Chapter Three

"Holmes?" Watson ventured, Holmes was still unpredictable and Watson was never sure how he was going to react. It had been three weeks since his return and Watson had noticed some changes. He was more nervous, he had begun talking to himself and he frequently lost his temper, something which Watson had rarely seen him do. Reichenbach had changed him, what had happened to him in that chasm remained a mystery but Watson was desperate to help his friend, bring back the Holmes that he knew and remembered; wherever he was. Holmes looked up from the paper he was reading, his eyes were strangely vacant.

"What happened to you out there?" Watson had wanted to ask that question for weeks, the explanation that Holmes had given on their first meeting seemed hollow; somehow unbelievable. Holmes shifted in his chair.

"It is complicated Watson." He coughed.

"I know, but Holmes, whatever happened is evidently still weighing on your mind, and as your friend I would like to help you if I can." Watson's voice was gentle and calm and Holmes responded to it, his right hand twitched; Watson had noticed this was something else he had picked up since his return and he knew it was not a good sign.

"It was difficult, getting out was difficult. They were after me at every turn I took. Part of me almost wished…" He paused, Watson pushed a little,

"You wished what?"

"That I had died along with Moriarty, that it was what I deserved for allowing him to come so far. I saw his body washed away, the blood turning the water red, in all my years I have never seen a more horrible sight. The one thing that stayed with me were his eyes as I saw him washed away, he was alive then Watson; he was still alive though he could not move. His gleaming yellow eyes followed me as I climbed – they follow me still." His own eyes were fixed on the fire; Holmes was always cold now, though he never felt it before. Watson shuddered, the image of a dying Moriarty filled his mind, and his heart went out to his friend who had suffered so much: and in silence.

"I ran Watson, I could think of nothing else to do. Moriarty's men were everywhere, no matter where I went I could not escape them. They haunted even my dreams." He paused again. Watson frowned as he thought Holmes' story unlikely. According to Mycroft all Moriarty's men had been caught not long after Holmes' disappearance. Watson was concerned.

"What happened after you ran?" Watson prompted, feeling increasingly anxious.

"I travelled, through China and Tibet and I found some sort of peace. It was only when I was able to think more like myself that I felt I could return. Moriarty's men had ceased to follow me and I felt safe for the first time in three years." Holmes did not move his eyes from the fire.

"In Tibet, you found peace. How?" Watson moved closer to his friend who was shivering violently, whether he was aware of it or not. Slowly he draped a blanket around Holmes' shoulders, he did not move. Watson crouched next to him.

"Tell me."

"I studied there, with the people, good people Watson. They healed me. I was in a terrible state when I came to them, suffering from exhaustion, dehydration and a number of other things. I shall forever be grateful for the kindness they showed me."

"And Moriarty's men gradually disappeared?" Watson strained to keep his voice calm.

"Yes, they must have been unable to track me into Tibet."

"Yes." Watson placed his hand on Holmes' arm, still he did not move.

"I still see him Watson."

"Who?"

"Moriarty." Holmes' voice was quiet, his eyes vacant, and his body cold and shivering.

Watson drew a breath and wanted to sob for his friend, his poor broken friend.

"He will go soon, my dear fellow. Soon." Watson stroked Holmes' hand and Holmes closed his eyes.

"Yes soon he will go." Holmes' whispered, resting his head against the back of the chair, gradually his breathing regained a steady rhythm and his shivering ceased. Still Watson crouched next to him until he was sure Holmes was asleep. It was as he feared, Holmes' mind was becoming lost to him, soon his friend would be gone and the Holmes he knew, dead; never to return. A silent tear rolled down Watson's cheek as he watched his friend sleep. He would protect him; he would never let Holmes be taken away, never. Another tear followed the first and Watson angrily wiped it away with his sleeve. He stood and walked to the window. He thought about telling Mycroft but decided against it, he must already have his suspicions about Holmes' state of mind; there was no need to confirm them. After all he was a doctor, he was more than capable of taking care of Holmes and in time he would be back to normal. In the meantime however, Holmes must be watched, and never left out of his sight. Watson sighed as he again glanced at his sleeping friend. Out of the corner of his eye something yellow glistened, Watson rubbed his tired eyes and looked again. He shook his head, nothing, just a trick of the light, a gleam from the fire. Maybe he too would begin to lose his mind if Holmes did not recover soon…