A/n: I wanted to try something dark and different. I'm half expecting to be flamed--well, we shall see.

Edit: Oh boy. I posted this thinking, "Ah, something complete--no crazy arc to fall into." yeah, well, that didn't work so well. Seems people want to know what happens next, and so do I. Problem is I have very poor understanding of Victorian law and such. DX If anyone has information or links or anything, please note them to me. I suppose I should put a plea in the forum too...it will be a while til I can get to this, I'm slogged under with stuff to do...but if I can just get some background the actual writing should come easier. Ta!

"I came as soon as I heard," I panted, drawing near to the barred door and looking in. "Holmes?"

His gaze was fixed on the stone floor. "Hallo, Watson."

"Don't worry, I'll get this straightened out. We just need to—to…Holmes, you are innocent…aren't you?"

"Lestrade told you the charge?"

"Yes…but you wouldn't kill anyone. You wouldn't! You just wouldn't."

He drew patterns on the damp floor with his finger. "When I saw what that man had done—shot an innocent child, just for sport, as if she was a hare and he a hound…I was so angry…I was so angry, Watson!" His eyes glinted and I took a step back. "I thought I had seen every form of stupidity and cruelty in the world, but that—and she never knew, Watson. She was laughing and running alongside her brother, not a care in the world, and he shot her from behind, straight through the head."

"Stop—Holmes, please." I covered my eyes.

"And her brother looked down at her, in complete shock, and then the man aimed at him and—I don't really remember much after that. I think it was the illogic of it all that destroyed my mind," he continued thoughtfully, tracing more patterns on the floor. "It made absolutely no sense, what he did—it was outrageous, inhuman, cruel and incomprehensible. I've tried to understand why he did it, but there's simply no reason. When I saw it happen, all the struts and support were knocked out of my mind, my brain sort of—crumpled. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing that made sense."

I slithered to the stone floor, staring at him in horror. "But…you killed him. Holmes—"

"I know. There's nothing to be done about it now." He looked deep into the shadows, arms around his knees. "I can't bring him back to life—and I'll own I don't want to. He was a monster."

"And you killed him, Holmes, what does that make you?" I cried.

I saw storms in his eyes. "You weren't there. You didn't hear the screams, or see the blood." He quieted, resting his cheek against his knee. "At any rate, Watson, you can no longer take issue with my belief that emotion is the bane of the world. If I had just been a little colder, I wouldn't be here."

"Oh…Holmes…what happens now?" I inched closer to the barred door to his holding cell as a rat scurried past. "Please say something."

"You want to talk to a monster?" He asked after some time, voice bitter and flat.

"I want to talk to my friend, Holmes." I reached through the grille, stretching out to him. "I'm still here for you, you know, no matter what you've done."

"I don't even know who I am anymore, Watson…please leave me alone."

I turned at clicking steps behind me.

"Dr. Watson, hours are up; you must leave."

I wrapped my fingers around the metal grille. "One more minute, I beg you."

"Hours are up," the voice repeated.

"Holmes—let go of me, you! Holmes, I'll be back tomorrow, I promise—tomorrow!"

Holmes closed his eyes tightly and curled up in the corner, shadows of the prison bars wrapping around his huddled form.

A/n: Thanks for reading, though you can't be too cheery right now. I wanted to explain the title a bit, I took great care to choose it. "Shattered frames" refers to how Holmes' internal framework and mental structures of logic were destroyed and this made him behave differently than before. Also, it hints at a picture frame, meaning memories, and now Holmes and Watson can no longer have their life as before--the happy memories are just like a dream, gone.