Watson knew everything about Sherlock Holmes. Well, not everything as the man had a tendency of a jack knife; just when Watson thought he couldn't do anything crazier, or more fascinating, he pulled out a new trick that usually left Watson in awe. But he knew more about the man than his own relatives. That's what he got, from years of companionship and gaining trust. Watson knew the detective had many moods, as unemotional and heartless as he may seem, Watson knew he was still human and was still capable of feeling distress and sorrow.
It happened one rainy day in September. The rain was hitting the window in sheets, thrumming in a rhythmic and gentle beat that lifted and dropped Watson's spirits at the same time. Holmes had been on a case for several weeks that he hadn't shared with Watson. Watson, being his usual meek self didn't complain as his leg always pained him in the rainy and colder seasons anyway.
Watson was scribbling at the desk in his old journal when the door opened. He turned to acknowledge his best friend with a smile before returning back to his writing. "Hello Holmes. Did you finish your case?"
Holmes threw his scarf and umbrella on the floor and sighed heavily. "I finished it, yes." He said so softly it was almost a whisper. Watson frowned and dropped his pencil to look at the detective. "Is everything all right old boy? I'd thought you be in a good mood."
Holmes, with his head down, walked rather solemnly to the settee with his hands stuffed in his pockets and sat down on the edge of it, covering his head with his hands. Watson stood up and walked over to his best friend, full of concern. "Holmes? Are you alright?" He asked gently, sitting beside him, but still giving him space.
It took him a few minutes, but he realized Holmes was crying. His entire body was shaking slightly. Watson had never seen him so distressed before, or showing such a display of emotion. But he knew better than to pry, so he waited patiently for Holmes to open up to him.
Finally he did, lifting his head slowly, his hands dropping weakly to his lap, and his cheeks stained with tears. He didn't look at Watson as he whispered, "Three weeks ago, a man came to me." He looked down and sighed again before continuing, "His little girl went missing two days before and he begged me to find her. I didn't ask for your assistance Watson…because I didn't want you to experience …" He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, and then his fists in an effort to regain his composure. "I…and Clarky found her this morning, Watson. She was… cut... into pieces Watson. She… she was cut into pieces." Holmes started to sob again, and gripped hard at his hair with his hands. Watson scooted closer to his friend and wrapped his arm around him in comfort. "I don't know who did it to her Watson…. I don't even know." "Shhh… it's alright, Holmes. It's alright." Watson murmured gently in his dark curly hair. "Who….who could do that to a child, Watson?"
"…only a monster could do it Holmes…only a complete utter monster." Watson found salty tears dripping down his own cheeks as he said those words to his best friend. He couldn't even imagine how Holmes was feeling. His emotions were one thing, but the detective… he was a different story. Watson couldn't say he ever experienced this before, his best friend sobbing on his chest. Holmes just didn't cry. Watson knew he was shaken.
After they sat like that for a while, Holmes leaned away from Watson and roughly rubbed at his eyes with the back of hand, as if he was regretting the rare display of emotion. Watson sighed softly in understanding. "Shall I ring for some tea Holmes?" His friend gave him a weak smile and nodded.