After yet another day without the pleasure of the chase, the call of it grows too strong to bear. I see no problem in it, after all everyone has their own personal cure for the times that bore them. So why then does it so greatly bother my friend and companion? Is it not better then riding down to the nearest bar in the evening? Could I be any worse then the gentlemen that seek the intimate company of any lovely lady, so as to entertain themselves?
Come now, I really hope Watson’s opinion of me has not sunk that low.
As the dull air continues to lose all matter of intrigue, I can see it glisten upon the mantle piece. There is nothing truly wrong with it. I dare say it is safer to my health then Opium, whiskey, or a clothe-less vixen in my bed.
I am not a Don Juan, a drunkard, or an addict; I am simply a man seeking stimulation in these times of boredom and unrest. We all have our ways to combat this, mine is the small bottle upon my mantel.
Yes, it is the little blue vial that grants me salvation. If only for a few hours, it takes me from that which I despise.
The nothingness, the silence, the loneliness of my solitude.