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The unrelenting wind roared outside. Watson and I sat by the crackling fire, as was routine on nights where we were not occupied by a case. The cases were fewer and farther in between as we neared the colder season and I felt myself falling deeper into unpleasant thoughts without the thrill and puzzle of a case. Thus far I’ve refrained from the cocaine bottle but the creeping temptation became greater each day. If it were not for Watson I would not have denied myself this crutch.
I took a long inhale from my pipe and refocused my attention to the crackling flames. Subconsciously my eyes flickered several times over to the moroccan case containing my syringe and beloved seven percent solution. I felt useless because of my dependence on the drug and I have less control over my habit than I would like to admit. Then again I need this. This is the only comfort I’ve ever felt deserving of. The cold embrace and sweet humming of the drug had become like a home to me on so many lonely and desperate days where my mind was spiraling. Before I met Watson, it was in some regards my only friend.
But that is not my life anymore. Now I was not alone and a month had passed since Watson and I started developing our relationship into more romantic territory. Watson was patient with me, as always, and not much had changed in our dynamic save for a greater physical intimacy. He would hold my hand in the privacy of a cab ride or I would rest my head on his shoulder as he read aloud to me, or we would share a kiss before retiring for the night. All of this felt almost too good to be true and love was something that I never thought I would experience in my lifetime; much less be worthy of receiving. Therein laid the problem somewhat. Of course the happiness could not last forever and I was not naive enough to think that I would never slip into a black mood again. But it still shook me to my core and I continually pushed Watson away because I knew he would not like this version of me. I was terrified that I would scare him away if I allowed myself to show the cracks in my usually composed self.
I have not given in to the seduction of the devil drug yet but instead in my darkest moments I have turned back to an even older friend. When I was younger I had an assortment of daggers and knives that I carried with me; these were my instruments of choice with no chemical relief available. I can hardly make sense of why it works but the physical sensation and the dull sting grounds me enough to calm me down. Sleep was not a common occurrence at times like this and when my mind was left to wander with no distractions it tended to go to dark places.
The snap of a book being shut roused me from my reveries. “Holmes, I can tell you are not well,” said the warm and exasperated voice of Watson. I glanced up at his concerned face and reflexively opened my mouth to disregard his concerns but couldn’t get out a word before he interjects. “Don’t try denying anything, you have barely eaten this week, you look pale as a ghost and you’ve been glancing at the needle copious times in the last hour. Please just share what is going on in that brilliant mind of yours.”
Sometimes Watson is very capable in the art of deduction, especially regarding my health, which sometimes was an irritating quality. I exhaled a large cloud of smoke and looked at Watson’s face. It was the face he used when clients had a particularly sensitive case or when treating one of his patients. At the same time he had a worried look over his handsome features that was a face that I had only ever seen in regards to my well-being. His brows knit together and there was a certain stiffness around the mouth. I felt awful for being the cause of Watson’s worries. My first instinct was to lash out and insist that I am perfectly fine and that I am not this fragile thing that he has to look after. But I felt worn out after spending the last days resisting the urge to inject myself with something and could not bring myself to tell Watson another obvious lie. Therefore I landed on a more honest answer to his question.
“Watson, your skills in deduction have not failed you. I do not feel… well." I took a deep breath. "Contrary to popular belief I am not above having personal weaknesses, but don’t fret over me my dear,” I said while waving my hand dismissively in the air. When I was like this there was nothing anyone, even Watson, could say to ease the heaviness of my mind.
Watson’s expression immediately softened and he put his book to the side. “I know that and I can’t help but worry about you in your black moods… Do you wish to talk to me about it?”
I most definitely did not want to put words to my suffering and even if I wanted to, I could not open my mouth to form the words. All my life I had worked hard to hide or even eliminate any of my regrettable vulnerabilities. The well-guarded walls I had built around me worked effectively to protect me, it's just that it also made for a great loneliness. Hence the vices.
Divulging details of my darkest thoughts felt like opening myself up to ridicule and misunderstandings. But another part of me desperately wanted to bare myself to my companion and let him see every ugly part of me, just to feel understood, even though it was terrifying at the same time. And the tone of Watson's voice sounded so sad that I wished I could say something that would soothe his worries.
I felt quite shaken with these conflicting emotions and I imagine this showed in my face, because Watson stood up and walked over to my armchair. Not one word was uttered as he looked at me tenderly and offered his right hand to me. I sat for a second in confusion but took his hand tentatively and suddenly I was pulled up into a firm embrace. For a moment I was frozen in place but I quickly found myself relaxing into his arms and clinging to his firm and steady presence like it was the only thing keeping me from falling into the abyss. The warm scent of Watson hit my senses and enveloped me as I allowed myself to rest my head on his shoulder. All darkness and struggle from the last few days suddenly came crashing over me in a wave of emotion. I had not even noticed that I was visibly shaking in Watson's arms as his firm hands were soothingly rubbing circles on my back.
