No, he isn't. Well, maybe he is now, but he won't be all the time; inevitably the time will come again when he will disappear, slip away into a dark mood. He'll need the cocaine again, and will Watson be as forgiving in the future? God, he can hardly believe Watson condoned it this time. It's strange to recall Watson injecting him now, as if remembering something from a dream if only because it's so unreal.

"For the moment," he murmurs, running his fingers down Watson's arm, and his thumb brushes the inside of his elbow. He's glad they kept their shirts on. "For now. I think the storm has passed."