the days that follow after {Sherlock/Open}

[doctorwatson]

The days leading after Watson had left Holmes alone in 221B Barker Street had been good? Bad? Maybe allitle bit of both. He loved Mary he was going to marry her, they had picked out a nice new house just outside of London for right now, Mary wonted something more far away but John wasn’t ready to leave London, not until he knew Holmes was good with the idea of him being gone. He knew that it would do some great damage to his great friend, as John had seen Sherlock Holmes in his worst hours. Oh yes the man had some dark times, then again they all did, not that John let Holmes know he still had a problem of his own, really he couldn’t even remember if he did tell Holmes about his drinking, no just the gambling Holmes knew about, though John didn’t do it as much as he use to, no Watson had been taking care of Holmes problems ever since they had become good friends, even brothers you could say.

There were many times that Watson took care of Holmes. There was helping him with his addiction to drugs, and John had helped him stop, not that he didn’t have a few addictions himself, but he never cared about what he had going on, he always looked after Holmes. Sherlock was more important then the doctor, well that how John felt in his mind. Then there was the time at the shipping yard, where they were fighting off some of the guys and a huge part of the boat came off and was heading towards Holmes, and Watson drove right for him, making sure that hopefully it wouldn’t hit the both of them. Then the man as the nerve to blame it on him, saying ‘Watson what have you done’, what had he done? Nothing at all. Sometimes Holmes would get on his nerves, like playing his violin at three in the morning, or the fact that he stole his cloths sometimes, yes John had told Holmes all these when they were locked up in the yard, he hadn’t slept and he was allitle angry, but he couldn’t blame Holmes for everything, it was just the way he was. The other time he had tried to save Holmes life is when they were hunting down Blackwood and they were at the docks, John had ran ahead to try and get him. Anger what more then likely what clouded the doctor’s mind, because he should have known something was up, and he didn’t see it till the last second when he run out and tripped over the wire that Blackwood had put. In the second that it happened Holmes and Irene came around the corner and he had yelled out to hi, warning him that something was going to happen.

After the dock blew up, John didn’t remember much, something Mary was saying that Holmes had come to check on him and so on. When he came back to finish the case with Holmes, there was a moment where they were sitting on the bed and Holmes told him he was glad that he was with us. That was pretty much all you would get out of Holmes, that’s the love that he showed even to him. He rarely went out into town, spending all his time in his room and Watson had hated it really, he tried many times to get Holmes out and the only time was either a case, or he had asked him to dinner. And you wouldn’t see a smile out of Holmes, though John knew that he always felt something inside, Holmes was just the kind of person not to show his emotions that much. Not like John, he always voiced what he felt, just like the time in the yard.

He had been called to London’s parliament to check up on a well known judge, that Watson knew well; he pretty much spent all his time at his work, so he was making a stop there to check up on the judge, rather then making a house call. Though the doctor thought that if the judge was not feeling well then he should be at home getting rest, but this was Judge was talking about, and John knew that he was one stubborn man. He headed into the building and up the stairs, when he got to the judges office he headed in and nodded his head at the judge. “Ah doctor you made it”. He smiled and walked over to the judge’s desk putting down his bag. “Yes well they way your wife was saying it was pretty important”. Just from looking at the judge he had a fever, he’s face was pale and he was sweating very much, and by touching his forehead he was burning hot. John knew it was just the case of the flu. But good thing it was just that. It was known that people tried to kill off people of the parliament, important people. “You’re good to go Judge, I would just say get some rest and take it easy for the next few days and the flu should pass over”. He nodded and picked up his bag and headed out of the judge’s office, down the stairs and out the doors of parliament, there were people coming and going all over the place and he started to walk down the streets, he thought that maybe he should visit Holmes, or maybe not he didn’t know. He stood in the street deciding which way to go. "I wonder if I should visit Holmes", he said to himself, he didn't know if anyone around him heard or not, if he spent to along in the city then Mary would start to worry, but something told Watson wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

[Sherlock Holmes]

Through the busy London streets, a certain detective walked slowly amongst the crowd. Honestly, it was indeed a miracle that he was outside for a purpose other than a case. But to be fair, he was in the midst of one case, and two potential problems. These three issues had stuck to Holmes’ mind like tar to wood:

The first, and most prominent issue, was that this past week he had been ‘missing’. During the wrap up of one of his cases, he had been transported to the year 1992, into a London he didn’t even recognized. Along with a strange nanny from 1910, they had spent days trapped in a place known as ‘Diagon Alley’, and dealing with a new breed of Englishmen that called themselves ‘wizards’.

