(no subject)
Titel: Hurt
Author: Anne85
Rating: NC-17 (for drug use)
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, song-fic
Summary: showing the cause of Holmes’ drug addiction
Comment: The fic is based on the song “Hurt” in the version of Johnny Cash. Every time I hear that song all the thoughts about why Holmes uses drugs come to my mind. That’s why I had to write it down.
***
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
Holmes didn’t remember when he decided that he could start using cocaine and morphine. It must have been out of curiosity, he thought. He must have had the urge to try it, like with everything that was new to him. Or had it been because everybody used it? Or had it been that he had heard so many positive reports and had therefore thought it would be so nice to feel the effects during working on a difficult case, just to improve his skills in deduction and everything that was part of it?
It didn’t matter at all.
Not now anyway.
He set the needle to his vein and pushed the sweet morphine into his body.
Sweet morphine. He thought and felt the drug moving through his body. He knew it won’t take long until the warmth of the liquid would envelope his thoughts and his body.
Though he had wished the pain would last much longer, his body already had yearned for the drug.
It had been so good to feel and hear the rush of blood through his body again. The pain he had felt as the other man had hit him had been so good. The punchbowl never disappointed him, when he needed it. It was the only thing he still could rely on.
The pain in his left shoulder and in his head hadn’t been so bad at first. On the contrary, he had liked feeling it. At least he had felt something. The days before had been so numb. He couldn’t have focused and everything around him had felt like he was seeing it through some thick layers of cotton.
To finally feel something again had been so good.
But now he only wished the pain to go away, to feel numb again, because with the pain there had been all the other thoughts reappearing which had plagued him since almost three month now, until he had stopped them with morphine and cocaine.
Thoughts about his best friend getting engaged and married, about his best friend moving out of Baker Street, about his best friend leaving him.
Holmes closed his eyes. He could feel his nerves deaden again. He leaned back on the settee to let it enclose him fully.
***
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
Holmes could feel the warmth of skin on his neck. Two fingers pressed against it, he deduced without opening his eyes.
“Holmes!” Watson’s voice was pestering through his cottoned mind. “Please! Wake up!”
Holmes could swear he could hear an underlying tone of fear in his voice.
Now the hand was moving to his forehead. It felt cool and soothing.
Finally Holmes decided to open his eyes and looked directly in concerned blue ones.
“There you are” Watson breathed with a sign of relief, his hand leaving Holmes’ forehead.
Holmes wanted to scream to put it back up there but couldn’t form a word. His mouth felt numb, too.
“What did you take and how much?” Watson asked, his own forehead showed wrinkles of worry.
Holmes shook his head slightly. “Morphine” Was everything he could say.
Watson didn’t say anything about it. He had often told Holmes to stop using it, because it wasn’t studied enough yet and had a tendency to make one addicted. But now he just pressed his lips together in a thin line. He turned around and searched for something in his medical bag.
After some seconds Holmes felt Watson’s hand moving over his arm. He could see the shocked glance upon Watson’s face as he was examining his arm, which was enwrapped with countless red punctures. The worried frown on his forehead deepened as he looked into Holmes’ eyes, as if he was searching for answers in them.
But Holmes just blinked and looked away. He was afraid his friend would see the hurt and desperation he tried to suppress so hard for months.
Watson didn’t say another word, he just injected the healing dose of cocaine into Holmes’ vein.
Some hours later…
Holmes opened his eyes again. The blurry feeling form his mind was slowly disappearing. He saw Watson sitting in the chair across from the settee on which Holmes was still laying.
As he shifted slightly Watson looked up from his newspaper. The moment he saw Holmes was awake he moved to his side.
“How are you feeling?” Watson asked as he bent down and laid his hand on Holmes’ forehead.
There it was again, the soothing hand! Holmes thought.
I feel nothing. He wanted to answer, but in the same moment he felt that wasn’t right any longer. He could feel the dizziness leaving his mind and the pain returning, not just the physical one.
“Fine.” Holmes replied instead.
Watson pressed his lips together again. He must have known Holmes was lying but he didn’t say anything against it. After some seconds his features softened. “You got me quite worried.”
Holmes could see the concern in his blue eyes again.
