The dusty bottle of rotgut was passed from one blue-stained hand to a calloused, equally stained hand.
"This is truly disgusting," contemplated Watson.
"But t'will serve," smiled Holmes in response. "Two unrepentant bachelors such as ourselves do not need to fuss about with the niceties."
"I miss the niceties." Watson took a long swig from the bottle when it returned. "I miss Mary." He chased that dreary proclamation with another swallow.
"You miss being married," Holmes corrected. "You miss the companionship, the lace doilies, the reasonableness of it all."
A book whistled past his ear, yet the voice remained steady. "I do not need a companion, Holmes. I have you for that. I mean to say that I miss Mary."
A gloom settled over them and the bottle passed between them several more times before Holmes felt brave enough to broach a new topic of conversation.
"It is too bad that no one else will have you, Watson. For all of your faults, you make an excellent husband."
"What?" Watson sputtered. "If no one wants to marry me, it is only because you treat them as if they are stepping into a threesome, rather than a duo."
"I have never condoned polygamy."
"You have made that more than obvious to anyone who cared to show an interest."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I am saying that you need to decide what I am to you, because I will not tolerate this limbo much longer." Holmes dragged the bottle back in desperate need of a drink. He drank to find a suitable response, but nothing was forthcoming. His mechanical thoughts had ground to a halt.
"Steady, Watson. You are steady," he replied finally. It was an inadequate response, but it was the only phrase that could encompass the whole of their relationship. It was also the only thing that he could squeeze past the stoppage that clogged his throat and strangled his lungs of air.
Watson's sharp gasp was his only response. The tiny crack in his companion's stoic façade was enough. Holmes knew that death rattle, knew it meant the end of all possible and known things. He had done what he always did. He had stripped away the layers until the fault lines revealed themselves. John's had just taken a bit longer to unearth.
"Watson…"
"Please don't, Holmes." Watson busied himself with tidying his waistcoat and jerking his shirtsleeves into proper alignment. Holmes caught a flash of blue under dark blonde lashes, but then Watson turned away to grab his overcoat. When his coat was settled on his shoulders, then Watson could face Holmes again. He did, looking Holmes directly in his eyes, every inch the hardened war veteran. "That was cruelly done, Sherlock. I had thought better of you than that."
"John…"
"I will see you tomorrow, the usual time."
Watson made it nearly out the door before Holmes was able to catch up to him. He grabbed the other man's arm and spun him around. His shaky hand cupped the back of John's head and directed the man's gaze upward. "You are steady, Watson. I need you to be steady." He crowded Watson up against the door, slid his cheek against his, and placed a dry kiss in front of his ear.
"I know," Watson whispered back, mimicking the small kiss. They held the pose longer than was proper, but ones in mourning tended to throw the rules of propriety out the window.
Finally, one of them coughed and the pair separated far enough to let the dust settle between them. "You deserve…" but then Holmes stopped himself. He had been cruel enough for one evening.
Watson nodded, accepting everything that Holmes refused to say aloud. He moved to open the door, allowing the chill pre-dawn air to nip at Holmes' bare feet. Watson noticed his shifting from foot to foot and smiled. "I will see you tomorrow, Holmes. The usual time."
"As always," Holmes promised. He watched the lean figure limp up the street, before shutting and locking the door behind him.