But when he finally reappeared in his proper time frame, he didn’t dare tell Lestrade, or anyone, where he had been. The police had the decency to keep his week-long disappearance from the papers, and he himself had simply told the frantic Mrs. Hudson (who was the only person the police informed of his disappearance) that he wasn’t at liberty to discuss what had happened, and that she should stop pestering him about it.

He wasn’t even sure if he should visit Watson and tell him his tale. Even though the man was indeed his brother in everything but blood, Watson would not believe him. Holmes was sure that the practical doctor would think that he had gone round the bend. Or, even worse, that his addiction of choice had over come him again. And that he had been subjected to a ‘bad trip’ as it were.

The second issue, was that THE woman was back in London. Surly to marry (and divorce) an unknown English gentleman, and yet even then Holmes could not be sure. There was just too much mischief going on whenever Irene Adler appeared. She could be here just to make him paranoid, or to hunt down the richest man in London and marry him. Either way, it had him set on edge.

The third issue was a case, one that he was doing on his own accord, and not for money. He had recently made the acquaintance of one Mina Harker, and saved her from a Romanian man who said only one phrase. When he had taken the man to the police station, he had learned from a translator that he said: “I do the will of the Nosferatu”.

Mrs. Harker claimed that she had been attacked once, by a Romanian man named Count Dracula. And that he was a vampire, or Nosferatu, who her husband had finally taken to the grave. Or so she thought. And the more research Sherlock did on ‘Vlad Dracul the Impaler’, the more it didn’t make sense. Vlad Dracul did not have any surviving children, so this Count Dracula fellow could have stolen the name to promote fear. Either way, more research and data was needed.

The detective sighed, and allowed his gaze to wander, realizing that he had walked to Parliament. As the world went on around him, he noticed every little thing. The child stealing an apple from a stand, a man dropping some boxes, another bartering with a customer. He paused and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. It was times like these that he found himself craving the needle.

Of course, he wouldn’t if he had Watson to talk to. The Doctor was, well not a distraction, but a welcome break from the stagnation. He realized suddenly, that he was starting to deeply miss his companion. Sherlock sighed, and pushed the thoughts of Watson to the back of his conscious. He was getting married, he was leaving, time to let go and move on. After all, for years before he met Watson, he had worked on cases alone. He could do it again, no matter how the idea of being alone again made him feel.

Suddenly, a very familiar sound assaulted the detective’s sensitive ears. To be specific, the sound of someone walking, with a slight limp. The sharp tap on pavement allowed Holmes to realize that this man needed a cane to assist him in walking. One that made a distinct hollowish sound… African Snakewood?

Opening his eyes, he turned to see Watson had suddenly stopped, staring at two roads. One, he realized, would lead right to Baker Street. While the other probably lead to his Mary. He also realized that he was hoping Watson would choose the road that lead to Baker Street.

That would not do of course. For one, he wasn’t at home, and Mrs. Hudson would probably tell Watson of his week-long disappearance. That wouldn’t do, no the doctor would have to be content with just worrying about wedding plans. Sherlock knew he could be a selfish individual, but he would not involve Watson in his time traveling adventures…

Instead, he casually walked over to stand by the doctor, as if he too was deciding which road to travel by. “….Watson…. The judge not feeling well?” The old judge was a friend of Watsons, and that was probably the reason why the mother hen was at Parliament’s front door.

[doctorwatson]

The good doctor hadn't been in London very long. The ride from His and Mary's place had been had and long and his leg had started to hurt, blasted old wound of his. John found that he wasn't the same after the war, if had changed his life, sometimes it took over his thinking. And now he was doing it again. He shook away those thoughts and stepped out into the busy streets of London. He needed to great some air. He was wearing a simple outfit, and it was one of the rare times Watson wasn't wearing a hat.

Watson didn't know where he was going or what he was doing. He had thought about going to see Holmes, but he knew how much more badly it would make the both of them feel. John was trying to live a normal life, but it was hard for the doctor, he was dealing with of many times right now, it wasn't a wonder he had broke down and gone crazy. Send you off the lunely bin. He sighed keep walking, well more like limping, Watson always walked with a limp in his one leg. He trailed off, thinking about the time Watson had wonted to shot Black wood when they had first got him, but Holmes stopped him, and then at the docks, when he was so close, Watson's anger got a hold of him and he ended up blowing the whole dock up and almost killing himself, Holmes and Irene.