So blue. He thought and looked deep into them as if he was looking into the ocean watching the waves.
Stop it! He warned himself as he lost track in the blue. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. In fact it only made things worse.
“Why are you here?” Holmes asked as he was moving forward to stand up. He couldn’t bear these eyes any longer. He walked some steps away from the settee.
Watson stood up as well, turning around to face his friend. “You haven’t answered my messages.” He replied.
Holmes forced himself to breath in and out steadily. “I was busy.” He replied with his back to Watson.
“I see”, was Watson’s only answer.
Holmes didn’t move. He still forced himself to breath steadily. To have Watson here again made him feel vulnerable. He turned around to face his friend finally and said: “Now, if you would be so kind and just leave me alone again.”
Watson’s lips still were pressed into a fine line. “No.”
A little bit surprised Holmes asked: “I beg your pardon?!”
“I won’t go”, Watson said calmly. “Not until you’ve told me what is bothering you so much.”
Holmes inhaled sharply. This was getting worse with every minute. “It is none of your business.”
Holmes could almost feel Watson’s eyes boring holes into him. He could almost see all the questions forming in his mind as a flash of hurt crossed his face.
“Holmes”, Watson said evenly as his features softened again. He stepped forward. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Holmes took a deep breath.
“I am your friend.”
Holmes had to suppress a laugh as he heard the last words.
Not anymore. He thought. “Go home, Watson!” Holmes told him. “Go home to your wife!” And leave me again.
But Watson just shook his head. “No. Not until you’ve told me.”
Holmes could feel his heart hammering faster. Why wouldn’t Watson just go? It made him sick to have him here again, only to know he would leave him again.
“I said, just leave me, Watson!” He was getting angry. This was his flat after all. Watson had no right to just be here and go when he wanted to anymore.
Now Watson was stepping forward again, so that he was just two steps away from Holmes. “And I said I won’t go!”
Holmes could almost feel Watson’s breath on his face. He could smell the tobacco, the familiar brand Watson always used. And he could see the concern underneath his now angry features. The blue eyes staring at him like a prayer.
Holmes felt a lump in his throat. His breathing was quickening. The knife in his heart was turned around and around.
He tried to control his breathing but failed. He clenched his teeth to suppress any verbal expression. It would have been so easy to yell at Watson now.
Holmes couldn’t bear this any longer. He just went one step backwards and stepped away. He had to get out of the room!
With a loud bang he closed the door to his bedroom and locked it.
He really wanted to hit something, someone! The anger he felt was fully getting to the surface now. How could Watson dare to call him his friend! He was married! He left him! He had no right to be here at all!
Holmes desperately wanted to punch someone. He needed to get out of the building and go to the punchbowl. Whatever guy was there, he would face him gladly, no matter how tall or big he was, Holmes would love to punch the hell out of him.
He put on the clothes to leave Baker Street and go out. He wouldn’t waste another minute. He really had to get there.
As he opened his door again and stepped out into the sitting room Watson was still there. It made him all the more angry.
“Holmes!” Watson said and moved towards him.
But Holmes tried to ignore him. Really he tried!
Watson stood in his way with folded arms. Holmes breathed in and out. “Get out of my way, Watson!” Holmes said calmly, suppressing the anger in his voice.
“Where are you going?” Watson wanted to know, getting suspicious.
Holmes glared into his eyes. “I told you, it is none of your business!” His voice was increasing now. With his shoulder he wanted to push right through Watson.
“Yes it is!” Watson got very angry now and held Holmes’ arm as he wanted to get away. “It is my business when my best friend is hurting himself, pushing his friend away and leaving like a coward!”
“How dare you!” Holmes was furious now. He tried to free his arm from Watson’s grip. “You have no right to talk to me like that!”
“Yes I have!” Watson almost yelled, still holding Holmes’ arm.
“No you don’t! Not anymore!” He wanted to free himself from Watson’s grip. He really had to get free! Watson’s scent was filling his nose and Holmes felt the knife in his heart getting deeper and deeper now. “Just let me go!”
“No!” Watson now gripped his other arm, too, trying to hold Holmes still.
Holmes still tried to fight him off. But he realized with every passing second that it was in vain to free himself form the grip of a former soldier. “Leave me be”, he tried again desperately.
