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Holmes and I lay upon the grass while the black fumes left our lungs. Behind us, the cottage windows gaped like sightless eyes.
Holmes’s breath came harshly. I had seen terror contort his keen features, and the memory chilled me more than the wind.
“Upon my word, Watson, I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was unjustifiable, doubly so for a friend. I nearly killed us.”
His low voice disarmed my anger. His hand trembled upon my sleeve.
“What did you see?” I asked.
“The end of reason. Darkness without form, filled with things that hungered.” His eyes found mine. “Then I saw you fall, and discovered something worse.”
I knelt close beside him. “What could be worse than that?”
“To live on after your death.”
The sea beat against the rocks, slow and remorseless. Holmes raised an unsteady hand to my face, as though confirming that I was flesh rather than some final vision of the drug.
“I am really very sorry, Watson.”
I covered his hand with mine and kissed him. His lips were cold, still bitter with poison, but they opened beneath mine with a soft, broken sound. He drew me still closer until our foreheads touched.
Behind us waited the darkness we had invited inside.
Before us, the cliffs fell sheer into the sea.