Title: Decisions

Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson, slight Watson/Mary

Summary: Mary Morstan marches out of 221B because Watson can't make up his mind. Then Holmes makes his move. Slash Holmes/Watson

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sherlock Holmes, I just own the plot.

Rated: T for mild swearing and male on male

A man shrank against a door as he listened into the conversation. Once he heard the lock click he scattered away like a school boy being caught peeping in the girls' dressing room. He sprinted into his room and dove onto his bed. Leaving his door wide open as a plate of steaming tea was brought up only 5 minutes ago by his landlady. He was skeptical about her, wondering when she was going to poison his tea. She had tried to get him to wake up, but failed and walked downstairs only to have him shuffle from his rest and sneak over to his colleague's room to hear about what the ruckus was about.

"…I don't understand why you can't take the initiative into your own hands," came to shrill female voice of a blonde and blue eyed woman of which his colleague had been seeing.

"I'm working on it," he forced back, his eyes traveled to his mate's open door and peered inside to see the man "sleeping" on his stomach where he was definitely wide awake. "I'm working on it," he said softer and turned back to his female counterpart, "if you would just give me ti-"

"I gave you time, John," she shrieked back, John's eyes then traveled back to the man lying down in his room. "You just can't leave that sleazy detective," her voice dripped with pure anger. "It's either me or him," this was the choice he's been trying to make. They stood in front of said detective's room and she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Mary," he soothed, "you can't make me make this decision right now."

"Me or him," she repeated slowly, she was growing more impatient by the second. But there was a long silence. "I see," she said sadly. The detective smiled into his pillow, "you have fun with Sherlock, Dr. Watson. I'll just let myself out." She spun around on her heal and marched down the stairs. John walked to the railing and watched as she left. She bid their landlady good health and looked back up at John, noticing that Sherlock had materialized at his side. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she walked out of the home and shut the door softly behind her.

"You're decision," Sherlock said not being able to hold back his smile. John Watson jumped not realizing that he had been standing there watching.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"If you really mean listening, then yes, the whole time."

"Bugger off," Watson muttered as he pushed passed Holmes and walked down the stairs in the same nature that Mary had left. The raven haired male followed his colleague and sat across from him in the living room. A warm fire roared from the hearth and the dark haired blonde leaned on his palm and stared into it.

"If you are in a mood," Holmes began, "I can leave."

"Would you," Watson pled.

"Goodness," he smirked, "don't sound so chuffed." He got up and walked behind the couch where Watson was sitting. He set his hands on his shoulders and leaned down so his lips were barely centimeters from his ear.

"Holmes will you piss off," Watson groaned and Holmes smirked.

"Why," Holmes whispered, "and let you sit here all alone drowning in your depression." He paused and breathed heavily into Watson's ear, trying to seduce him. His pale arms slid down Watson's chest and Watson inhaled sharply. Holmes pressed his lips against Watson's blemish-less neck and kissed it lightly, Watson gasped and Holmes smirked and continued to kiss up Watson's neck to his jaw line. Holmes's fingers looped under Watson's belt dangerously close to his crotch, he shifted uncomfortable and leaned to the left giving his friend more access. "I wouldn't dream of it. I'm happy she's gone," Holmes said huskily, his lips pressing against the corner of his lips. "I can have all of you now. Just come up stairs with me, we don't want Mrs. Hudson finding us, now do we."

"Holmes," Watson breathed. Holmes quickly released his friend just as Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Dr. Watson," she said brightly and then looked at Holmes with a scowl, "Holmes."

"Always a pleasure to see you too, Mrs. Hudson. I saw the tea in my room, thought I'd water the plants, they looked parched." Mrs. Hudson bit her lip, trying to suppress the anger she felt. "Just telling my dear boy here that Miss Morstan wasn't worth his time. Cheerio, I'll be up in my room." He left fully looking at Mrs. Hudson's furious/shocked face. Her jaw was slacked in such an unattractive way and the treats she was carrying had held risk of falling.