Watson just pulled him stronger to himself, shaking his own head. “I can’t”. His voice was getting softer now.
Resignation set in and Holmes felt himself getting limp. This was too much for him. “Please”, he almost whispered, „I have to go.”
Watson’s arms where now moving around his body and pressed Holmes against himself. “No, you don’t have to.”
Holmes felt his knees going weak and he almost fell to the ground if Watson hadn’t caught him. His heart was beating so fast, he feared Watson would hear it. He pressed his face to Watson’s chest as the doctor lowered them on the settee. His senses where overloaded with Watson. He could feel his eyes watering and in the next moment he felt hot tears leaving them as he inhaled deeply. He had to suppress a hysterical laugh, because he didn’t even remember when had been the last time he was crying. His breathing was still frantic as Watson’s arms moved up and down his back.
“Shhhshhh. It is all right, old fellow. Just let it go”, Watson whispered soothing.
And he did.
Holmes didn’t know why he was letting Watson do this to him. He hadn’t craved for it. On the contrary he had wanted him to leave him, like he did before. But to feel his hands on his back now and hearing him whispering these calming things, it was like everything he ever wanted.
He knew he couldn’t bear Watson leaving him again. But this was yet to come.
Holmes dismissed the depressing thought and let himself fall into the soothing touches of his best friend.
Just one last time.
***
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
It was the next morning, when Holmes awoke again. He was laying on the settee once more and Watson was snoring, sitting in his armchair head leaning against the back.
Holmes felt the stiffening in his neck from laying on the settee for hours. He also felt pain in his shoulder and his head hurt in a big amount. Maybe the punchbowl hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
As he moved to sit up he watched Watson. His face looked calm and his forehead didn’t show any crinkles. The tiny hairs on his moustache fluttered with every snore he made. His chest was heaving and lowering with every breath he took and Holmes wanted to go over and put his head to it to listen to Watson’s strong heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his body.
Only now he remembered what had happened. He had allowed Watson to break through his so carefully built wall and see the emotions which where plaguing him since Watson had left him.
He had felt so helpless against Watson’s scent and his body heat as he had wrapped his arms around Holmes and had pulled him closer, talking to him like only his mother ever did and trying to sooth away the pain he felt so deep within. Hot tears had left his eyes and all he could have done was to bury his face deeper into Watson’s chest, begging his heart would stop from burning and Watson would stop to be so caring and understanding.
He wondered if this feeling would ever go away, if he would ever feel whole again.
Yet Watson was here with him after all. But in the end he would go home to his wife and forget all about Holmes again.
Holmes remembered the day clearly on which Watson had first told him about Mary. The way he had talked about her and the happiness in his eyes had been unbearable. From this day on Holmes had known he would lose him, he would lose his best friend, he would lose the one person which means most to him.
And so it all had gone the way he had predicted. Watson had fallen in love and had left him. His priorities had changed and Holmes hadn’t been the most important person in his live anymore. Watson had changed and Holmes had stayed the man he had and will always be - the man deeply in love with his best friend.
Watson’s breathing changed and Holmes could tell he would be awake soon. He signed and wished he had stayed at the punchbowl in the first place.
***
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
Holmes tried to ignore Watson’s urging questions. He tried to convince him that all of this had to do with his last case. Though it took him quite some time, he made Watson believe him in the end.
And so Watson left him again.
Holmes knew he couldn’t go on like this for much longer. The drug was taking its toll. But what other solution did he have? This was the only way to suppress the pain which was consuming his mind an his body.
He knew he had to find another way to deal with this. But all he wanted to do was run. He wanted to get rid of this feeling, of this agony. He wanted to break free from the unconscious grip in which Watson was holding him.
Maybe this was the only logical solution?
He had to leave Baker Street, London, England even!
Maybe distance was the only way to heal him, the only possibility to forget Watson at all.
And just as he looked to the wall, which was plastered with little pieces from newspapers and correspondence form the last weeks leading to one man, he knew he got the perfect answer for his problem - Moriarty.
