A/N: Whoo! My first published fic. I'm so excited for you guys to read this. This story was actually started in my first semester of school and there's now only a couple weeks of school left.

Anything italicized is from the past. This takes place during Watson's second marriage, I named his wife Elizabeth. Pretty much what's going on is Holmes loves Watson but can't tell him so he keeps trying to get Watson back in the flat for a short visit. It's a bit OOC for Holmes in some spots but I think we can survive it. I hope we survive it.

Watson is gone and I don't know what to do. It's so silent it's loud; I can't stand it anymore.

I reached for my seven percent solution, turning the glass around in my hand. It has never been more tempting or repulsive. Clutching the vile in my hand, I wondered what Watson would think. I gave him my word and he had trusted me.

"Please, Holmes. Don't do anything foolish," he told me before leaving.

"Such as?" I asked.

I followed his gaze to my desk.

"You and I both know it has been months since-"

"Just give me your word."

I smiled, "you have my word."

In anger I threw the vile and the needle into the empty fireplace. I wanted Watson back. Now. He told me he would visit soon after his honeymoon. The honeymoon was over last week, I received a telegram after he returned.

MY DEAR HOLMES STOP WILL VISIT IN A FEW WEEKS STOP GETTING SETTLED STOP HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL FINAL STOP

When I thought about when he was coming it made me smile and my face grow hot. There are feelings I have for him that I only wish I could express. It's been about a year since I first realized it. I don't think I can wait another week for him.

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson said from behind me.

"Yes?" my voice was a bit tense.

She put the tray of supper on the table then asked, "Are you feeling well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You can't be feeling well, you haven't eaten for days and your face is flushed."

I didn't respond, instead I crossed the room to get my pipe.

"Should I call Dr. Watson?" she asked.

"Do what you like, Mrs. Hudson," I said hoping she would call Watson.

She left the room with a long-suffering sigh. I smiled and poured a cup of tea. What other reason could there be to get a doctor to return, if not this?

It wasn't 30 minutes later that I heard Watson walking up the steps. I didn't smile when I saw him but my face did grow hot. Watson looked a bit annoyed but he offered me a smile none the less.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Mrs. Hudson told me you haven't been eating."

"I assure you it hasn't been long."

"3 days isn't long?"

"In my standards?"

"Holmes," he looked me in the eyes, "why weren't you eating?"

I looked down away from his concerned gaze. My heart raced and Watson knelt down by me.

"I wasn't feeling well enough," I lied.

Watson grabbed my wrist and checked my pulse. He put a thermometer in my mouth despite my protests.

"I'll be right back. I'll have Mrs. Hudson bring something up," he said and disappeared in the hallway.

I acted fast. The tea was still warm - the same temperature as a low fever. My actions from there on are obvious, I put the thermometer in the tea and Watson actually believed I was feverish.

"Do you think you can eat?" he asked.

"Will you join me?"

"If you wish."

I gave him a smile that only lasted a second. We ate in silence - I hadn't noticed how hungry I was until I wasn't eating alone. Also, I came into realization of how tired I was.

"You look spent," Watson said when we finished dinner.

"Stupid body," I mumbled.

He laughed and helped me to the sofa. Immediately after my head hit the pillow, that somehow appeared, I fell asleep. Just before I slipped into my dreams I heard Watson's voice tell me goodnight.

My dreams were about us. We were living together again, Elizabeth had never existed, and we loved each other. He actually loved me back, and there was no hiding. This part of the dream should have told me it was a dream: we weren't hiding because it wasn't illegal. It was understood! Wilde vs Queensberry never existed, Da Vinci was remembered as a wonderful artist but wasn't considered disgusting, and nobody was ever bothered by any of it. You could imagine by disappointment when I woke up.

"Good morning, Holmes," Watson said too cheerfully next to me.

I groaned and sat up rubbing my eyes. Watson caught me off guard and put his hand to my forehead. My mind was still asleep so it took me a moment to remember I has no fever. Watson seemed pleased and I tried to make that seem to be all that mattered.

"It's surprising how much a good night's sleep can do," I said.

"Night? Holmes, you slept through the morning too."

"What time is it?"

"One-o-clock."

Springing to my feet, I looked at the clock. He was right, I did sleep away the morning.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Disappointed, miserable, upset, lonely.

"Better," I lied.

"I'm glad to hear it. You're looking better - still a bit flushed though."

"It's just so hot in here! Have we ever thought to ever open a window?" I crossed the room and stuck my head out the indie for a few minutes to cool my face.

"You'll catch something again if you keep your head out there much longer," Watson said from behind.

Obeying, I pulled my head back in.

"Are you leaving now?"

"I want to watch you eat first."

"You don't have to watch me like a nanny, Watson."

"Yes I do."

For the first time that morning I looked him in the eye, there was a teasing look in them. My response to that was simply to sit at the table.

After Watson left I went to change into new clothes and while doing so I cried. The only other time I cried was when I was only a boy and Mycroft had told me that the dog we had died. But Watson is so much more than a dog to me, he may never love me back but that was something I need to understand. Life will never be like that perfect dream.