A/N: The lateness of this chapter is unpardonable. It has been eating away at my mind for ages. So I finally dragged my a** in front of my computer screen, put on some awesome music, closed all my internet browsers and got to work. So now it's done. Finally. My most sincere apologies to everyone who was waiting for this on alerts, and most of all to Hiding. in the cookie jar. , who definitely didn't deserve to be kept waiting so long! Here it is. Prepare for angst. The H/C will come later, as I had to split this chapter up in order to be left with something publishable.

I sent Holmes to bed immediately. He didn't object to my order. I realized that I was probably facing the most difficult case of my career: how to help my best friend quit a highly addictive drug, as they say, "cold turkey." Thoughtfully, I replaced the chess set and retired to my room. I took off my jacket and removed the cocaine bottle from within. As much as I would have liked to empty its contents down the basin, I hesitated, wary of a time that Holmes's body would need the drug to stop from shutting down completely. However, I could not have Holmes finding it and giving in to a fit of weakness. I dithered over it quite some time before settling for keeping it on my person. Holmes would not be able to access it even if he found it.

I awoke refreshed the next morning and rang for breakfast. I served it myself, fussing about in my most professional medical form, and not at all ashamed of it. Holmes had asked for my help, and I was going to give it.

"I am inexplicably weary, Watson," Holmes announced to me, breaking the silence of eating.

"I know, Holmes. It is the first symptom of your withdrawal." I paused. "Are you sure you want to do it this way, Holmes? I am sure I could wean you off the drug slowly. It would be safer, easier-"

"Never let it be said I am not a man up for the challenge," Holmes asserted. At my despairing expression, he relented. "I have resolved to see this through. It does me no good to prolong it." I nodded.

"Very well. At least let me inform you what you face." Holmes nodded, and I began to rattle off the symptoms. "You will become irritable, short tempered, tired, mildly schizophrenic, and incapable of resisting the drug's calls. Are you prepared for this, Holmes?"

"I have faced many worse mental trials, Watson. I have no doubt this one shall be duly conquered, as all the rest were, though perhaps with a bit more effort that usual." He gave me a brief smile. "In light of the behavioral changes to expect me to undergo, I would like to apologize in advance for the way I may inadvertently act towards you."

I allowed myself a brief grin at his thoughtfulness.

"Nonsense, old friend. I assure you, I shall not hold you accountable for anything."

We spoke hardly a word to one another the rest of the day. Holmes found repose most in sleep. Though his natural tendency to eschew rest had led me to believe he did not need it, in his weakened state sleep came easy and served to block out all his cravings. While he dozed, I would take up a book or my notepad and catch up on my reading and writing, every so often casting a glance over to him to make sure he still slept. I felt rather like a mother hen checking on her chick. I smiled at the thought, certain in the knowledge that Holmes would laugh scornfully were I ever to mention it. At the end of each day I adjusted the total in my journal. Three more days passed before the incident I now relate.

I went out around midday on the fourth day for such medicine as I thought I should require from my practice. I left without reluctance, for the cocaine bottle was stored safely in my breast coat pocket. In any case, Holmes had not removed himself from his armchair for the better part of the day.

When I opened the door to our rooms, my medical bag newly stuffed, a strange smell greeted my nose. Holmes was bent busily over his deal table, mixing a potent concoction with his back hunched keenly over his work. I smiled slightly at the new distraction his mind had found as I divested myself of my coat and hat. I asked him from across the room,

"What is it this time, Holmes?" He did not immediately answer me, as he held a test tube poised over another in intense concentration. I waited patiently as he tipped a purplish liquid into it. Suddenly the vials dropped from his hands and then, at his sudden cry of pain, I hurried to his side.

He had spilled the liquid over his hand, and it- some sort of acid- was burning into his skin. Holmes collapsed onto his stool and held his hand at arms length. I reached into my bag and drew out bandages and a burn ointment, but Holmes stayed my hand.

"No, Watson. Leave it be for-" he hissed in pain, breaking off his words. I stared at him in shock.

"Nonsense, Holmes! This must be treated! The pain must be… unbearable…" I trailed off, understanding dawning. The pain would be the ultimate distraction from the withdrawal symptoms he was experiencing.