Life had been just so plain since he had left London.. since he had left Holmes... There was no getting up early in the morning to make sure that Holmes was still alive in his room. There was no telling Holmes to quiet down when he played his guitar at all hours.. There were not time when Watson would find that Holmes had took his cloths. It was all the things he missed, he purely missed the adventure him and Holmes use to have all those years ago... Though he wonted a normal life, he still longed for the life he use to have. If he happened to run into Holmes he would more then likely seen how leaving had affected the good doctor. There were deep black lines under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping either. Every night he would dream on a nightmare, and wake up in a sweat.

He had missed the action life of London, the countryside was boring.. but he loved Mary, and he loved Holmes too. He hadn't eaten in the last four days since he had been running around making sure everything was right with Mary and her parents and the wedding plans. He more then likely smelled of a faint odour of liquor, since he had been drinking last night.

No he would not let Holmes see him like this.. Sure Watson had stopped Holmes from his addiction, with John.. he didn't know. Holmes was greater to look out for then himself; he didn't care what happened to him as along as Holmes was safe. So when he spotted his brother coming over this way he tried his best to hide his face abit, but he knew all in well that his brother would pick up on everything.

He nodded upon Holmes coming to stand next to him and he leaned abit on his cane as he had been running around for so many days that his legs hurt more in ever, well mostly his wounded leg. `Yes it seems the good old Judge just as a case of the flu, nothing bad as his wife said, but I think she just wants him to leave the office and head home`. He said watching a few people walk by before turning back to Holmes, `So what bring you out around here Holmes..`. Because it so unlike him to be out and about, in else he was on a case then that was a whole different story and John was glad he was out for once.

[Sherlock Holmes]

`Yes it seems the good old Judge just as a case of the flu, nothing bad as his wife said, but I think she just wants him to leave the office and head home`.

“Wives are prone to do that, overreact.” Sherlock’s thoughts drifted briefly to the wine-stained cravat he had at home, more importantly how the wine had gotten there. Well, Mary had insisted, and he was never one to let down a lady who insists. Honestly, he had tried to warn Watson on what would happen should he meet his bride to be. But the good doctor could be extremely stubborn, even on matters that Holmes knew were unwise to pursue.

Speaking of unwise pursuits, there was a faint whiff of alcohol on the Doctor’s breath. The fact that Watson was taking in liquor was not a surprising idea. Alcohol was always a safer thing to ingest than the water that came straight from the Thames. As that English river also served as a compost for sewage waste.

Besides this, Sherlock knew that especially veterans always drank far more heavily than their fellow man. In the years that he had known Watson, he could always remember that once night fell he would always have a glass of wine or gin in his hand. Of course, this could be because alcohol was a depressant, and therefore could dull the pain in the good doctor’s war wound. But Holmes knew that this was not the only purpose…

Yes, he knew of his dear Watson’s addiction. But never before had he dared to mention it. Substance addiction was quite a different matter than from a gambling addiction. The detective was no stranger to addiction. No, he would always be addicted to the needle; he had just found the will power to stop using it in his dark moods. Instead of the needle, he would play the violin, or attempt to discover something extraordinary.

Besides the needle, Holmes also dabbled in alcohol. Not just gin or wine, oh no. Only the pure alcohol used to sterilize wounds in surgery. The type of stuff that most men would have had heart failure on. So, to point out this particular vice to Watson would be pointless. The Doctor was the keeper of his dark secrets, after all. For Sherlock Holmes’ addiction to the needle, to eye-surgery alcohol, and even to THE woman, was far more dangerous than Watson’s addiction. Still, he would keep an eye on his friend, just has he had kept an eye on him. But for now, the doctor’s vice had yet to show itself to be hazardous.

`So what bring you out around here Holmes..`

That was not all that was wrong with his brother. “You haven’t been sleeping. Does Miss. Morstern also play the Stradivarius at four in the morning? If so, you should really inform her that you dislike it. It may cause potential future marriage troubles.” His lips twitched into a half-smirk, before disappearing into a mask that he had become infamous for.

He had skipped over Watson’s question entirely, because he didn’t wish to talk about what was on his mind. Besides, that would go against his initial intentions entirely: to keep Watson away from these new cases that have sprung up. After all, it would be a pity if the dear Mary had to lose yet another fiancé.

And then he noticed something else, "And you haven't been eating either. Tut, tut, Doctor." His eyebrow rose, and a slightly amused look crossed his features. "You emulating me is flattering, but I assure you that some aspects of my character are not worth mirroring." Such as his forgetfulness when eating. He was the first to admit it was probably not the smartest practice, especially during a case.