Disclaimer: don't own anything

Authors note: just a little drabble that I managed to get out of my head and into words, I'm glad I finally managed to finish this one since Ive been working on it for a while, although, it's my first time writing for this fandom and I do hope that you all like the way I wrote the characters and stuff.


It was an imposing sight to see. Even though the living room was cluttered with empty bottles of whiskey, the fire was cracking softly and lighting the room in a soft glow of orange and red. The dark red curtains shielded the room from any sunlight that might disturb the man standing in front of the warm fire while the rest of the apartment looked absolutely luxurious. Considering that the man didn't really live like this, this was a feat.

When asked upon his well decorated home, the man would often answer that half of the things around him were gifts from people he had helped with cases. God forbid that he would actually buy something himself to cheer up his flat. There were jewels lying around on the drawers, burnt up candles on the table and not a unlit candle in sight. Several of them graced the room and giving the whole room a sort of dark feeling.

"Holmes?"

He raised his hand to silence the other man in the room, his eyes still staring into the fire in front of him. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his classy black pants clearly too wide on his skinny frame. He had lost weight again, Watson noted, but didn't say anything on this. After a few seconds of staring into the cracking fire, Holms finally turned around and faced Watson, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

His face was sunken, huge bags under his eyes as proof of many sleepless nights. His hair was greasy, messy and hanging in front of his eyes, he desperately needed a haircut; at least, that was what Watson thought. If you compared the two men, you would never think that they could be friends, Watson was a more cleaned up man, a nicely trimmed moustache and his clothes nicely ironed and fitting on his frame while Holmes was unkempt, skinny and clearly had no thought of actually ironing his clothes. His dirty white shirt was wrinkled and there were even a few buttons missing from top.

Holmes nodded his head to Watson as a sort of greeting before he turned back to face the fire, which probably formed a better form of amusement than his friend behind him. Watson sighed and laid his coat over his arm, walking closer to his friend and also ending up staring in the fire. A paper was in the fire, burning merciless and neither Holmes nor Watson made any move to save it from its fate.

"Another letter I assume?"

Again, Holmes didn't say anything, Watson was beginning to think that his friend has lost his voice from the raging cold he had suffered from days earlier. The coughing had been horrible and clearly hadn't helped them solving their last case as Holmes had trouble concentrating even through the raging fever. The man was stubborn however and did end up solving the case after all, but not after almost fainting a few times because he simply refused to rest with a disease running rampant through his body.

It had worried Watson to the slightest but he was happy to know that after the case, Holmes had slept for at least a whole day straight, at least, according to what he had heard from the man himself, who was also very good at lying. Watson didn't really care anymore, his friend looked better already and apart from a sneeze every no wand then, the cold had finally left his body.

"They no longer form an annoyance my dear Watson," Holmes turned his head sideways and looked at his friend, the ghost of a smile disappeared from his lips, "simply getting rid of some old papers I no longer seem useful."

There was something particular about Holmes, which was clear, his usual grey eyes seemed darker than usual and his mind wasn't really in the moment. Watson was sure he saw Holmes' eyes shoot at the burning paper several times before the man walked over to the couch and sat down.

Watson kept his place at the fireplace and looked at his friend staring back at him. Several people had tried to stare down with Holmes but never succeeded, not even Watson himself who had tried more than once. He sighed and kept staring at Holmes who seemed interested in what his friend was doing in his home at this particular time of the day. The doctor was usually busy visiting patients or being in his practice, helping the people with whatever they needed around this time of day.

Tired of staring at his silent friend, Watson turned his eyes to the burning paper; a sly smirk appeared on Holmes' features before the older man reached out for his watch and looked at the time. It was almost time for tea, not that he really cared himself but years of experience had told him that Watson did enjoy a cup of tea around 4 pm.

"So why do I owe the pleasure of you visiting me at this hour?" Holmes inquired, as brilliant as he is; he's useless when it comes to everyday things like this.

"Just passing by, I thought I should give you a visit. I haven't seen you for the past few days. Busy with a case?"

