I could barely believe my ears, even though I had seen it coming. Never before had I expected my friend to abandon me for the infernal liquid, if given the choice. But alas, now I realized that this was indeed his choice, and, furthermore, it was I that gave him the opportunity to make such a choice, and thus with a heavy heart I climbed the 17 steps of the stairs to my room and started packing my bags, wondering where I'd sleep for the night.

As I passed the room where my friend still lay motionless on the sofa I made a silent vow to help him past this. I couldn't let him succumb to this. Not while I'm his only friend. I had just hoped he considered our friendship worth more than his addiction.

And as I walked out of the door, after yelling up the stairs that I was leaving now, and hoped he'd stay out of trouble, I could've sworn I heard a sniffle. But of course, I must have imagined it, for Sherlock Holmes doesn't cry.

Sherlock P.O.V.

For the first time since I was 6, and I accidentally broke my brother's chemistry set, I cried. I cried because I was so infuriatingly weak. I cried because I was mad I couldn't even say no to the drugs, while Watson was on stake. I was crying because I had just chased away the brother I only now realized I had had. As he walked up those 17 steps to his room, I silently cursed each and every one of them for helping Watson get away from me. And when Watson yelled up the stairs that he was leaving now and for me to at least try to take care of myself, before closing the door, surely never to return, for whom would be stupid enough to come back to me (and thereby, it was a miracle that Watson lasted as long as he did, even with his patience, which easily rivals that one of a saint) I must admit, to my eternal shame that a sob tore itself from my throat, leaving me feeling empty and broken, until the drugs granted me oblivion and guided me into the hand of Morpheus.

Watson P.O.V.

I walked out the door and stood in front of it for a few moments, musing on the notable irony that for once it was me hiding my emotions, while I suspected Holmes had let them run loose. But it was too late to turn back now. I had left my key inside, while I now stood outside, with my suitcase as my only companion for the first time in a long time.

I picked up my suitcase firmly and hailed a cab, letting him take me back to the hotel where I had stayed when I had just returned from Afghanistan. I was still wondering how I could fix this mess after I had checked in the hotel, and had gone to my room. The hotel room I had gotten wasn't very different from the hotel room I had had when I had just returned from Afghanistan. Nostalgia took over me as I remembered a time in which I hadn't met Sherlock Holmes yet, nor even heard of his name, which was now unthinkable. Because of our adventures and my romantic drivel as he called it, nearly everyone in London knew who Sherlock Holmes was, and suddenly I felt very hopeless. I briefly considered going to the Scotland Yard, to ask for help, but I quickly realized that that wasn't an option. None of them knew Holmes as I did. And especially since it was Holmes drugs use that caused the problem.

I had laid myself upon the 'slightly less comfortable bed than in Baker Street bed' when suddenly an option struck me…

Sherlock Holmes did have an older brother.

Holmes P.O.V.

I awoke on the couch, a soft breeze and gentle sunrays waking me up, claiming me back from the hand of Morpheus. I sat up slowly, groggy from the after effects of the drugs. But it was worth it, I decided, as now my brains finally slowed down from their usual speed, and I could calmly observe once more. As I looked around the room, there was a slight nagging feeling that I had, but couldn't place. When I looked around once more, I quickly realized what I had first missed in my groggy state. All the belongings of my dear friend and colleague Dr. John Watson were gone. At first I worried something had happened to him while I was in my drug-induced haze, but then I noticed there were no signs of a struggle, and memories from the night before raced through my mind. And I stood aghast in the realization of what I had done.

And it was in that moment that I threw out the infernal things that caused this. I had been honest when I had claimed that nothing Watson could ever ask would be too much to ask, and now the time had come to prove it. For Watson, I would stop with drugs. Even if by now, it might already be too late.

Watson P.O.V.

I awoke as the sound of the various customers of the hotel got loud enough for me to be disturbed from my sleep. For now I was oblivious to the soft ache the 'slightly less comfortable bed than in Baker Street bed' had brought to my leg, as I tried to remember why I was in fact in a hotel.

And when I realized, I wished that Morpheus could've held me in his grasp just slightly longer. But then I realized there were things I needed to do today, and the first thing on my list was getting to the illustrious Diogenes Club.

Holmes P.O.V.

I was wondering if I would ever see Watson again. He had left his key here… And every possession the man had, he had taken with him, which hadn't been many, a habit he still had from those army days that had long been gone. I didn't even have a slight clue to where he might have gone. But then I realized I might just now a person who would know.

"MRS. HUDSON!"

AN: I still thank everyone who reviewed the previous version of this fic, and I really hope that everyone can enjoy the new version of this fic.