Chapter Two.

The night was dark and cold. Holmes shivered but did not sleep. Eyes were watching him from across the room. That being, for it could not be called human, sat watching him. Holmes tried to look away but even if he closed his eyes he could still see it. It seemed to mock his lonliness. The cold eyes gleamed with silent laughter. The bed sit was never silent. Constant movement flooded through Holmes' brain until he could take no more, vulgar shouts from vulgar women and drunken screams filled the air. The being Holmes shared his room with seemed to revel in it, his eyes seemed to grow brighter, Holmes turned away. The smell was suffocating. His body refused to move, each limb screamed in pain every time he moved. He had to move. He forced himself to stand. It was agony but he managed it. The being watched his movements as he struggled to the door. The brilliant eyes seemed to force the door shut, but Holmes resisted its pull and the door flew open. Holmes ran down the decaying stairs and out into the street. The air, although rancid to the casual observer, was to Holmes, the sweetest smell on earth. He breathed it in gratefully.

After a while Holmes began to feel strong enough to organise his thoughts. He must find Watson, the only man he could ever truly count on. He looked down at his clothes and sighed, how could he approach him dressed as he was? He couldn't approach anyone outside this filthy area of London who might recognise him, the shame would never be borne. He sighed again, a disguise was the only option, it was deceitful and unfair, especially to Watson; but he had no choice. He threw the moth-eaten cloak over his head and reduced his height by almost a foot, then he hobbled, groaning every now and then, through the alley and out of his misery.

Dr. Watson smiled. The elderly woman sitting in front of him had not stopped talking since she arrived; he had yet to discover the cause of her visit. Since she wasn't prepared to listen to him, he let her talk and let his own mind wander. He thought of Holmes, as he always seemed to these days. It was a perfect day to be out with Holmes, Watson smiled again. The air was crisp and cold, but the fog was light. The atmosphere is perfect isn't it Watson?

"Dr.Watson?"

Watson blinked and came back to his patient.

"Yes?" He said innocently.

"Don't you think it's strange?" The woman asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, terribly." Watson smiled hoping that would be enough, "Well, I'll see you next week Mrs. Hughes."

Watson guided the old lady out of the door. When she was gone, he sat down and began to dream again. Suddenly the door opened and the maid appeared.

"Yes, Susan?" Watson's voice was weary and it broke Susan's heart.

"There's a gentleman to see you Sir. Looks a bit…shabby."

Watson smiled.

"Thank you Susan, you can send him in."

Watson sighed. He knew who it was, it was the bookseller he had ran into earlier, why some people just couldn't leave well alone he would never know. He stood up to greet the man, if man he was. He hobbled in, a sorry state indeed. Watson smiled awkwardly.

"What can I do for you?" He asked, not really wanting to do anything for the man. He turned away from him after some polite conversation, when he turned back; he fainted.

"Watson?" Holmes voice slipped into Watson's consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes to find someone who looked like Holmes stroking his hand. He sat up and rubbed his head.

"Watson? Are you alright? I'm terribly sorry. I had no idea you would be so affected."

"I'm alright. Holmes?" Tears formed in Watson's eyes and Holmes smiled.

"Yes it's me. I'm sorry I had to deceive you but it was necessary."

Watson, in an involuntary moment of shock and emotion which would never be repeated or admitted to, threw his arms around Holmes' neck. He felt Holmes stiffen but he also felt him smile.

"How on earth are you here? Alive? I thought you were…well, I'd given up hope."

Holmes cleared his throat. He avoided Watson's eyes, for the first time in his life he felt guilty about the way in which he had treated another human being.

After long explanations and many apologies Watson understood; and felt more admiration for his friend than he had ever felt for anyone, even his beloved Mary. Holmes and Watson were reunited and the London underworld shivered as it realised that its glory days were at an end, and somewhere in the London fog Inspector Lestrade felt a presence, something was ending. However, Lestrade did not believe in premonitions.