The End
Here are the full lyrics of the song:
Hurt
Johnny Cash
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
[Chorus:]
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
[Chorus:]
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
Author: Anne85
Rating: NC-17 (for drug use)
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, song-fic
Summary: showing the cause of Holmes’ drug addiction
Comment: The fic is based on the song “Hurt” in the version of Johnny Cash. Every time I hear that song all the thoughts about why Holmes uses drugs come to my mind. That’s why I had to write it down.
***
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
Holmes didn’t remember when he decided that he could start using cocaine and morphine. It must have been out of curiosity, he thought. He must have had the urge to try it, like with everything that was new to him. Or had it been because everybody used it? Or had it been that he had heard so many positive reports and had therefore thought it would be so nice to feel the effects during working on a difficult case, just to improve his skills in deduction and everything that was part of it?
It didn’t matter at all.
Not now anyway.
He set the needle to his vein and pushed the sweet morphine into his body.
Sweet morphine. He thought and felt the drug moving through his body. He knew it won’t take long until the warmth of the liquid would envelope his thoughts and his body.
Though he had wished the pain would last much longer, his body already had yearned for the drug.
It had been so good to feel and hear the rush of blood through his body again. The pain he had felt as the other man had hit him had been so good. The punchbowl never disappointed him, when he needed it. It was the only thing he still could rely on.
The pain in his left shoulder and in his head hadn’t been so bad at first. On the contrary, he had liked feeling it. At least he had felt something. The days before had been so numb. He couldn’t have focused and everything around him had felt like he was seeing it through some thick layers of cotton.
To finally feel something again had been so good.
But now he only wished the pain to go away, to feel numb again, because with the pain there had been all the other thoughts reappearing which had plagued him since almost three month now, until he had stopped them with morphine and cocaine.
Thoughts about his best friend getting engaged and married, about his best friend moving out of Baker Street, about his best friend leaving him.
Holmes closed his eyes. He could feel his nerves deaden again. He leaned back on the settee to let it enclose him fully.
***
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
Holmes could feel the warmth of skin on his neck. Two fingers pressed against it, he deduced without opening his eyes.
“Holmes!” Watson’s voice was pestering through his cottoned mind. “Please! Wake up!”
Holmes could swear he could hear an underlying tone of fear in his voice.
Now the hand was moving to his forehead. It felt cool and soothing.
Finally Holmes decided to open his eyes and looked directly in concerned blue ones.
“There you are” Watson breathed with a sign of relief, his hand leaving Holmes’ forehead.
Holmes wanted to scream to put it back up there but couldn’t form a word. His mouth felt numb, too.
“What did you take and how much?” Watson asked, his own forehead showed wrinkles of worry.
Holmes shook his head slightly. “Morphine” Was everything he could say.
Watson didn’t say anything about it. He had often told Holmes to stop using it, because it wasn’t studied enough yet and had a tendency to make one addicted. But now he just pressed his lips together in a thin line. He turned around and searched for something in his medical bag.
After some seconds Holmes felt Watson’s hand moving over his arm. He could see the shocked glance upon Watson’s face as he was examining his arm, which was enwrapped with countless red punctures. The worried frown on his forehead deepened as he looked into Holmes’ eyes, as if he was searching for answers in them.
But Holmes just blinked and looked away. He was afraid his friend would see the hurt and desperation he tried to suppress so hard for months.
Watson didn’t say another word, he just injected the healing dose of cocaine into Holmes’ vein.
Some hours later…
Holmes opened his eyes again. The blurry feeling form his mind was slowly disappearing. He saw Watson sitting in the chair across from the settee on which Holmes was still laying.
As he shifted slightly Watson looked up from his newspaper. The moment he saw Holmes was awake he moved to his side.
“How are you feeling?” Watson asked as he bent down and laid his hand on Holmes’ forehead.
There it was again, the soothing hand! Holmes thought.
I feel nothing. He wanted to answer, but in the same moment he felt that wasn’t right any longer. He could feel the dizziness leaving his mind and the pain returning, not just the physical one.
“Fine.” Holmes replied instead.
Watson pressed his lips together again. He must have known Holmes was lying but he didn’t say anything against it. After some seconds his features softened. “You got me quite worried.”
Holmes could see the concern in his blue eyes again.
