Return to the Solution
Splat
Splat
Squish
Splat.
Over and over, the sounds reverberated through the London night, and though Watson had so many things on his mind as he ran through the abandoned streets, the music of after hour suburbia was what his consciousness seemed to lock onto.
Has his foot slammed into a deep puddle, and Watson was reminded to what he hated most about the powerful city of his queen. Everything was always wet; this place was a constant center of moisture and mildew.
In actuality, it was an ideal location for an aspiring physician, for there would never be shortage of influenza out breaks or pneumonia cases, and yet, the air gave off an almost depressive aura, dragging ones hopes down into the fog.
But now as he drew closer and closer to his lodgings at 221 Baker Street, a sense of impending dread came over him that he could not possibly blame on the London air.
He climbed the steps and threw open the front door and was assaulted with the most hideous pandemonium of noises and sights.
At the top of the stairs stood Mrs. Hudson, clutching Marie in her arms as though she were protecting the child from some evil. The latter was sobbing, the former doing her best to consol the girl but not succeeding as every other word was raised in anger towards a shadow that Watson could not see.
"Mr. Holmes! You are simply not in your right mind! Please, I beg of you, let me take the girl if only until Doctor Watson returns."
A deep voice roared from inside the rooms,
"Do you think me incapable of caring for my own daughter!"
Mrs. Hudson attempted to make her voice as gentle but yet stern as possible as she formulated a response.
"Of course not Mr. Holmes, just seeing as you seem to be below your normal state of mind, it has after all been a very trying day…"
"You mean to tell me you don't think me able! I pay your rent woman, how dare you take my daughter from me and claim me incompetent!"
Watson had never heard his friend talk to anyone in such a rude manner, and upon reaching the top of the stairwell and seeing the absolute horror in Mrs. Hudson's eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong.
Turning to Watson, she pleaded for him to talk to Holmes for he was apparently, 'out of his mind'.
After sending the woman off, along with Marie, Watson carefully entered the room and attempted to find out what happened.
Upon entering, Watson was met with a sight that looked as though a child had thrown a terrible temper tantrum, and yet Watson knew of no child that would be capable of turning over book cases and toppling tables.
No, this is was the work of a grown man and it took no consulting detective to deduce which one.
Turning to his left, Watson saw Holmes sitting in one of the few chairs that had remained up right, an atmosphere of smoke surrounded him, his pipe his right hand, his left….
Watson's eyes were drawn to Holmes's left arm and he was immediately horrified to see exactly what Mycroft has feared.
Holmes's sleeve was rolled up past the elbow, and tied with that of a tie Watson had seen him wearing only hours before. The purple pricks seemed to be glowing in the haze of the room.
"Holmes…" It was barley above a whisper.
Holmes seemed not to hear, instead, he stared blankly ahead.
"I've lost her Watson."
Watson moved to sit besides Holmes on his left side, he would have liked to get a better look at his arm but was unable too as he shifted positions in his seat.
"Nonsense, Mrs. Hudson is merely watching over Marie until we send for her….certainly you'd like a break?" This too was said very low, Watson didn't know why, but it seemed as if speaking above a whisper would break the unsteady peace that had somehow formulated.
"I killed her, Watson."
A sharp intake of breath.
"Holmes, I just saw the girl and although frightened, she was perfectly…"
Before Watson had a chance to finish, Holmes stood and threw down his pipe.
"Damn it Watson! Not the child! I am talking about an innocent woman who was murdered because my lax attitude! She's dead Watson, a woman is dead because of me. The girl downstairs who has done no wrong in her life will now suffer all through adolescence hating the man responsible for her mothers death!"
It was not often Holmes suffered this sort of…breakdown, and while he had experienced similar incidents on a few select occasions, those were all due to overwork and physical exhaustion.
Never had Watson seen Holmes overwork his emotions.
"Holmes, it was not your fault, I'm sure had you known such…"
"I should have known Watson! I should not have been so blind as to let something like this happen! I knew the risks; I thought that if I kept away, if I ignored an entire aspect of my life that I would be able to keep them both safe!
It's true you know, I am nothing more than a monster. I claimed to be an intelligent man, and yet I was so completely ignorant of your warnings, so…caught up in my own invincibility that I forgot others suffered from my actions."
Before Watson could even begin to denounce such assessments of his character, Holmes turned and put his hands on Watson's shoulders, his eyes were wide, his hair disheveled, and his face utterly vulnerable.
"I'm so sorry Watson, so incredibly sorry….I've put you in danger so many times…I keep you in the dark about cases, I deceive you to get the results I expect, I am pompous and egotistical…." As if suddenly realizing his position, he recoiled and wrapped his long thin arms around his equally thin torso.
"Holmes…Holmes you had no idea what was going to befall that woman, and while I don't agree with your original intentions…I understand that you did what you thought was best, I understand your grieving but you have no need to be ashamed of Marie or the situation…"
He had withdrawn to a corner, but at my words he spun around, his eyes full of a rage I had somehow caused.
"Ashamed Watson? I am a pathetic excuse for a man, one who puts others in harms way to solve a crimes in order to make a living so I could help finance a family that does not show up in any official records! I become a liability to every acquaintance I have, and thus keep all of society at bay only to be portrayed as some sort of hero in those damn stories of yours! I have solved crime after crime in an attempt to fill some sort of gap in my life only to become a slave of a chemical substance."
At this, he began to chuckle madly.
"Ah yes Watson, I'll admit it. I do find myself becoming more and more reliable on that damn syringe, and yet…. I am not sure I want to stop, it seems poetic doesn't it? A wretched man destroyed by a wretched substance.
In answer to your statement, I am ashamed of many things in my life, up until a year in a half ago, I was ashamed of my entire existence."
In less then fifteen minuets, Sherlock Holmes had gone from enraged madman, to manic depressive maniac, and had returned to his usual plastered state.
"And what changed a year in a half ago?" It was common practice for Watson to ask the questions, even if he did already know the answer.
"Marie happened Watson; she is the one thing of which I am not ashamed."
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Well, that was one giant conversation pretty much…
There are many many criticisms that are owed this chapter, please feel free to point each and everyone out, I hope to rewrite it soon but for the time being I'd like to get to a suitable ending point before I'm shipped off.
Thanks for all your reviews. Please keep them coming they are much appreciated.
So sorry it wasn't up sooner, dumb thing wouldn't let me upload though from what i hear we all suffered from it, I'm sorry but another chapter is pretty much out of the question before tomorrow.
Some nice reviews to send me off?
