ACADEMIA
The Girl You Lost To Cocaine "So just cut me loose, learn to tie your shoes, there's somebody here I'd like to introduce, so look in the mirror, look for the glass, cause you're not my problem…" Sia – The Girl You Lost to Cocaine Watson's eyes looked at me sadly. His blue orbs seemed to search my face, looking for evidence that I was trustworthy. Mary sat on the couch beside me in Watson's office, and Gladstone lay on the carpet before the fire. His snoring and the ticking of the clock the only two sounds in the room at that moment. "Mary," said Watson softly, "would you be so kind as to get us some tea?" I suddenly felt awkward. What could be so serious that Watson did not wish to discuss it in front of Mary? Mary nodded, understanding his meaning, and rose to exit the room. She nodded at me as she passed, giving me a small, kind smile. I smiled weakly back at her, and missed her comforting presence once she left. Watson rubbed his eyes, then put his hand to his mouth, deep in thought as he paced across the room, his desk behind him. "What I am about to tell you, I have never told anyone, not even Mary. Not because I don't trust her, but for the sake of Holmes' privacy. I only feel you have the right to know because you now work with him and I feel like he…" he paused, "I think you should know." Watson turned and sat next to me on the couch, occupying the space Mary had vacated on my left. He leaned forward on his elbows, and I knew that the situation was serious because of his close proximity to me. Watson was a gentleman, but he seemed to almost try to assuage my fears by sitting close. It created an intimate environment, and I leaned forward, as if someone else may hear us, here in his own house. "As I believe you already know, Holmes needs mental stimulation. He craves the puzzles that come with investigating cases. Solving cases is one of the very few things that distract him from his other…less desirable occupations." Watson sighed, and leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. "Holmes is an addict, Catherine. He suffers from an addiction to cocaine. I have tried on several occasions to wean him off of his drug, but he always goes back to it when he is in emotional or mental distress. The last time that he had a relapse, that I was aware of, was last winter." "When she died." The words erupted from my mouth, and I covered my traitorous lips. Watson looked at me with surprise in his eyes. "He didn't tell you did he…?" He asked in disbelief. "N-no, I…found out." I averted my gaze to Gladstone as he rolled over onto his back. "Was it Mrs. Hudson?" Watson raised a questioning brow. "No…it was…Maggie." My chin nodded down to my chest in defeat. "Ah," he chuckled to himself, "I might've guessed." "Who was she?" Why did I ask questions to which I already knew the answers? A twisted part of my heart needed to know, to know it to be true, even if it would pain me. He sighed, obviously not expecting the conversation to take this turn, but relieved I had not reacted to his revelation about Holmes' addiction. "Her name was Irene Adler. She was a thief, though that word hardly does her justice. She was incredibly manipulative, almost as cunning as Holmes himself. He was completely taken with her the moment he met her." "How was she involved in the Moriarty case?" My curiosity overrode my jealously of the memory of this woman. Watson blinked rapidly; I could tell that his mind was shifting topics. "She foolishly offered her services to that despicable Professor Moriarty. I don't think she knew at the time what his plans were, or that he and Holmes would come to such odds. From what I know, she even tried to save Holmes from Moriarty, but she suffered for her connection with both of them. Moriarty did not allow any loose ends in his devious schemes. Holmes found out Moriarty had killed her in order to punish him, but, I doubt he would have let her live even if she had never known Holmes." I suddenly felt cold, thinking about this woman Holmes had cared for, probably even loved, being murdered. I imagined the pain and hopelessness he must have felt, and I understood why he might have turned to any means of distracting himself. Then it occurred to me, what had happened recently to cause Holmes' relapse? "Dr. Watson, has anything happened to him recently to make him resort to his addiction? I was under the impression he was, at least for him, behaving normally." Watson paused, and his eyes darted briefly to my face. I could sense that he was hiding something. "With Holmes, there is no way to really know what is going on in his mind. I am his closest friend and even I am astounded at his actions most of the time." Still, I pushed for answers. "So you have no idea what's gotten into him? None at all?" I looked him in the eye, my gaze steady, and I saw he was unable to meet it for very long. "I'm afraid I have about as much of an idea as you do." He shook his head, and crossed his arms in front of him. I decided to push him, I was not in the mood to be dismissed. At that moment, I could sense why Holmes would be so comfortable with him; I felt a kinship, a familiarity. "You are a terrible liar Watson," I smiled at him knowingly. In my haste to goad him, I had dropped his title. I had referred to him the way Holmes did, and I immediately regretted my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Watson. I don't know what's come over me." I decided to play the bashful maiden. "Here you are, telling me more than you would ever have to, and I challenge your honesty." I did feel a little guilty, though, probably not as much as I should. "It's quite alright." He appeared satisfied that he had distracted me, so he was allowing my mistake to slide. "I'm afraid I've been acting too familiar with you. Please forgive me." I respected Watson, and had no intention of indicating otherwise. He was important to Holmes, and had always been a kind gentleman to me. What right did I have to question him? But I still felt he was hiding something. He must have a reason, because he had shared so much with me already, he did trust me, at least to a certain degree. Maybe what he wasn't telling me was that Holmes had met another woman, but who? I realized I had become a jealous ninny, and decided I must do something to distract myself. I could go back to 221 Baker Street, and hope Holmes would talk to me, either about the case or just about anything at all. On the other hand, I could do something for myself, instead of waiting for him to get his act together. I couldn't move on the Sheffield case without him, not really. I still had no idea where he got his theory about her being the real culprit. If he wasn't worried about solving it, why