Hi, everyone! This is my first Sherlock Holmes fic, so don't be too harsh :) Reviews are greatly appreciated, of course!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
Enjoy!
It was one pair of eyes that he saw before he fell. One pair of eyes that haunted him for weeks to come. Seeing those eyes widen in shock just before he fell…that wasn't the hard part.
No, that was easy compared to everything else.
The worst part was imagining what those eyes went through during the next few weeks. The eyes were closed the next few days, and when they opened, they were red. They were glazed over, and stared off into a distance. Blue-green eyes, just blue-green bottomless pits that stared without seeing. What a way to start a marriage, Holmes thought to himself. Holmes wondered if it was possible to cry during sleep.
It wasn't a selfish thing, not at all. Holmes simply knew how much the doctor cared about him. He knew exactly what that man, those eyes, would be going through. In fact, it was just as bad for Holmes as it was for Watson. When Holmes closed his eyes at night, all he could think of was the doctor. His stomach knotted in guilt, knowing that Watson was miserable. It knotted in pain, aching for his best friend, the one person who had always been with him. All he wanted to do was burst into Watson's house, past the maid, past the dog, past Mary.
He wanted to run past them all; to throw his arms around Watson and apologize. He wanted to look into those eyes once more.
But he couldn't. He lay low for a while, just counting down the days.
Blue-green eyes.
Those were the only things that kept him going. He imagined all the possible ways that it would go when he finally met the doctor again. He wondered if Watson would laugh in surprise, smile in pure delight. Either one would be fine with Holmes, so long as he was back where he belonged.
Those eyes.
He never imagined that the doctor would hit him. Hit him square in the jaw, and Holmes never imagined that it would hurt more than any punch he ever took. He never imagined that Watson would cry; why would he? It should be a happy occasion. Holmes never imagined that Watson would cry, swear at him, and then hit him again, this punch hurting possibly even more than the last.
But those eyes.
Those stayed the same. Through the separation, through the punches and tears, through the red-rimmed eyes in the morning, those eyes stayed the same.
And it would take some time for them to recover, but that was all Holmes ever needed.
Those eyes.