A.N. Hey guys! I have a bit of writer's block (I promice the next chapter of 'Don't Forsake Me, Oh My Darling' will be coming soon!) So I decided to do some free-writing, and along with the random ideas, plot bunnies and parts of stories, this came out. Let me know what you think. Love it, hate it, turned you off of fan-fiction forever (I hope not!), just let me know. I don't own Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. If I did, I wouldn't be seeking comments from fanfiction readers, now would I?
Everyone noticed Sherlock Holmes. It was almost impossible not to. His tall, lean frame cut an imposing silhouette as he strutted along, confidence radiating through every movement. His brilliance was impossible to ignore. He analyzed the smallest factor of life with an almost clinical detachment—at least when he was on a case. Any emotion would be saved for later, when the world could not see Holmes at his most vulnerable. He had contacts everywhere, none of which had any qualms about pointing him out to bystanders. Everyone, from the lowest pick-pocket and beggar to the noblemen in their silk-lined hansoms and the guards that accompanied them recognized him. "Look, "they would whisper to each other as he stalked past, on the trail of yet another criminal. "That's Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in all of England. I bet he's off on the trail of another crook. Woe betide anyone who gets in his way!" And their companions would gawk and marvel as the flighty figure suddenly leapt into a run as if he had finally figured out the final clue, or had seen some sign of a criminal that the Yard never saw.
Because of Sherlock, no one noticed John Watson. If he had been travelling alone, he may have received some recognition. After all, Watson was in no way forgettable alone. His military stance combined with his handsome appearance would normally have gotten him some attention. His pleasant manner and joyful attitude had earned him many friends over the years. But now he had taken up his lot with Sherlock Holmes, and he was noticed a lot less than normal. While people focused on the great detective, they often forgot his companion. After all, when looking at the sun, one tends to forget that millions of other stars are still shining in the sky. If Watson was noticed at all, he was the afterthought. "Oh," Sherlock's admirers would comment. "There goes Watson, the good chap. He follows Holmes and watches his back. They're an odd partnership, but they work well together." And if the bystanders went home to tell their families about seeing the Sherlock Holmes, somehow Watson always slipped their minds.
And yet, in some ways John Watson was the most important figure of the partnership. Sherlock had the brilliant mind—that was certainly true. He could solve cases within hours of seeing a crime scene. But when the case was over, Watson moved forward and became the figurehead of the partnership. It was Watson who cooked meals when Holmes was finally winding down after a case, and Watson who pushed, pleaded and cajoled the detective into eating. As the time passed, it was Watson who caused Holmes to stray his hand away from the needle offering chemically induced peace, and Watson who offered him nights of music and theatre to distract him. And when the new case finally came, and Sherlock leapt to his feet in joy of the new challenge, Watson shrugged and allowed himself to fade into the background, secure in the knowledge that when the case ended, he would be shining again… as steadfast as ever. Because the sun cannot shine forever, and Watson's star is always there as a familiar and comfortable light in the quietness of the in-between times. And in those times, Sherlock thinks "Thank God for Boswell," because without a contrast, Sherlock's light cannot shine. And he counts himself blessed to have a loyal companion to steady him—because after all, where would he be without his Boswelll?