should I be? Even though his current state of mind frustrated me exceedingly, there was nothing I could do to change him. I had known the man for a little over a month, and even I knew there was no use trying to change his mood or get him to do anything he did not want to do. I had picked that up on first meeting him. He was not only purposefully stubborn, but he had this steadfastness about him, like a cement block that wasn't meant to be moved. You just had to appreciate it for where it was and use it to your advantage. The block wasn't moving, and it was addicted to cocaine. I still wanted to help the block, but my mother had always said, you can't help people who don't want to help themselves. There was no use trying to move him. It was really out of my hands. My heart ached when I realized this, but it was true. Only he could help himself, and even Watson knew that. All of this inner monologue took place within a matter of seconds, like different currents in the same river of thought, overlapping, going in the same direction but with different sources. I came back to myself as Watson rose from his seat. Mary entered at that moment with tea, making eye contact with her husband to see if he was comfortable with her presence. She glanced at me, as if to see if I was all right, and seemed satisfied with what she saw. "Mary," I asked tentatively, "would you mind helping me go shopping again? I really do need some more clothes, and if I'm going to be working with Holmes, I'll need some more appropriate things to wear." At the moment, I was wearing the nicest dress I owned, next to the new one Mary and I had bought the day before. "I would be delighted." She smiled her kind smile at me, her grey eyes twinkling. She seemed pleased that Watson and I had finished with our discussion and no one was upset. "We'll set out after tea. I have a number of shops I want to show you…" SHSHSHSH SHSHSHSH SHSHSHSH SHSHSHSH Mary and I stood at the corner of the street, each of our arms laden with packages and parcels. It was quite a haul, not to mention the number of packages that were due to be delivered in the next two days. I had spent a great deal of Mr. Weatherby's reward money, but I could not be more pleased. I finally felt like a proper lady with a proper London wardrobe. As we waited for a break in the flow of carriages and even a few motor cars, I listened to a young man yell to passersby, trying to sell newspapers on the street. "Breaking News! Lady Sheffield robbed at local restaurant! Authorities baffled…" I turned my head to him at the same moment as Mary did, and we caught each others eye. My hands were full, so I had to maneuver a few things around in order to take a few coins from the pocket of my dress. "I'll take one." Holmes probably had not left his room all day and would be interested in the news. "Fank ya madam!" The young man tipped his hat to me as I shoved the newspaper in between packages, hoping it would not drop out. I would have to wait until we reached Baker Street to find out what Lady Sheffield had said to Scotland Yard. Once Mary and I reached Holmes' residence, we were aided by Maggie and Mrs. Hudson in getting our packages upstairs. I asked Mary to stay for lunch, but she declined, saying she had to attend to business at home. I thanked her for her help, and she departed. Chester had quite a time inspecting my discarded boxes and tissue paper. He was rather like a cat that way. There was a moment of panic when he got a paper bag stuck on his head, but I quickly helped him out of his predicament. I rearranged my wardrobe, taking advantage of the many cabinets Watson had vacated when he moved out, and took the liberty of putting on one of my new dresses, a deep purple velveteen suit I absolutely adored. I had never worn such finery in my life and I was overcome with giddy vanity. After I had my lunch, I decided I would try to give Holmes one more chance to join the living. I knocked, rather loudly this time, on his door, and put my ear to the cool wood to listen for any sign of movement. I heard nothing, and decided to leave his sandwich to Chester as I turned around. I was halfway across the hall when I heard his door creak open. A rough, dry voice spoke behind me, stifled by the small opening in the doorway, "I knew it was you by your gait, even though your dress and shoes made a different sound. Been spending poor Mr. Weatherby's money? To think, you've been out shopping while I sit, toiling away on this new case." He's trying to smooth things over, I thought. I'll let him, it won't get me anywhere to fight with him about his habits. He's a grown man. "You told me to come back tomorrow." I turned around to see that he had finally opened the door the full way. His frayed dressing gown flapped open, and I noticed he was not wearing a shirt as I caught a glimpse of pale flesh. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I struggled to swallow. He did not even blink as he replied, "I did, so why are you here now?" Damn, I had trapped myself within his web of logic. Fine, let him just be that way. I stepped toward him with the tray still in hand, when I saw him retreat slightly. "No thank you, I'll have nothing." Why had he opened the door if he didn't want anything to eat? The drug probably affected his appetite. So be it. "Very well, but you should at least take the paper. You might find the front page of interest." I saw the light almost return to his eyes for a brief second, and he snatched the paper from the top of the tray, causing the teacup and saucer to spin dangerously. My eyes widened as I shifted the tray to keep the china from falling to the floor. Holmes had barely glanced at the front page when he said, "Take that back to the kitchen. Bring black coffee and nothing else." He shut the door, and I descended the stairs to fulfill his order. At least he was speaking to me. He couldn't be too upset at my discovery if he was willing to work with me. I took consolation in that thought as I entered the kitchen. Author's Note: Sorry to leave you hanging, hah. I hope that the next chapter should be up in about a week, at least in less than two weeks. I got one great review for the last chapter, but you guys seem quiet. I'd like to hear your input. Why do you think Holmes has relapsed? What do you think is the behind the mysterious Lady Sheffield's accusations? There will be more Holmes and Catherine in the next chapter, I need to get some character development in this time. If I get stuck, I have all sorts of one-shot ideas that don't necessarily follow the story line but are lots of fun. If I get some more reviews, I might consider posting them.
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