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Of All Things - WatsonThere was one thing that Watson could never get used to, one thing that Holmes did that always slowly drove him insane, with worry and even guilt sometimes for not being there
It was when he would disappear for weeks on end. He would say he would be back soon, that it was a simple case, But he wouldn't return.There was never contact either in these, just a disoriented Holmes wandering home at an ungodly hour, hurt beyond what any normal Human would have given up at. But he always found his way home, to his doctor, to safety. He prayed that would be today that the next time the door opened that he would slam down his journal and bolt out to the staircase to find Holmes in a heap on the floor, hurt, but alive.But now, the door opened quietly, never a good sign, was it Mrs. Hudson? He set down his journal and stood, walking from his office and placing his hand on the door to Holmes' study. It was officer Clark
Too Much - Holmes+WatsonIt could never happen, I said. Never. He was far too careful, too wise, too precise... to let something as simple as that take him down. If Sherlock Holmes were to meet his end, it would have been at the end of some epic battle, or of old age after a long, adventurous life. Not the pathetic, anticlimactic death that really befell him.I woke up alone, which I was thankful for. Waking up with him next to me meant that he had actually gone to sleep the night before. It meant that something had made him tired enough to. In short, it meant that something was wrong. An empty bed meant that he was already awake, pacing around, wreaking havoc and getting a head start in solving whatever case he had found in our post this morning and liked. I slipped on my dressing gown, but it had scarecely touched my shoulders before Holmes burst into the room."Good! You've finally awakened," said he, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. There was, I could not help but notice, a peculiar change in his move