Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, no matter how much I wish I did. But the fic, mwahaha, is mine.
Rated T for swearing and references to drug use
Slash, don't like don't read.
To Hazard a Guess…
It isn't the sunlight, but the preceding stomps which awaken me, coming up the stairs, and then the crash which tells me he's broken down the door.
I don't bother to keep up my façade, rather, I protest:
"Watson, I know what you're thinking, don't do it, old boy—"
"DAMMIT, HOLMES, YOU'VE GOT TO STOP THIS!" he roars, cutting me off.
Ah. So he's angrier than usual.
There's no stopping him, and so I pursue another futile approach:
"Watson, be gentle with me, be gentle—AAUGH!"
The light comes in a blinding flash and I reach up and yank the bedcovers off the bed and onto my face.
I can hear the slight clink of glass on wood and realize he's found the empty vial and picked it up. Not that I was trying to hide it, of course.
"Holmes…" his volume level has gone down considerably, but his voice is still shaking with rage, "You are going to do yourself serious harm if you don't stop."
"You are doing me serious harm, Watson," I reply, testily, "with that damned light. Close the bloody drapes, would you?"
He doesn't close the drapes. Instead, he proceeds to stomp over to where I'm lying on the floor and to sit on my stomach, straddling me.
He promptly yanks the sheet off my face and holds the vial up in front of my eyes, which are looking away from the light.
"Look at it," he orders.
"Look at what, Watson? I see nothing of consequence."
"Look at it, damn you!" he shouts.
I humor him and look at the vial.
"Opium," he spits. "I don't believe you. I'm a bloody doctor, Holmes, I should turn you in for this!"
"You should," I agree, pinching the bridge of my nose, "but you won't. London still needs its most brilliant detective."
"This is not the time for your narcissism!" He throws his hands up in fury. "Yes, I should turn you in," he repeats, seeming to struggle with himself for a moment. Then his voice softens. "But I won't." He huffs a sigh. "Why do I bother, Holmes?"
I tilt my head to the side and raise my eyebrows at him. "Might I hazard a guess?" I query.
"Knock yourself out."
I take a breath and begin my analysis:
"Because, after all these years together, you have fallen completely in love with me and cannot bear to leave my side, which is why you are so angry at me and my bad habits, knowing you could never do anything to stop me short from turning me in. It frustrates you, because you are a married man and do not want to upset the delicate balance between husband and wife. It is the reason you are sitting on me the way you are now, and it is the reason you keep coming back, even though technically Lord Blackford was supposed to be our last case together."
He throws up his hands again, with the expression of a man who simply does not know what to do and is extremely irked by it.
"Brilliant, Holmes," he snaps.
I raise my eyebrows again. "Really?" I ask. "That was merely a far-fetched hypothesis."
"Well, it was spot-on accurate," he mutters. "Go on, have your laugh."
"Watson," I say, sincerely, "I would never teas you about your feelings for another unless I was completely sure those feelings were returned. Which they are."
Unconvinced, he glares murderously at me before leaning forward and forcing my lips upon mine. It's a moment before we break apart, but when we do, the glare hasn't left his face.
"Do you believe me now?" he hisses.
"Watson, I never doubted you for a moment."
"Now I know you're teasing me."
In reply, I grab him by the collar, pull him back towards me and kiss him back.
I can sense his shock at this turn of events.
Slowly, he leans back, staring at me.
I let go of his collar.
"Do you believe me now?" I ask, politely.
He gapes at me, searching for his voice, for something coherent to say.
I manage to get there first. "Could you perhaps redistribute your weight?" I query, "It's making it difficult for me to breathe."
He gets off my stomach and sits next to me on the floor, leaning against the bed. "So…all this time…" he says, hoarsely.
"My God, man, have I taught you nothing about observation and deduction?!" I demand, sitting up. "I should like to think I've been quite blatant about my feelings for you over the last few weeks."
"Only to yourself, you git," he says, rolling his eyes. "To me you just looked like a possessive, needy, selfish bastard."
"Well, I am," I reply with a shrug. "But that's what I'm like on a daily basis."
I scoot over next to him, leaning against the bed. "I suppose this does not absolve me of my recent actions?" I question.
"Absolutely not," he growls.
"Would it help in any way if I said I was sorry?" I query.
"No, because you'd be lying," he mutters.
"…Would you kiss me again?" I ask.
"Yes," he says, without hesitation, and does so.
It seems that I am not the only one unwilling to let go of the past.
FIN
A/N: Mwahaha. Just saw Sherlock Holmes. Loved it. Am now obsessed with Holmes x Watson.