" I could not help but tease as I tried to regain the balance that the woman had so easily offset.

"Not when the man is you." That handsome face once more turned serious. "Just a word of warning, Mr. Holmes. Should you ever try to run, I will help John set all the dogs of Hell itself on your heels and I do not care if we have to travel from one end of this great Earth to the other, we will drag you back home where you belong."

I believe that I overcame my shock rather well and raised my tea cup in salute. "Duly noted, Miss Mary."

And so, for a time, I had some measure of contentment. Just as I promised, I did not cut Watson from my life. In fact, I took him on more cases than ever. The thrill was never so great as when he was present to share it with me. I even managed to keep my promise and called on the happy couple at least once a month, if not twice or even three times. It was easy to deduce the delight that Watson derived from my visits and I will admit that I was always on my very best behavior.

Even if I took to the cocaine after each visit.

For all her kindness, Miss Mary could not have divined that her second request was both a blessing and a curse. I would always seek the opportunity for Watson's company, of that there is little doubt, but to see him so obviously happy with another was something akin to torture. It was clear that she did not realize this; she had only thought to make her husband, and by extension me, happy. But such kindness is a two-edged sword. Do not misunderstand; I did derive enjoyment form the visits, infrequent though they were. Miss Mary is a delight to speak to and has a sharp mind as well as a sharp tongue that she is unafraid of using. It was when I re-entered my rooms at Baker Street that the loneliness threatened to crush me and I succumbed to the siren song of oblivion promised by the needle.

For a time we passed in this manner. I continued to drag Watson into dangerous situations as well as suffer through the more dangerous situation of having tea in his home. I was content, for the most part, to allow the status quo to continue until one afternoon, Watson arrived at Baker Street in a state of nervous agitation. It took some urging on my part to calm him enough so that he could relate what had sent him into such a state. And then he made the announcement that sent my world crashing down around me.

Mary was pregnant.

End Ch. 3

A/N: *giggles insanely* Hmmm…guess I should have mentioned that I was insane before you got into this, but, oh well, too late now!

Watson's Marriage Count: Baring-Gould proposed that in 1884 Watson traveled to America and wooed one Lucy Ferrier before returning to England in 1886 and marrying her. According to Leslie S. Klinger, this is based on the play Angels of Darkness but most scholars, he says, do not credit this as a reliable source. I have used the "fact" that he married before Mary Morstan for a reason; you will find that out in the next chapter. I did not, however, use Lucy Ferrier, but just made up a random woman. She's only mentioned once so she is no Mary Sue, have no fear.

Reviews are always appreciated!