FYI-The fanfic is based on Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie.
Disclaimer- I don't own RDJ or JL or Sherlock Holmes… Or a rabbit as a matter of fact
Summery-
Sherlock and Watson have a complex relationship, Its about to get more complicated.
Chapter 1: "Brothers, not in blood but in bond"
John Watson walked up the carpeted stairs of his old London home on Baker Street. Lavender was placed in vases on a cabinet at the top. No doubt another of Mrs Hudson's attempts to mask the smell of gunpowder and chemicals coming from Sherlock's room. John tapped on the door and let himself in, knowing Sherlock would be no doubt drinking something that makes him hallucinate or so enwrapped in his own thoughts to even acknowledge the sound. There was a smell of burning and a faint smoke filled the room. The curtains were shut as usual. John always thought of his friend as nocturnal. A creature that sleeps all day and hunts all night, But more recently he's realised that Holmes simply doesn't sleep unless forced by some concoction of drugs and alcohol he was testing at the time.
"Holmes?"
With no reply Watson started making his way through the room, watching his step as he picked through the clutter on the floor. He noticed as he got to the end of the room it wasn't clutter anymore, books, from the ceiling height shelves, had fallen to the floor, landing open on top of brass figurines. A table to his right, one he had been given after his father's death was blackened and broken on the floor. Watson crouched and touched the table, charcoal fell into his hands and the table collapsed further to the floor. Watson stood and poked at the pile with his cane. Below the remains of the table a hole had been burnt through the rug and shards of glass were scattered.
"Holmes?" John called for his friend, already irritated by the damage of the table and rug without being ignored as well.
A familiar voice sounded to his left.
"Were you aware my dear Watson that Mrs Hudson has attempted to end my life" Holmes appeared under more books and stood himself up. John predicted that whatever knocked down the table had done the same to Holmes.
"Don't be ridiculous" Watson scowled and he shuffled more debris with his cane and noticed a shard of broken teacup. He picked it up and held it to his nose while Sherlock continued, ignoring Watson's last remark.
"She left tea, on the side, presuming my own nanny would not attempt murder I nearly drank it. Luckily! I smelt the lethal dose of chemicals concealed inside although I can't pin point which exactly, I was looking into…"
Watson interrupted with an irritated scoff and dropped the shard of cup from his nose and onto the floor.
"Camomile and red bush Holmes, Its herbal."
Sherlock looked at Watson, clearly thinking of a way to defend his case. Without success he replied with a hushed,
"Right."
Watson rooting some more in the rubble found the end of a glass vile with a label hanging off its shattered edges. He lifted it with his cane and brought it at eye level to read the label.
"Rubidium? Where on earth did you get Rubidium?"
Watson knowing his friend to be the kind of man to get anything he desired without leaving London didn't expect an answer.
Holmes stood up a small stool ignoring John's questions and picked up his violin and started plucking at the strings.
Watson shot an angry look at Sherlock as he slowly pieced together the room, Holmes' explanation and the evidence at the end of his cane.
"You spilt tea on Rubidium Holmes! Then you had the depravity to accuse Mrs Hudson, who you probably scared out of her own home, of poisoning you?"
Holmes ignored his friend.
"Look at this place! You could have taken this house to its foundations!"
Watson still glared at Holmes, His sharp brow furrowed, and his blue eyes sparking with anger. Holmes looked up at him with an innocent look on his face as though John had just asked him for the time. He meant to glance at his partner but got caught in his eyes, they portrayed his every mood perfectly, he could see how furious Watson was in them and still to Holmes they looked so beautiful. He looked back at his violin and continued playing, his face not showing sign any of the thoughts he had when he looked at Watson.
Holmes feeling daring decided to see how far he could push Watson.
"You seem on edge Watson, Is Mary not active enough for you?"
It worked, John eyed him in disbelief.
" On edge? On…. That table was a gift from my late father Holmes!"
"Oh dear that's priceless" Holmes still not giving his partner the reaction he expected.
Watson calmed himself and pulled down on his brown tweed blazer to redeem his composure. He straightened his back.
"And don't speak of Mary that way"
"What ever do you mean" Sherlock spoke innocently, still plucking at the string of his violin and wandering his eyes across the room looking at anything but Watson.
"You know what I mean Holmes"
"I'm afraid I have no hint of an idea my…"
Watson broke again.
"I love her Holmes!"
The shock of Johns raised voice and the pain in his chest caused by his words made Sherlock slip.
"She's not right for you!" Holmes screamed back barely letting john finish his sentence.
They stared into each other's eyes, none of their bodies moving, perfect silence between them. Both waiting for the other to back down and break the contact.
Sherlock looked away fist and laid his violin on the floor. At Sherlock's surrender Watson relaxed and slowly made his way to the undestroyed side of the room and behind a desk. He opened the curtains, receiving a gasp from Sherlock at the other side of the room, and sat down at the desk, unfolded a newspaper and started to read.
He heard noise from the other side of the room and looked over the pages to see Sherlock picking up the wood of the table. He lifted the newspaper back up and smirked to himself. It's a rarity when Sherlock admitted he was in the wrong and he didn't take it well when he did, but john loved it when he did, his brown eyes cast to the floor his face in a sulk. He looked so cute. John quickly dismissed his thought and continued reading.
Sherlock loved making Watson angry. His strong blue eyes, watching him without even a flicker of movement, as though he was burning through Sherlock's shirt. The way his jaw clenched at every word Sherlock spoke. His whole body changed, tensed, his military stature showing in every muscle. That part appealed to Holmes more than he cared to admit, but regardless of the rush he got when his heart beat quickened, at the thought of his Watson taking that anger out on him, a part of him didn't want to risk taking it too far, Watson had already moved out of their home, he didn't want him to go any further.