"It's alright. I've got you Holmes,” Watson murmured softly. The softness and warmth of his voice immediately broke my feeble attempt to keep my composure and I felt the tears flooding my eyes as I sobbed into his shoulder. Watson kept caressing me and murmuring soothing things but most of all he was there for me as a strong and calming presence that showed no sign of unease at my outburst. Despite this l felt vulnerable and a twinge of disgust at myself for this display of raw emotion.
I tried to say something but it only came out like broken whispers in between my heaving breaths. “I’m s-sorry, you shouldn’t have to put up with, w-with me like this. I’m not deserving of y-your care.” I felt even more ashamed at my behavior and the words spilling from my mouth.
Watson just tightened his hold on me and said, “Holmes, there is nothing in this world that I would rather do than be here by your side, even when things are dark.”
My mind could not take in these words properly, but it somewhat soothed me and I relaxed my grip on Watson’s coat. I drew a couple more heaving breaths that gradually started to calm down. A great weariness hit my body and Watson moved, without releasing the embrace, to lay down on the settee. He arranged us so that I lay on his broad chest, with my head in the crook of his neck and his arms still holding me. Watson gently kissed my hair and started to run his fingers through it. This immediately relaxed me and melted me against him.
In my black moods I was often very irritable and could not stand any physical touch or attempts at comfort by my poor Watson who, rightfully so, became frustrated in his inability to help me. The truth is that I often felt so unworthy of affection during these bouts of depression that I would not allow others in. I did not want to burden him, whose happiness I value above everything, with my destructive nature. As expected this instead worsened my condition and made the twinge of the needle or the sting of the knife more seductive. I am not sure that Watson knew just how often it crossed my mind; haunted me like the ghost of an old friend.
This night I felt truly worn out and my body welcomed the gentle touch of Watson instead of rioting against it. “Everything will be alright Holmes,” Watson softly said.
I felt my heart twist again in agony and had an urge to confess all thoughts that haunted me just so Watson could understand that things were in fact not alright because I felt like I was going insane. “I’ve- I have had really strong urges towards the needle recently, because I can’t stand to be without any distraction right now. And it has always helped me… to regulate. Of course I know it isn’t healthy for me hence my restraint.” My voice was still raw from crying.
“I know Holmes, and I am very proud of you for not leaning on it quite as frequently.” Watson replied and thoughtfully added, “Sometimes I just wonder what is happening inside that beautiful mind to warrant using the devil drug.”
A deep sigh left my body as I pondered these things that I had barely made sense of myself and even less knew how to articulate in an understandable manner. My face still laid against Watson’s steady shoulder. Eventually I started talking in an unusually weak voice, "It's not that I delude myself into thinking cocaine enhances any of my abilities. I just need to make it all go quiet, calm every worry, every ghost of the past.” When I had started explaining I felt that there was no stopping it. ”Ever since I was a boy I have been different from others... people don’t respond well to people who are different. The cruelty I received from others became what I would tell myself as well. That there was something wrong with me. The drug offered reprieve from these thoughts…” I paused for a second before shakily adding, “and before I had cocaine my closest companion was the knife.”
I was somewhat surprised by the ease in which I admitted these unspoken truths that I always worked hard to keep under the surface. Panic surged through me when I felt Watson stiffen underneath me and turn his head to look at me. “Holmes, what exactly do you mean by ‘the knife’ being your companion?” he said with a voice that seeped of concern. I immediately regretted saying anything and loathed myself for being so naive as to think that anyone could understand, even less sympathise, with my abnormalities.
The silence stretched out as I scrambled to find a way to explain myself out of this. My silence seemed to confirm the fears of the doctor and he inhaled a steadying breath before speaking to me in a soft and deeply sad voice. “Have you… purposely inflicted harm upon yourself- Oh Sherlock.” I could only silently nod and hide my face as I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes once more.
With my voice muffled in his chest I uttered, “I don’t pretend to understand why I do it or feel an urge to do it… it’s just something that I’ve done in different periods of my life. God you must think this sounds absolutely ridiculous.”
“Sherlock, look at me.” The storm of my eyes met the soft and worried gaze of Watson, with his brows knit together and his blue eyes glassed over. Two gentle hands came up to caress my face and wiped away a tear that had made its way down my cheek. “Thank you for trusting me, my love. I don’t think you are ridiculous at all, just-” His voice was shaking. “Please know that you always can come to me when you are feeling that way. Even if it is in the middle of the night, just please…”
“That- that is very kind of you John.” I felt shaken with the depth of Watson’s care. How I ever became the recipient of his fierce love was a mystery to me, but a part of my tired brain just wanted to bury myself deeper in his embrace and never let go. I would be content with lying in his arms, hearing the steady heartbeat of his chest and feeling the warmth of his hands cradling my head for the rest of my life.
His rumbling voice soothed me and his hand returned to gently rake through my hair. “Shh, just go to sleep darling. We can talk more later, for now just relax. Let me take care of you.”
My eyes immediately fluttered shut and I slumped against him with my head buried in his neck, inhaling his calming presence. The last thing I felt before falling asleep was a kiss being pressed to my temple and a warm blanket being draped over me.