Title: No Hands Are Half As Gentle
Author: azure_horizon
Pairing/Characters: Watson-Holmes, Watson/Mary
Rating: G
Word Count: 787
Spoilers: movie?
Challenge: 1 – Hands/hand holding
Summary: "I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining grip."
Notes/Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes; those rights belong to some very lucky people.
.
"I felt Holmes' cold strong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining grip."
Watching the very, very last of the boxes being loaded into the cab, Watson wondered how many of his things Holmes had pilfered from the boxes before they had been sealed shut – indeed, how many he had pilfered after they had been sealed shut. He thought back to the previous day when he had opened the trunk of neatly folded suits only to find his favourite blue one missing as well as a pair of shoes, a nightshirt and his shaving brush.
He nodded to the cab driver to move on without him and he turned against the railing and hurried up the steps as fat raindrops began to fall from the sky. His cane clacked against the stones of the entryway before the sound dulled to an almost mute thud on the thick carpeting of the lobby. Gladstone ran between his feet from his hiding place under the stair and Watson bent down absently to scratch at the Bulldog's ears.
Up the stairs he could hear Holmes in motion, the loud clattering of jars falling to the floor followed by Holmes hurried, heavy footfalls. He half expected to hear some kind of shattering indicative of an experiment gone wrong but as he waited, he was disappointed. He smiled slightly to himself and shook his head as he ascended the stairs. As he neared the top, the noise from Holmes' room increased and he rolled his eyes.
Holmes was like an infernal school boy at times.
Watson pushed the door to Holmes' room, surprised to see a shard of sunlight cracking open the usual darkness.
"I thought you had left," Holmes stated from his position at his table on the far end of the room.
Watson could see the tension in his friends' shoulders, could imagine the blank mask that would no doubt have slipped over his features. Watson settled against his cane, watching Holmes as he shifted beakers around on the table without actually doing anything with them.
"No," he remarked some moments later when the silence had dragged on too long.
Holmes turned his shoulders slightly and Watson was sure he had forced himself to stay facing away. He almost felt bad; Holmes didn't like change. Certainly, he craved adventure and the thrill of the chase but even that was mundane in its routine. Watson was sure Holmes had it calculated down to the minute when the post-case depression would sink in; it was why Holmes shut himself in his rooms for days before it – the anticipation of the lull was also routine.
And Watson was breaking it.
"I am aware that you are, in fact, not gone."
Watson did not respond to the visceral tone of Holmes' voice. Instead, he moved further into the room, making sure he didn't put his cane through anything too important and stopped a few short feet behind his friend. He could see Holmes' whole body wind even tighter together.
"I thought I would come and say good-bye," Watson said with more strength in his tone than he felt. For all of his postulating about leaving, now that it was time to go he felt like the wind had been sucked out of him. He supposed it was only natural; after all, he and Holmes had lived together for too many years to count. They had shared so much – too much, perhaps – and that was coming to an end.
Watson found he did not want to imagine what it would be like to wake up during the night and not hear Holmes' deft fingers stroking the most beautiful sounds from his violin.
"Yes, well," Holmes said suddenly, turning quickly to face Watson. Watson studied the other man's face for a moment before sighing in resignation, his eyes glancing around for the tell tale bottle of solution. "I'm still waiting to hear it."
Watson sighed and stared at his friends' blown pupils for a long moment before shaking his head slightly and turning away.
He made it a whole step before Watson reached out and wrapped his clammy hand around his wrist. He paused a moment, turning back over his shoulder to gauge Holmes' expression. The detective looked startled by his own body's action and Watson sighed, moving to extricate his hand.
Holmes' hand tightened then and Watson watched as he raised determined, pleading eyes that almost knocked the wind out of Watson's chest. He held Holmes' stare for a long moment before glancing down to where their skin contacted.
He tugged his hand out from Holmes' grip and turned away, knowing that if he didn't go now he never would.