So blue. He thought and looked deep into them as if he was looking into the ocean watching the waves.
Stop it! He warned himself as he lost track in the blue. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. In fact it only made things worse.
“Why are you here?” Holmes asked as he was moving forward to stand up. He couldn’t bear these eyes any longer. He walked some steps away from the settee.
Watson stood up as well, turning around to face his friend. “You haven’t answered my messages.” He replied.
Holmes forced himself to breath in and out steadily. “I was busy.” He replied with his back to Watson.
“I see”, was Watson’s only answer.
Holmes didn’t move. He still forced himself to breath steadily. To have Watson here again made him feel vulnerable. He turned around to face his friend finally and said: “Now, if you would be so kind and just leave me alone again.”
Watson’s lips still were pressed into a fine line. “No.”
A little bit surprised Holmes asked: “I beg your pardon?!”
“I won’t go”, Watson said calmly. “Not until you’ve told me what is bothering you so much.”
Holmes inhaled sharply. This was getting worse with every minute. “It is none of your business.”
Holmes could almost feel Watson’s eyes boring holes into him. He could almost see all the questions forming in his mind as a flash of hurt crossed his face.
“Holmes”, Watson said evenly as his features softened again. He stepped forward. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Holmes took a deep breath.
“I am your friend.”
Holmes had to suppress a laugh as he heard the last words.
Not anymore. He thought. “Go home, Watson!” Holmes told him. “Go home to your wife!” And leave me again.
But Watson just shook his head. “No. Not until you’ve told me.”
Holmes could feel his heart hammering faster. Why wouldn’t Watson just go? It made him sick to have him here again, only to know he would leave him again.
“I said, just leave me, Watson!” He was getting angry. This was his flat after all. Watson had no right to just be here and go when he wanted to anymore.
Now Watson was stepping forward again, so that he was just two steps away from Holmes. “And I said I won’t go!”
Holmes could almost feel Watson’s breath on his face. He could smell the tobacco, the familiar brand Watson always used. And he could see the concern underneath his now angry features. The blue eyes staring at him like a prayer.
Holmes felt a lump in his throat. His breathing was quickening. The knife in his heart was turned around and around.
He tried to control his breathing but failed. He clenched his teeth to suppress any verbal expression. It would have been so easy to yell at Watson now.
Holmes couldn’t bear this any longer. He just went one step backwards and stepped away. He had to get out of the room!
With a loud bang he closed the door to his bedroom and locked it.
He really wanted to hit something, someone! The anger he felt was fully getting to the surface now. How could Watson dare to call him his friend! He was married! He left him! He had no right to be here at all!
Holmes desperately wanted to punch someone. He needed to get out of the building and go to the punchbowl. Whatever guy was there, he would face him gladly, no matter how tall or big he was, Holmes would love to punch the hell out of him.
He put on the clothes to leave Baker Street and go out. He wouldn’t waste another minute. He really had to get there.
As he opened his door again and stepped out into the sitting room Watson was still there. It made him all the more angry.
“Holmes!” Watson said and moved towards him.
But Holmes tried to ignore him. Really he tried!
Watson stood in his way with folded arms. Holmes breathed in and out. “Get out of my way, Watson!” Holmes said calmly, suppressing the anger in his voice.
“Where are you going?” Watson wanted to know, getting suspicious.
Holmes glared into his eyes. “I told you, it is none of your business!” His voice was increasing now. With his shoulder he wanted to push right through Watson.
“Yes it is!” Watson got very angry now and held Holmes’ arm as he wanted to get away. “It is my business when my best friend is hurting himself, pushing his friend away and leaving like a coward!”
“How dare you!” Holmes was furious now. He tried to free his arm from Watson’s grip. “You have no right to talk to me like that!”
“Yes I have!” Watson almost yelled, still holding Holmes’ arm.
“No you don’t! Not anymore!” He wanted to free himself from Watson’s grip. He really had to get free! Watson’s scent was filling his nose and Holmes felt the knife in his heart getting deeper and deeper now. “Just let me go!”
“No!” Watson now gripped his other arm, too, trying to hold Holmes still.
Holmes still tried to fight him off. But he realized with every passing second that it was in vain to free himself form the grip of a former soldier. “Leave me be”, he tried again desperately.
