Holmes followed the trail of blood wearily through the dark, empty streets. He was fearful of what he would find at the end.
Nothing around him moved. All was quiet save for his lone footsteps on the cobblestones. He shivered, though not from the cold. With each step he took, the feeling of unease grew within him.
Finally, he saw the source of blood. A man lay not far away face down, bleeding.
He approached slowly, bent down, reached out, and turned the man over.
"Watson."
Suddenly, those lifeless eyes filled with hate, and those horrible, blood covered hands grasped his throat.
He woke screaming and threw up just as Mrs. Hudson came running into his room. She quickly cleaned the floor and got him a glass of water to rinse his mouth with.
Shaking, he told her his dream.
"It's my fault he's dead."
"No. Don't say that. Watson gave his life for you. It's not your fault."
He looked at her with eyes ravaged with grief and guilt.
"He said we should wait for help, but I didn't listen to him."
"It's not your fault," she said firmly.
He bit his lip and turned away. She gently made him look at her again.
"You, more than anyone else, should know that Watson wouldn't want you to be like this. You need to let go."
"I... I can't. My mind has accepted, but..."
He jumped slightly when Mrs. Hudson's hand touched his chest, over his heart.
"You're heart won't," she finished for him.
He nodded and allowed her to hug him, finding comfort in her gentle embrace.
The next day, he went to Watson's grave and placed some flowers there. He stood there, looking at the headstone. The breeze fanned his cheeks and made his coat flap some, but he didn't notice.
"I'm so sorry, Watson. I should have listened to you."
His mind took him back to Watson's final moments.
(flashback)
Holmes, after seeing that the attacker had escaped, rushed to his friend's side.
"Watson!"
He was bleeding heavily, and his breathing was hoarse and raspy.
"Watson, can you hear me?"
"H-Holmes?"
"Hold on, Watson."
He quickly took off his coat, put it under Watson's head, and rushed from the building. He saw a cab and ran to it.
"Sir, please, I need you to fetch a doctor and bring them back here, my friend is in grave danger."
"Will do, sir."
With that, the cab was off, and Holmes ran back to Watson.
"Watson? Can you hear me?"
Watson weakly opened his eyes and coughed again, coughing up blood. Holmes turned pale.
"Holmes,... I haven't... got much... time."
"No. Just hold on, Watson. Help is coming."
The older man weakly shook his head.
"It's... too... late."
Tears came to Holmes' dark eyes, and he gently took his friend into his arms, not caring that he was getting stained with blood. By the time the cab returned with a doctor and two policemen, it was too late. Watson was dead. They found Holmes kneeling, cradling Watson's body, and weeping. It took all four men to pry Watson's cooling body from his arms.
(flashback ends)
Holmes sighed and wiped away his tears.
"I swear to you, Watson, I will avenge you. I will have revenge."
