To my immense relief, the next day brought a distraught husband to our door in a desperate search for his wife, and another case to occupy Holmes's brilliant mind and drive away all thought or need of cocaine. In the excitement of it, even I found my thoughts of it dwindling, and the chess set remained tucked away in a cabinet. In any case, I had calculated that if Holmes could be persuaded off his vice for two months, the withdrawal symptoms would be over and his addiction, if not his cravings, cured.
I had started a calendar in my journal listing his days spent free of the needle. The case took him five days, and one afterwards during which he pondered its outcome, and adding the dark night when we played our first chess game he had been one week without the drug. It was a good start, and though I had held high hopes it should continue that way, I was doomed to be disappointed.
The next night I was called away to a carriage accident down the street, and in going I left Holmes alone. When I returned, it was to find a much more horrific spectacle than the wreckage of the carriage waiting in the sitting room: Holmes, dead to the world in the grip of cocaine. I did not so much set down my medical bag as fling it into a corner, and in my frustration fairly ripped my coat at the seams shrugging it off. Holmes was startled semi-comatose by my actions and looked up groggily.
"I trust you handled the emergency… ably, my friend?"
"Yes, Holmes," I replied with venom. "I see you have taken full advantage of my absence." Holmes looked sharply at me, no amount of cocaine ever able to dull his skills of observation. My accusation hung in the air between us, unspoken but fully felt.
"Nonsense, Watson. The hour being late and my boredom becoming all-encompassing due to your absence, I merely remedied my situation."
"And could you not have waited until my return?"
"I had no idea when you would be back-"
"It is no excuse, Holmes!" I cried. His stare returned, and I felt hotly the inappropriateness of my sudden outburst. "What I meant is, what I mean…" Suddenly I was cowed by the difficulty of the situation I was in. "I had thought you were doing so well…" I said quietly. Holmes leaned across and patted me on the arm.
"Take heart, Watson. There is nothing that I was doing well in to begin with that you must be disappointed in me for failing." I shook my head, amazed at the continued denial of his addiction.
"If that is what you believe, my dear friend," I mumbled sadly, unable to meet his gaze. I stood, the hour already being late, and announced that I was retiring. Holmes took no more notice of me as he let the drug reassert itself in his system and I climbed the stairs to my room. When I got there I sat at my desk, and with a heavy heart crossed out all the days I had recorded Holmes as clean of cocaine, and reset the total to a small "0" in the corner.
A/N: A short chapter, but more to come soon, I promise!