Title: The Art of Introspection from a Responsible Man
Rating: K
Genre: Friendship
Word Count: 1,260
Warnings: More of a character study than an actual story, but with 'fic' The Art of Introspection from a Selfish Man it will form the second part in a three part 'story' that, while having the movie-verse characters pictured, and brief mentions of events from the movie, is very much set after 'The Final Problem' and 'The Empty House' from the books.
Summary: John Watson thinks about his relationship with Sherlock Holmes.
DISCLAIMER: I own an Oxford dictionary and a laptop computer...Sherlock Holmes is the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and not me.
Dr. John Watson had spent years of his adult life studying Sherlock Holmes. Studying his methods, his character, his attitude - with years of acquaintance and friendship the doctor had made a case study of the most intriguing man he'd ever met. If anyone had any questions to ask about the famous detective, then Watson would be able to answer them.
He didn't understand Holmes a lot of the time - the man moved much too fast for anyone to properly understand him. But he did know Holmes - he maybe didn't know how the man got from A to B but he certainly knew why and for Watson that was good enough. It was more than anyone else got.
Holmes secluded himself in the confines of whatever room or lab he could find, performing experiments ranging from chemistry to music whether he was off his face on alcohol, cocaine or various derivatives of the opium poppy found in Watson's medical bag. He was stripped bare on his own, with no barbed insults or cavalier attitude to protect him.
He was vulnerable on his own, so instead of the visage of impermeability, he had solid walls and locked doors, closed windows and drugs to protect himself. Watson knew this, and perhaps he was the only person in a long time to witness it up close.
Maybe he was the only person Holmes allowed to witness this part of him. Watson didn't mind the fact, but he felt a sense of helplessness when he realised that it was who Holmes was. Beneath everything, he was desperately vulnerable, unable to cope with life when there were no puzzles demanding logic, no people who needed to be found or put in prison.
Watson had never asked Holmes how that came to be, what happened that made the entirety of the human experience redundant to Holmes. He needed to experience it, know what it felt to love and be loved, hurt and healed - he was human like the rest of the planet. He had the fundamental needs and wants of a human being, even if he didn't realise it.
Even if he didn't want it.
And even if he did, Watson reasoned, Holmes would probably deny himself the privilege anyway. Some people just liked continuity, comfortable habits and routine into which they could settle, which they could feel security in. Holmes was like that, he was one of those people. To any reasonable person it looked horrifically uncomfortable, but to someone like Watson, who knew Holmes, he knew it for what it was.
It was the only stable thing he had, his chaotic routine. He'd resist any changes because then he'd be out of his depth completely, unable to analyse all the risks, unable to prevent himself getting hurt and then he'd have to deal with that and Watson wasn't entirely sure that he could.
Watson had learnt all this; he knew that Holmes had a depth to him, a side that no one saw save for him and maybe the man's brother. Maybe Moriarty saw it too, because Blackwood had noticed and he wasn't as infallible as he'd thought. It was dangerous for criminals that Holmes was able to see into their minds, and the reverse was true for Holmes.
If a criminal could see into him, map him out and know how he worked, then it would be disastrous.
So Watson had to stay. He had to be one thing that Holmes could count on - someone who would always be there for him, who knew him and wouldn't hurt him with that knowledge. That was his responsibility in Holmes's life, they both knew that.
And despite the visceral relief he felt every time Holmes came out of his bedroom after two weeks, worse for wear, but alright in all the important ways; every time he regained consciousness after a healthy chase through London's streets with armed thieves and murderer's or when he'd been at the cocaine again; it was taxing. It took so much of Watson's energy to be the person Holmes needed, so much of his life spent making sure Holmes was alright, that he forgot what it was that he really wanted out of life.
Lonely and broken after Afghanistan, Holmes had fixed himself into Watson's life like a limb and to be apart would be like losing an arm or leg. He'd forgotten who John Watson was and what John Watson wanted.
He wanted to be a successful doctor. He wanted to have a family - a wife and children. He wanted his own security.
But then there was that arm or leg to think about and he needed to take care of.
Really, it was an impossible decision to make. Most men would find it easy if they didn't know Sherlock Holmes as well as John Watson - it would be a simple matter of finding a woman you loved and wanted to marry then 'goodbye Mr. Holmes.' But it wasn't as easy as all that and it wasn't because he couldn't find a suitable bride.
Mary stole his breath and made him feel ten years younger. She was beautiful and intelligent and she wasn't afraid to stand up for herself. He could love her for the rest of his life and dear gods he wanted to. He wanted to marry her, have a family with her and grow old with her. She was the future he wanted - she was what John Watson at the very core of him wanted.
However, that was the point. John Watson had worked very hard to control his actions relative to what he wanted. He was a reforming degenerate gambler - when he wanted to place another bet, when he wanted to place a bet in the first place, he would do it without batting an eyelid because it was what he wanted. It made him feel good. But it ended up leaving him destitute - in debt up to those un-batting eyelids. He got in over his head and he couldn't get himself back out.
Holmes had changed that. Holmes had changed who he was on the outside, and the tendrils of change had pierced his core. He had control over what he wanted - he could live without it if he tried hard enough, if he had a good enough reason; if his sense of responsibility weighed too heavily on his conscience.
Holmes was a weight that there was no measurement for. His safety and well being were paramount for Watson – they outweighed so much else in his life. He had to take care of Holmes – he didn't know when it became that way, but it was and he couldn't ignore that fact. If he were to leave Holmes on his own, he didn't know how long the man would last without killing himself in some way or another.
And Watson couldn't let Sherlock Holmes die. London needed him. It was Watson's responsibility to keep him safe.
Even if Mary's smile made everything feel like it could get better. Even if she always had something to say that Watson could understand. Even if she was the most wonderful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Even if he wanted her to marry him.
He had a responsibility to Holmes.
But he was a gambler by nature, so he wondered how long he could keep from asking Mary to marry him, casting Holmes's safety into limbo while he put his own happiness to the forefront.
Only time would tell.
END
A/N: Beta'd by me only, so if you notice any mistakes, point them out and I'll fix 'em up straight away. If you review...I'll be happy and for some people that's a good thing =)