While bridges still burn: V

"The worst has passed."

Holmes curled into a tight ball, arm linked around his stomach and back to his 'once-upon-a-time' partner. He clenched his teeth and bit back profanity. His skin burned, the muscles beneath clenching and quivering, his entire body begging him for opium.

Watson gently touched his shoulder and pain exploded through him.

"It's psychosomatic, old cock. The pain, from my touch, doesn't exist."

" T-that means little. I can still feel it."

"Today and it will be over."

The detective didn't reply, he couldn't. He was shivering now, cold sweat all over his body, clinging the shirt to his chest and cooling the fire beneath his skin. It was ever changing, fast and heavy agony. Watson had been there when it started at noon and he would be there until it was over. Not once had the doctor stopped comforting him.

"You must have really over done yourself on this, Holmes. The withdrawal symptoms I have seen before have never been so bad or lasted so long."

"I'm a special man, Watson."

"That you are."

Holmes screamed out as cramp shot through his abdomen. Watson, throwing all logic to the wind, gently lifted him and cradled Holmes' head against his chest. Despite all principle,  the detective clung onto the doctor's waist. He shivered against his body, cried into his chest and outwardly begged the man to make this hell cease.

Watson gritted his teeth. His heart was breaking with each moan of pain from the man in his arms and he would do anything to take it away from him. But, all the same, he knew Holmes deserved it; it was his doing after all.

"W-watson -" Holmes brought a hand to his mouth, "I- I think I might be sick."

"Christ." Watson bounded from the bed and reached for the coal bucket. He emptied the contents onto the rug and thrust the bucket into Holmes arms.

He wrenched. Thick bile spilled form his mouth, his entire body shook with agony. There was nothing but water in his stomach  and, so, it felt as if the very tissues were being torn. He doubled over and hic-upped. Watson took the bucket from him and laid it beside the bed.

"Lay back, Holmes. I'm here."

"P-please.Stay." He curled into a ball, his head on Watson's chest and his legs tangled with his, "Stay this time. I have never felt such agony. I feel as if my entire body is being eaten from the inside."

Watson petted at the detective's hair; it was sticking to his forehead, slick with sweat.

"I need you, " Holmes continued, "I need you more than I have ever needed you. Please t-try to love me again. I will give you anything. The moon ,the stars, peace, quiet; I'll give you my full attention and my whole heart."

Another fit of nausea settled over the detective and he reached for the bucket. Another few moments were spent with his head dipped, his eyes squeezed shut and tears mixing with the vomit. Watson rubbed at his back.

"You are doing well, Holmes - "

"I wouldn't being doing this if you hadn't saved me. I would be dead, stiff and gleeful and being eaten by maggots. And, God be damned, I hate you for saving me. You and that wretched house keeper - "

"Land lady."

"Fuck what she is!" Holmes was sobbing, he was curled against a pillow, bucket forgotten about and on the floor next to Watson's feet, "She could be Jesus Christ Emanuel for all I care; but to me she is a devil."

Watson leant over the man and kissed him gently on the cheek. When he didn't receive a reaction, good or bad, he awkwardly wrapped his arms around him. Holmes struggled, he tried to escape the hug, tried to deny the doctor the pleasure of comforting him. But he wasn't strong enough. Another agonizing cramp cut through his stomach and he cried out.

"J-John." he turned to face the man and curled into his chest. There he sobbed and begged forgiveness.

Watson stroked at his hair again, the other arm holding him securely to his body. The detectives words swam in his head. The notion that Holmes might try to take his life again hurt more than anything the man could say. Yes, the doctor had finally given into the fact that Holmes had, indeed, tried to kill himself in a genuine sense. It was the way the man acted, the emptiness and pain behind his eyes. The once lively hazel were nothing but a dull swamp.

Please try to love me again.


"I will try, Holmes." Watson whispered to the walls. The detective lay asleep, finally, entangled with him. It was safe to talk out loud and to promise things he really shouldn't, "I'll try to love you again."