Title: Misconceptions
Main Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: T
Warnings: Traumatic events, vivid descriptions, mild violence, suggestive dialog, slash
Disclaimer: I do not own characters, settings, or ideas conceived by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and associates. This was written for pleasure, not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Dr. John Watson is reunited with his old companion, Sherlock Holmes, to solve a case "for old time's sake". When the mystery becomes personal, and when things are at stake, Watson must decide what is really important to him. While wading through deceit, danger, and the sense of time running out, Watson and Homles begin to discover misconceptions about the world... and each other. SHJW slash.
Beta: ThePersonOverThere
Author's Note: My first attempt at a Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, or any, for that matter. I'd really appreciate any and all feedback you have to offer. Enjoy!
It was by mere chance that I stumbled across my former companion Sherlock Holmes. I was out on my daily stroll through London, trying to experience the beauty of spring in England, and escape the hectic cleaning that had enveloped my house. He and I hadn't really crossed paths since I was wed to the fair Mary Morstan, and now as I found my feet meandering down the path that led to Baker Street, I contemplated how much could have changed in the few months of my absence. The thought crossed my mind how Holmes would have fared without me. Feeling particularly egotistical as I wandered past buildings that had once been so familiar to me, I tried to imagine the hawk-like eyes widened with surprise and his mouth forming the endearing O as he took in my image. No doubt I would appear much healthier to him than I had in the last days before moving out of 221B. There are copious amounts of youth one may gain back given time to relax.
I must admit, in full honesty, that I was slightly irritated with my old friend. Although I was quite aware of his not-so-rational perspective of love and other emotions of the same status, I couldn't help but let myself succumb to the bitter disappointment that he would not be my best man. He had scolded me for believing in such a thing as "true love" and made it impossibly clear that he did not feel such emotions. After I countered back, much to my horror later, how much time I spent trying to solve his cases with him, he just leaned back into his chair with a groan.
Fearing I had unjustly accused him, I scrambled to make amends, but he merely raised his hands in attempt to stop the flow of words that could have unhinged my jaw. "You are correct, as always, Watson." he had said, "I undervalue you. Let us not argue any longer, my dear friend, but continue on in the curious way that we humans live our lives."
Now the hair under my hat itched with a sudden ferocity as I called upon Holmes. I wasn't exactly sure what was propelling this long put-off meeting, but my stomach flopped uneasily as Mrs. Hudson led me into the downstairs parlor and bid me set down while she called up on Holmes. The building appeared just as nondescript has it had to me before; braided coasters resting on the wooden tables, paintings fighting for space on the cramped walls, and the narrow staircase near the corner of the room that led up to the other floors. I could see the kitchen that rested on the other side of the stairs where I'd often eat my meals when Holmes had not yet returned to the flat.
I sat with my right leg crossed over my left, drumming my fingertips dully on the tabletop. How very much like Holmes it would be to be out on a Saturday morning. If so, he was, no doubt, risking his life to discover some scandal that had been covered up. Had the thought occurred to me while I was taking the walk over to 221B Baker Street, I might have turned back. But the prospect of seeing the man again, the extraordinary, brilliant man, was too great.
Listening to Mrs. Hudson's steps creak across the floor above, I happened to hear a small sound emit from somewhere outside the window. The steps had ceased above, no doubt conveying the message of my arrival or taking a once-over to see if the occupant was home before returning downstairs, so I found myself naturally wandering towards the window. A billowing birch leaned against the brick building, the white bark slightly peeling. At first my mind didn't comprehend what it saw. There was a large pile of dirt resting at the base of the tree, like someone had started digging a grave and then abandoned it, and next to it was a rat. No - it couldn't have been a rat, although the dun-colored coat suggested it. It was a cat, a stray one no doubt, with its ribs practically poking through its flesh and its waste cinched down as if a string was tied around its midsection. It stared reproachfully back up at me with eyes the color of copper pipes before flicking its stubby tail in my direction, raising its front feet against the birth like it was stretching, and begin to climb.
"Dear Lord, what is that?" Mrs. Hudson questioned as she returned, leaning heavily on the banister. She nodded at my inquisitive glance but returned her attention to the window, where the cat was making its progress up. "A squirrel?"
"It is in fact a feline, Mrs. Hudson. And if you excuse me, I'll make my way up to Holmes' rooms now." I mumbled, skirting around the elderly woman and up the stairs. "It was lovely to see you again."
Entering into Holmes' flat, I wasn't especially sure what to expect. I would have liked to think that the man would have suffered a bit in my absence, lacking much mental stimulation, but I didn't fancy seeing our-his, lodgings in total destruction, either. Very slowly I raised my fist to the thick door, before reconsidering and opening it without knocking.
The first thing that I noticed was that the long wooden cane (that could usually be found with Holmes) was lying parallel to the large chair my friend fancied. The fairly bitter smoke from a pipe lay in the air like the clouds lay thick and complete over the London sky. The stacks of manuscript and legal documents had grown tenfold since I had last been in the room, almost every flat surface home to some sort of parchment.
"Watson! I had feared that more than my average 7% had permeated my skin when dear Mrs. Hudson made her call." a voice exclaimed, followed by footsteps. Holmes appeared, rubbing his hands with a towel. It struck me once again how elegantly he moved - so much like a cat that I couldn't help but recall the creature on the birch.
"It's good to see you Holmes. I daresay it's been far too long." I greeted him, extending my hand. He strutted past me, not giving a glance at my palm, and retrieved a folded-up newspaper from next to his chair.
"I am in complete agreement. With 221B to myself, I've found that I've acquired far too much stuff, my friend. I'm displacing objects faster than a criminal considers revenge on someone who wronged him. Read this," he commanded, thrusting the small print into my arms. "I thought you might be interested. For old time's sake,"
The article (circled in pen) advertised a mystery that was "in a very great need to be solved." After quickly scanning the column, my eyes found his, studying my features with muted concentration.
"So, what do you say, Watson?" he asked, balling the towel up with his long fingers.
"I-Holmes, do you hear that?" I began; peering around the room like an elephant had just run in front of me.
"I do believe that sound was a feline, most likely from outside my window." Holmes answered, peering curiously down his long nose at me.
I plodded to the window, careful to avoid the stack of papers at the foot of the footstool, and lifted the glass panes. Before I realized what was happening, a gray creature leapt lightly to the sill. My gaze was transfixed by reddish brown eyes before it bent its head and rubbed its face against my hand.
"Oh! Holmes, I think it likes me. Would you like to-?"
"I've never seen a cat act like this. I prefer dogs, actually. But, if you insist…" Holmes muttered lifting the cat by its midsection and studying its features before resting its body against his broad shoulder.
"Stray. The fur is mangled and congealed with dirt, suggesting that it hasn't been sheltered from the wetter side of London. Female; the tail was probably lost from being caught in something. You can see the scabs here." Holmes rattled on, making all sorts of conjectures about the creature.
After listening to some of Holmes' more exciting stories and describing life with Mary, I stood up stiffly, stretched, and headed for the door. He remained seated, scratching the cat under its chin.
"Watson, I believe you avoided my question. Would you care to accompany myself to visit this person? I must admit, the article wasn't informative. But it mentioned that Scotland Yard had failed to solve this mystery, so I must admit that piqued my interest. I can meet you outside the house in exactly a fortnight, if you so choose."
"Holmes, you really are an amazing man. I shall see you next fortnight," I tipped my hat and closed the door softly, the image of Holmes flushed with pride imprinted in my mind.