Watson just pulled him stronger to himself, shaking his own head. “I can’t”. His voice was getting softer now.
Resignation set in and Holmes felt himself getting limp. This was too much for him. “Please”, he almost whispered, „I have to go.”
Watson’s arms where now moving around his body and pressed Holmes against himself. “No, you don’t have to.”
Holmes felt his knees going weak and he almost fell to the ground if Watson hadn’t caught him. His heart was beating so fast, he feared Watson would hear it. He pressed his face to Watson’s chest as the doctor lowered them on the settee. His senses where overloaded with Watson. He could feel his eyes watering and in the next moment he felt hot tears leaving them as he inhaled deeply. He had to suppress a hysterical laugh, because he didn’t even remember when had been the last time he was crying. His breathing was still frantic as Watson’s arms moved up and down his back.
“Shhhshhh. It is all right, old fellow. Just let it go”, Watson whispered soothing.
And he did.
Holmes didn’t know why he was letting Watson do this to him. He hadn’t craved for it. On the contrary he had wanted him to leave him, like he did before. But to feel his hands on his back now and hearing him whispering these calming things, it was like everything he ever wanted.
He knew he couldn’t bear Watson leaving him again. But this was yet to come.
Holmes dismissed the depressing thought and let himself fall into the soothing touches of his best friend.
Just one last time.
***
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
It was the next morning, when Holmes awoke again. He was laying on the settee once more and Watson was snoring, sitting in his armchair head leaning against the back.
Holmes felt the stiffening in his neck from laying on the settee for hours. He also felt pain in his shoulder and his head hurt in a big amount. Maybe the punchbowl hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
As he moved to sit up he watched Watson. His face looked calm and his forehead didn’t show any crinkles. The tiny hairs on his moustache fluttered with every snore he made. His chest was heaving and lowering with every breath he took and Holmes wanted to go over and put his head to it to listen to Watson’s strong heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his body.
Only now he remembered what had happened. He had allowed Watson to break through his so carefully built wall and see the emotions which where plaguing him since Watson had left him.
He had felt so helpless against Watson’s scent and his body heat as he had wrapped his arms around Holmes and had pulled him closer, talking to him like only his mother ever did and trying to sooth away the pain he felt so deep within. Hot tears had left his eyes and all he could have done was to bury his face deeper into Watson’s chest, begging his heart would stop from burning and Watson would stop to be so caring and understanding.
He wondered if this feeling would ever go away, if he would ever feel whole again.
Yet Watson was here with him after all. But in the end he would go home to his wife and forget all about Holmes again.
Holmes remembered the day clearly on which Watson had first told him about Mary. The way he had talked about her and the happiness in his eyes had been unbearable. From this day on Holmes had known he would lose him, he would lose his best friend, he would lose the one person which means most to him.
And so it all had gone the way he had predicted. Watson had fallen in love and had left him. His priorities had changed and Holmes hadn’t been the most important person in his live anymore. Watson had changed and Holmes had stayed the man he had and will always be - the man deeply in love with his best friend.
Watson’s breathing changed and Holmes could tell he would be awake soon. He signed and wished he had stayed at the punchbowl in the first place.
***
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
Holmes tried to ignore Watson’s urging questions. He tried to convince him that all of this had to do with his last case. Though it took him quite some time, he made Watson believe him in the end.
And so Watson left him again.
Holmes knew he couldn’t go on like this for much longer. The drug was taking its toll. But what other solution did he have? This was the only way to suppress the pain which was consuming his mind an his body.
He knew he had to find another way to deal with this. But all he wanted to do was run. He wanted to get rid of this feeling, of this agony. He wanted to break free from the unconscious grip in which Watson was holding him.
Maybe this was the only logical solution?
He had to leave Baker Street, London, England even!
Maybe distance was the only way to heal him, the only possibility to forget Watson at all.
And just as he looked to the wall, which was plastered with little pieces from newspapers and correspondence form the last weeks leading to one man, he knew he got the perfect answer for his problem - Moriarty.
The End
Here are the full lyrics of the song:
Hurt
Johnny Cash
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
[Chorus:]
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
[Chorus:]
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way