As I bandaged his hands, I could not help notice that they were shaking. It was no wonder he had spilled the chemical. I wondered briefly whether it had been on purpose, but I quickly dismissed the idea: Holmes had little regard for his physical body, but enough respect for me to refrain from injuring himself needlessly when he knew the lengths I would go to to heal him again.

I was tempted to admonish him for his foolish attempt at pain management, but thought better of it. That was the last thing the man needed then. Once he had lowered himself uneasily into his armchair, I endeavored to provide an alternate means of distraction. I retrieved the wooden chess set from its shelf and set it up silently. Holmes knew what I was doing, but merely sat back with his eyes closed, his injured left hand resting in his lap. I turned the board so that the black pieces were closest to him, and we began.

We played in silence so loud it was almost a noise. Finally, I could not refrain from breaking it.

"Were your hands shaking as a result or as a cause?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could. Holmes trained his eyes on the board and took his move before responding.

"Early in the experiment I became unable to steady my hands. If that is what you are asking, then they were the cause." I shook my head.

"How could you have worked like that? You must have known the danger…"

"I knew nothing of the danger," Holmes snapped at me. "I knew only of the need for distraction, and so I continued my occupation." Immediately I transferred blame to myself for the situation. Perhaps if I had not gone out I could have noticed his symptoms and stopped him-

"It is no use blaming yourself, doctor," Holmes broke in. I smiled wearily; his ability for guessing my train of thought was well known to me. "Your need for supplies was unavoidable."

"Nevertheless," I announced, "I shall not be leaving you alone again for the duration of your… rehabilitation…" I said delicately. It was the first time either of us had directly referred to the process of breaking his addiction. Our eyes met. He held my gaze, and then nodded once.

"I think that would be best, Watson." If I were a mere acquaintance of Holmes's, I would have taken his words at face value. But we had been flat mates for years now, and I interpreted it as the unspoken thank you he was so desperate to convey. I cost him no lost dignity by not responding, and we continued on with our game, the silence less thick. Holmes was the one to claim checkmate, and to my surprise, he set up the board again as soon as we finished. I merely went along with it.

"Do you find me as much an unfitting opponent as you had once thought, Holmes?" I asked lightly.

"As a matter of fact, I do." I was slightly miffed at his response, so vastly different in tone from our last exchange, and I said,

"Come now, Holmes. I am surely not that bad. I did almost manage to beat you last night, after all." Holmes took his hand from the piece he was about to move and fixed me with a fierce glare.

"I would hardly count that. I was by no means in peak form last night. Your skills are mediocre at best, your strategy is weak and repetitive, and you take far too long when considering your next move. Overall, you are a very unsatisfactory chess companion. Can we now cease idle conversation and focus on the game at hand?" I daresay my mouth hung slightly open at Holmes's sudden descent into insults, and I made no move for some time. Finally, however, the shock dwindled and I remembered Holmes's earlier words: "I would like to apologize in advance for the way I may inadvertently act towards you."

I was ashamed at myself for not noticing it earlier: Holmes's mood was swinging into irritability, and it was not his fault, but the cocaine's. I tried to soothe him.

"You may have a point, my friend, but I do try my best. We are not all blessed with such analytical skills as you."

"Even if I had the analytical skills of a pea I would still be able to best you, Watson," Holmes asserted with the utmost callousness, and I was hurt by his words, even though I did my best to remind myself of their true source. I resolved to be quiet and finish the game in silence.

My mind had wandered so from the game that Holmes won once again, though if I had been paying attention, the outcome may have been different. Such was my skill- such was Holmes's handicap. I shook my head and put the board away as the night drew on, and it was with mixed feelings I ticked off another day in my journal.

A/N: Yes, I totally borrowed the hand-in-acid concept from the House episode "Detox." It's practically canon anyways, since House is based off of Sherlock Holmes! And I can so imagine him doing it. BTW, I have no idea when the next chapter will come. Probably in the new year sometime, but hey, you might get lucky and I will end up working on it over holiday break. :) In the meantime, thanks for reading!