(A/N: And now for a more serious Sherlock Holmes piece on my part. I'm endlessly in love with the man and his companion. Now I don't own Sherlock Holmes and I'm quite rightly certain that I'm never going to. This my dear friends is Holmes/Watson. I don't want to have you get to the end of this fic and tear it apart because how dare I imply they are gay. Bull, okay, fanfiction means I can do whatever I want with whoever's characters I wish. Anyway, On with the Show.)
The Short Adventure of the Misguided Heart
His eyes were unfocused and blank, storm cloud grey darkened and compressed into baleful blackness, the light of a living soul not lingering in them any longer. Undeniably though, he was alive, painfully alive, going through the motions that had become mere reflexive memory and some miserable attempt on the behalf of his subconscious to maintain his life. It was after just shy of a month that Dr. Watson had departed his lodgings at 221 B Baker Street that he found himself being summoned back by Mrs. Hudson. Her distraught pleadings had brought him to Holmes's side with all possible haste, and he only wished that she'd determined herself to go to him sooner.
What he found there chilled his heart in his chest so painfully that it knocked him back several steps. Holmes, sleep deprived, emaciated, dehydrated and in summary the worst Watson had ever seen him. With his frail body curled into the chair that had belonged to the Doctor during his life at Baker Street Holmes looked utterly small and defenseless. Rational thought gladly proceeded to flee Watson's mind and he practically jumped to Holmes's side in a panic, checking for a pulse with shaking hands and listening intently for sounds of breath. It was only when he had assured himself of the taller man's continued existence that Watson came back to himself, sighing with relief. Perhaps he had arrived in time to prevent horrible from going to life-threatening or fatal.
"You are the most true to life hallucination as yet," Holmes's trembling hand—which the doctor realized that he could barely lift—traced Watson's jaw and slipped weakly to his neck. "Tell me, my love, my heart, will you ever be real again? Or will you remain an ever considerate stream of merry illusions come to warn me that I'll soon perish? Oh I know you mean well love, but you can't imagine…" the Detective's voice was hoarse and trailed to nothingness. None the less it set Watson to trembling as though the man before him had shouted at him in the rawest of anger.
"Holmes, Old Boy, I'm real enough, as properly here and real and alive as I've ever been. But dear man do not kid yourself any longer, continue in this vein and you will certainly die. You must take care of yourself, you mustn't abandon your reason," Watson pleaded, not surprised to find himself near on the verge of tears, or that it was revealed in his voice. He gently threaded his fingers into the unkempt mop of black hair and pulled his former flat mate and greatest friend into the strongest hug that he was reasonably sure wouldn't break the other man. Holmes responded to the affectionate gesture with a desperate but weak return, his arms almost failing to find purchase around the Doctor's torso.
"I know…you've told me before…but I'd rather die…"
"Why, Holmes? Why? I dare say that's the most unintelligent thing I've ever heard you say."
"John, you can't understand. I'm a dead man anyway, or at least not a free man," those black hateful eyes suddenly swirled brilliantly grey as life flared into the mask of despondence that Holmes wore. Watson froze, his breath hitching in his chest and body going rigid as though he were dealing with a violent predator that had just noticed his presence. And with the intensity in the Detective's eyes he could hardly be mistaken for anything other than a feral creature at that moment.
"What? Why Holmes? What has happened?" Watson insisted after a moment his own blue eyes darkened with concern.
"One very simple yet utterly complicated reason my dear fellow. Love. I have found myself with an unprecedented circumstance, I have fallen in love with the most forbidden and unobtainable creature in the whole of England, nay the world," Holmes said in his croak of a voice, his hands fastened lightly to the lapels of Watson's starched and pressed jacket. The Doctor didn't even seem to mind the inconvenience.
"Who can be so painfully unreachable? Holmes certainly you can have any woman that would take your fancy. What keeps you from acting upon your affections? Who is this creature that holds your heart?" Watson asked in stutters, reminding himself that he should be happy for the man to have finally found love. It didn't matter that he had hoped those affections would lie in his own direction, he had to help Holmes recover and if that meant pushing him towards this nameless woman then so be it. Holmes chuckled mirthlessly and Watson hesitated before meeting those eyes, afraid that his secret had been observed. Surely his having taken a wife would be enough to put anyone off the scent.
"You," Holmes whispered, accustomed to admitting it to his delusions and expecting the customary lack of response granted to him by the phantoms. But this Watson was no phantom of his failing mind. The Doctor pressed his lips firmly to the Detective's and hoped against reason that Holmes would respond. It was nothing if not desperate, both men clawing and pulling one another as close as they dared, sealing their lips together in a passionate kiss. Perhaps neither of them had a drop of reason left, electing to engage in such activities in a sitting room with an open door, but it hardly seemed to matter.
"Sherlock Holmes, I love you more than the good Lord or the Queen will allow. You must understand that, you must know that. Do not kill yourself over me; for God's sake do not put either of us through that. I am yours quite utterly and completely, if you'll still have me," Watson said, half begging half attempting to reassure the other man of his presence. The master detective smiled softly and kissed him warmly, not caring that he'd fallen out of the chair in his efforts to be closer to his Watson.
"You'd come home to me John? What of your pretty wife?" Sherlock breathed and Watson shook his head for a brief moment. He smiled at the pathetic form in his arms and helped Holmes back into the chair.
"Don't trouble yourself over Mary. She's a good woman, but she wants children that I can't give her. We will have a legitimate claim for divorce in no time. I'll be home to you soon. And in the mean time I shall certainly be back every day to be at your side," he retrieved a glass of water from a pitcher that had been left on the sideboard and placed it in Holmes's grasp. "Please attempt to be safe for me, my love," Watson pleaded softly and kissed Holmes once more, chastely on the mouth.
"I had thought that this might be the way of things…" Mrs. Hudson had paused in the door, carrying a tray of dinner, roasted duck and steamed rice, it would definitely help Holmes begin to gain back what little weight he'd had on him before his blackest of moods had struck.
"You will no doubt wish us to find other lodgings then?" Watson spoke up where the older woman had left off. But a kindly smile formed on her lips and she shook her head in the negative before placing the tray within Holmes's reach.
"Never my dear boy, never. I had simply hoped that for once he would have ceased to be the most stubborn man in all of England if only to see to his heart. Would that he had told you before now. But he never has been one to spare himself the pain," Mrs. Hudson said softly and Watson found that he couldn't have agreed more.
(A/N: And there it is. That's the end of it. What did you think? Leave me a review if you please.)