"Sort off," Holmes muttered as he walked out of the room and into the adjoined kitchen. The sounds of pots and pans being moved came from the room before it all went silent after a few minutes. Holmes stood in the doorframe and looked at Watson, his deep grey eyes taking in his friends' appearance.

"Anything I can help you with?" Watson inquired, trying to get as much information out of his friend about this particular case. Holmes suddenly looked distant at the fire again before shaking his head at Watson and smiling tiredly.

"Nothing you should trouble yourself with my dear Boswell."

Watson grinned slightly at the use of the nickname Holmes had for him, it had been quite a while since he had heard that word from his friends' lips and it felt good to hear it again. It annoyed Watson that Holmes wouldn't spill anything about his case to him, something he normally did, yet, he didn't pressure Holmes into telling, knowing that his friend would eventually tell him if he thought the time was right.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am well doctor, my cough has disappeared and I rarely sneeze nowadays" Holmes shot an amused glance at his friend, "are you going to feel my pulse now and see if I'm taking good care of old body?"

"You're not old," Watson rolled his eyes and placed two fingers on Holmes' bare neck, indeed feeling his pulse.

"I feel old," Holmes muttered, looking down to the carpeted floor in front of him. It was true, the man was starting to get some grey hairs in the dark hair of his and even his stubble had some traces of grey hairs, but in spirit, Sherlock Holmes was as fit as one of the Irregulars. Everyone had to admit that. Even at the age of 52, the man could still jump off buildings like he did in the old days and do the dangerous stunts that helped him solve so many cases before.

"You are not my dear friend, you are on the skinny side however, have you been eating regularly?" Watson raised an eyebrow at Holmes who looked away in annoyance at the question.

"You are not my mother. I shall eat when I find myself hungry Watson."

The slight tone of anger shaking through Holmes' voice surprised Watson so much that it was visible on his features for at least several seconds. He was sure that his friend had noticed the look but was relieved when Holmes didn't say anything about it.

"You're exhausted, rest a few hours Holmes," Watson pleaded to his friend, placing both of his hands on the shoulders of the older man, "staying up right now is doing your body more harm than good."

"And here I deduced you came over for a social visit, not for a doctor's consult," Holmes grumbled under his breath.

"I am a doctor at heart my dear friend and I cannot stand by and see you waste away in your apartment right now trying to figure out this case when your body is still recovering from that god-awful cold."

"This is just the next case; there is no time for resting. Every minute that I waste, they get farther away and the mystery gets closer to be unsolved."

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his fingertips together. He sat for some silence with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Watson felt uncomfortable all of the sudden, seeing how his friend had gotten in one of his moods again where the thoughts raged through his brilliant mind and he was oblivious for the rest of the world around him.

"You shouldn't forget to deduce the fact that you're no good to the police when you're on the verge of fainting because of lack of energy my dear Sherlock."

"Perhaps you're right Watson, but I just cannot rest my mind right now, I am this close to wrapping up this particulary fascinating case," Holmes showed him how close he was by holding his index finger and thumb a few inches apart, squeezing his eyes to look through the small invisible bar they formed together.

"And you are this," Watson imitated his gesture, "to fainting from lack of energy and sleep."

"I'm afraid my dear Watson, you're falling into repetition."

"Only because you won't listen to me my dear friend," said the younger friend with a small smile playing on his lips, partly hidden by the nicely trimmed mustache.

Holmes let out a sigh from between his lips and stood up from the armchair, his hands reaching out for the violin as he quickly played the instrument, once again deep in thought as Watson stared at his friend with amazement. Holmes could never stop surprising Watson by just playing the violin, although the mind of Holmes was an inner turmoil right now, the music filling the air of the room was calm and peaceful, something Watson could only hope for his friend once this case was over.


Just a cute Watson/Sherlock friendship moment I guess, with some background perhaps? I don't know, you guys have to figure that one out by yourselves. Please leave me a comment to tell me what you think? Feedback is so appreciated!