"Are you alright, dear," she asked shaking the conversation she just had with the uncivilized bohemian man. Watson was clearly flustered from what he had just been through with his friend.

"Just a bit," he searched his mind looking for the word, "confused," he added a little after. "I think I fancy a walk." She nodded and forced a treat down his gullet before he engaged himself in a warm April walk outside.

He strode out the door with his cane still tasting the sweet pastry she had given him. His throat was a little dry, but he was able to suffice under the conditions about going back to the house, which meant having to confront Holmes in the situation they had just been occupied in. He was very aware, though, of his partner's grey eyes staring outside the window after him. He looked back to see his friend deep in thought. He quickly turned back and continued down the street in silence, contemplating his own thoughts.

He walked to a nearby bar where the men were still passed out at the counter having crashed there the night before. A burly man from behind the counter looked at Watson and then nodded him to take a seat at the counter.

"Wa' can ay do fo ya, se'," he asked, Watson thickly inhaled the scent of alcohol.

"Heaviest thing you can give me," Watson said and adjusted himself at the counter.

"Ya ga' it, se'," he turned his back to Watson and busied himself under the counter where he looked for the strongest alcohol he could find. The door opened and then shut quickly after.

"Doctor Watson," a female called, he turned to see who was calling his name, the face structure, blue eyes and pale skin were all to familiar. "Doctor Watson," she said again and hustled towards him, her thin body was barely clinging to her blue dress she was wearing. Everything like Mary except for her red hair. Ann Morstan, the female who was looking very angry. "My sista'," she said and in two long strides she slapped Watson very hard across the face. "How could you," she yelled, "You terrible man." The burly bartender looked at Watson and then to the female. He gave Watson the drink and Watson inhaled it in one standing. The bartender looked shocked. She waited for a response, but none came. Instead she glared at him until the door opened again. This time, it was Sherlock Holmes.

"Is she bothering you, Watson?" Ann turned and looked like she was just about to kill Holmes.

"She loved you," Ann screamed at Watson, "and you fucking tossed her away like trash."

"Now, now," Holmes soothed. He touched her shoulder.

"How dare you," she yelled at Holmes and slapped him; he recoiled backwards and into a table with a sleeping man at it. "You stole him away from my sister! I hate you even more," she marched over to Holmes about to hit him again, when the bartender stepped out from behind the counter and spoke.

"Ge' out," he said angrily to Ann, she turned and Holmes looked up surprised, "ya wench, ge' out," her huffy attitude and pink face stormed out of the bar, cursing under her breath. "a'ight there, se'," he asked Holmes helping him up. The old man who was sleeping looked around drowsily and his head drooped back down.

"Yeah," he said still holding his cheek, "that girl's got quite the punch. Thanks." Watson was on his third drink. His eyes were glassy and Holmes walked over to him and gave the bartender his payment for the drinks. The bartender muffled a 'thanks' and then put the money a box and walked into a back room, out of sight. "Drinking is not going to solve anything, Watson," Holmes lectured and spun Watson so he was facing him. "You know that, right?" Watson made no sign of acknowledgement, instead he leaned and grasped Holmes's collar and crashed their lips together, not waking any of the men in the bar. Holmes didn't know quite what was going on but pressed back roughly before he realized they were in public and Watson was drunk.

"Stop," Holmes hissed and Watson's mouth attacked Sherlock's neck showering it in kisses and bites. His hands worked themselves down his hips and drew them between his trousers and shirt. "Stop," he forced himself away from his friend. Watson looked scared and unsettled and he ran his fingers through his hair muttering 'I'm sorry' over and over again.

"It's okay," Holmes said, "let's get you back home so we can discuss this in privacy." The men stirred as they door shut behind them and the two men walked out into the street. Holmes helped his friend back home. He took his into his room and Watson passed out on his bed. Holmes sat by his bedside listening to his cries and whimpers, and soon fell asleep, his hand entangled in Watson's.

I hoped you like reading it, it was fun to write about a different side of Watson. Comments are welcome (: