Thank you for taking time of your meaningful, exciting lives to read my little story, I really appreciate it.

Before you start, a warning is due. If you are triggered by anxiety, depression, suicide, rape, or abuse, be very careful with this fic. Dark themes are laced tightly throughout, increasing in intensity as the plot progresses. You have been warned.

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Thanks again, and please enjoy Asphyxia.

You looked nervous today, more nervous than I'd seen you in a long time. You drummed your fingers on your thigh almost the entire cab ride, your gaze fixed on the buzzing London streets, just watching, entranced as the people passed by. We were en route to Mycroft's Christmas party, to be held at his house. The better half of Scotland Yard was invited, meaning Lestrade, Molly, and the others, which I would assume would have calmed your nerves. But evidently I had assumed wrong.

I decided to ask about it. "You feeling alright, Sherlock?"

"Of course," You grumbled, not even bothering to turn your head.

"You look nervous."

"I'm not nervous." You growled. "I don't get nervous."

"Fine, fine." I shook my head. "Sorry."

"Mycroft will definitely say something."

"Hmm?"

"He'll will definitely make some sort of attempt to humiliate me. I'm just trying to decide what approach he'll take, so that I can be prepared for it." You folded your hands under your chin. "He's in his own habitat of choice. He would have had plenty of time to plan. I, however, have only a few more minutes."

"Don't get worked up about it. Mycroft isn't as eager to show off as you are," I said.

"But he wouldn't let an opportunity like this one pass him by. Needless to say it doesn't come around very often."

"Give it a break, Sherlock. Your brother's world doesn't only revolve around you, after all."

"Well, it should."

You gave me a little sideways smirk, and I chuckled.

"Don't worry about Mycroft. I'm sure we'll get plenty of comments, but that's normal. We haven't seen anyone since... that."

"Since our engagement."

"Yeah, that." I glanced at the gold ring on my finger. "I'm sure there were more than a few bets going on."

"Of course. Speaking of which, I need to collect."

"Sherlock."

You grinned, and I looked back out the window.

The house (or, rather, castle) came into view. Its vaulted roof reached far above all of the other buildings, with small figures knitted carefully into the stone. Square windows spread light into the street, with a large red canopy covering a good part of the sidewalk in front of the door. I couldn't help but wonder how much money the building had cost Mycroft, whether in sale or just maintenance.

The cab pulled to the curb, and you quickly paid him before stepping out into the rain. I followed, pulling my grey jacket tight around my neck and flipping the collar up against the wind, the foot of my crutch sloshing water against my ankles. You came around the car and thrust your hands into your greatcoat, leading me towards the doorway while I searched my pockets for the invitation. A small crowd was congregated outside the door, under the cover of the canopy, hailing for cabs and fishing for their own invitations.

Just as I was starting to panic that I had forgotten ours, one of the commissionaires approached us with a sparkle of recognition in his face. "Sherlock Holmes?" He asked.

"Yes. And guest." You nodded, angling your body between us.

"Mr. Holmes' been waiting for you. Go right in." He motioned with his arm, clearing us a path past the security guards and into the wide foyer. Though sometimes it was a pain getting recognized in public, at times like that it was very convenient. The commissionaire offered to take our coats for us, then quickly disappeared into another room.

We could hear the noise of the party coming from the upper level. Standing between us and it were two winding flights of stairs, which were more than a little intimidating to look at, with their red velvet carpeting and stone railing. You quickly started up, skipping three stairs at a time, a little faster than usual for lack of a coat. I hissed and stumbled after you, my crutch making funny squeaking sounds across the marble floor.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wait for me. I'll get lost in a heartbeat in this house," I huffed, starting up the stairs as fast as my leg would allow.

You sighed and slowed down, turning to wait for me. "Hotel."

I glanced up. "What?"

"It was a hotel, obviously. Small one. Renovated. My brother saw a need to entertain." You waved your hands, glancing around in disgust.

"Looks like he spared no expense either," I mumbled, slowing down to look. "See all those gold accents."

"Yes, I've noticed." You climbed the stairs beside me, your hands deep in the pockets of your suit trousers. "You don't really need your crutch, do you, John. You're not an old man."

"It helps." I answered. "My leg has been hurting the last few days. I might go in to get it massaged or something."

"It's psychosomatic. Therapy won't help."

"Well fine. I'll get a massage anyway. A man can enjoy a massage every once in a while. I might not be an old man, but I sure am feeling my years."

We reached the top of the staircase, and I stopped for a second to admire the surroundings. Elaborately-dressed women and smooth-shaven men pranced around with glasses of wine and champagne, laughing and socializing with their fellow officials. Reds and greens were prominent, with holly and mistletoe strung generously around the room. A large pine tree decorated with lights stood proudly in the center, littered with ornaments and ribbon. Food enough to serve a multitude was laid out for easy picking. My stomach was already growling, and the spiral-cut ham looked like a delicacy from the outskirts of heaven.

"Don't drool on your shirt, it's not very sophisticated of you," You whispered, walking forward.

"I wasn't drooling." I glared, following you.

You spotted Mycroft quickly, talking with Lestrade and another young woman near the tree. When they noticed us, Lestrade motioned for us to join them. You were a little hesitant at first, but I went ahead, giving Greg a firm handshake as soon as I was within arm's length.

"John, John," Lestrade chuckled, his eyes glittering. "It's been a while, eh? It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Greg." I smiled. My attention wandered to the young woman standing behind him, who came around and nodded her head to me.

"John, this is Anne. Anne, this is John Watson." He set his hand on the small of her back while she and I shook hands, and I immediately made the connection. Guest of choice.

She had a soft grip and a sweet smile. "Nice to meet you, John."

"Nice to meet you too, Anne," I replied.

Mycroft smiled at me and then looked past, tapping the handle of his umbrella as you came up behind me. "I'm glad you could make it, little brother," He said, unusually warmly. You broadened your shoulders a little. He reached out with a cold gaze to shake your hand, and you took it.

"My pleasure." You answered.

"And John." He turned back to me. "It's good to see you in such good spirits. A lot can happen in just a few weeks, as you can imagine. Congratulations on your... engagement."

"Er, thank you, Mycroft."

"You two are engaged?" Anne chimed in, her eyes big.

"Um, yes." I lifted my hand, and she cooed at my ring. "Last week, I think it was."

"Sunday, the eighth." You interjected.

"...Yes. Sunday."

"How sweet!" She smiled. "Have you got a wedding date planned?"

"We haven't really discussed it much yet," I chuckled.

"March. The second week."

I glanced at you, a little confused, but you had a kind of matter-of-fact look about you. Obviously I wasn't present when we had decided that bit.

"Aw, spring weddings are so romantic." Anne nodded. "My congratulations to both of you."

"Thank you, Anne."

"I don't think we've been introduced," You said, stepping forward to shake Anne's hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." She took his hand. I was a little surprised that she didn't respond with something like "I already knew you", considering she was Lestrade's date, but I guess that did happen sometimes. You moved back to stand beside me, a little closer than you had before.

"So, you guys have finally admitted it, eh?" Greg laughed, taking another sip from his wineglass. "Though, I would've thought you'd at least announce you were dating before you suddenly get engaged. It was a bit of a shocker."

"Well, we weren't exactly dating," I answered. "More like... stuck between relationship and partnership."

"You didn't date?"

"Not really, no. Not until the rings."

"That's a bit unorthodox," He noted. "But knowing the two of you, it makes sense. I can see it. And just for the record, I definitely saw it coming."

"I'll remember not to doubt your deductive abilities, Geoff," You sneered.

He frowned. "Greg."

"Greg. Right."

"Mind your manners, Sherlock." Mycroft said, a twinge of anger in his voice. "Why don't you two help yourselves to dine. After you're finished, there's a gift waiting for you and your fiancé in the left wing, if you're interested."

"Oh, really? Thank you." I glanced at him, a little suspicious. "I wasn't expecting any gifts."

"I know." He shot me a half-smirk. "Think of it as an early Christmas present, for my new brother."

The tension between you and your brother seemed to tighten as you set your hand on my back. "Then we'll be seeing you, Mycroft."

"Yes. Enjoy yourselves." Mycroft tapped his umbrella, then walked back to mingle with the other guests. Lestrade winked at us, then whisked Anne off for more wine. You began a trek towards the buffet tables, starting off about something that I couldn't understand above the chatter of the strangers around us.

"Have you and Mycroft been fighting again, Sherlock?" I asked, catching up to you.

"Nothing exceeding the norm." You answered. "Ignore him. You're hungry. I'll sit with you while you eat."

"You'll eat too. I haven't seen you touch a bite all afternoon."

You grumbled. "Go find us seats. I'll get your plate."

One of the perks of having you as a boyfriend is that you always know exactly what I have the stomach for at a particular moment. You came to the table with a plate filled with ham, casserole, sweet potatoes, turkey stuffing, and a few of those little cubes of cheese, with a separate bowl for salad. When I pointed out that you hadn't brought a plate for yourself, you insisted that you would just eat off mine. I didn't bother to argue - the ham was too strong a temptation for me to resist for long.

Lestrade and guest came to sit with us a few minutes later. Anne sported two glasses of champagne, and set them in front of us with a smile. "For the happy couple," She chimed.

"Oh, thank you." I smiled, taking the glass. You gave Anne a wary glance and picked up yours as well. A blind man to your right had captured your attention, and you turned back to the conversation with him, not paying me much mind.

Anne was in a similar situation, with Lestrade chatting away with one of his co-workers about one of his current cases. So instead of listening in, she turned to me and decided to strike up her own conversation.

She was a very sweet young woman, emphasis on the young. I couldn't help but notice that she seemed a little too young for Lestrade. (Not to discredit Greg, it's not like he's some old dog. But he was in his middle-age, and his looks didn't hide it. This new girlfriend could have easily been half his age.) But she was gorgeous, completely gorgeous. Her eyes were large emerald orbs, and there was not a strand of auburn hair out of place. Even besides her features, she was a lovely woman in personality. She held herself in a respectable way, her shoulders back and head high. She was friendly and very easy to talk to. I felt as if I could just talk to her for hours, going on about nothing.

"Have you known the Holmes brothers for a long time, John?" She asked, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"A few years, yes. Sherlock and I have been flat-mates for a while, though he... uh, moved out for a time. He moved back in about six months ago."

"Oh, how nice." She smiled. "So you've already been living together.

I nodded. "It wasn't in a relationship sort of way, though. We were just flat-mates. Sharing the rent. Different bedrooms."

"I see. Well, that's the best way to start out, right?"

"Right."

She nodded. "Do you work in town?"

"Yes, I do. St. Bart's Hospital. I'm a doctor."

"Oh, a doctor! That's very nice. What kind of doctor?"

"Well, right now I work in the ER. Emergency medical physician."

"Oh wow. That's courageous. I wouldn't have the heart or the stomach to work in a field like that."

"Nah, it's not too bad. We only get the occasional serious case. Most are just flu patients or people with bowel issues. Broken bones, pregnant mothers, STDs. That sort of thing."

"I still think it's pretty gruesome," Anne laughed, knitting her eyebrows. "I would probably be sick within the first two days."

"You get used to it."

She chuckled. "I guess so."

I adjusted myself in my chair so that I would be facing her. "What about you, Anne? Do you work in town?"

"Oh, yeah, I do. I'm a waitress at Sam and Christa's in Camden."

"Ah. I've never heard of that one."

"It's privately owned, but it's a cute little spot right on the corner."

"Is that where you met Greg?"

"Yep. I was serving at the bar. We sort of hit it off." She patted Lestrade's shoulder, but he didn't bother to turn around.

"How long have you two been going out?" I asked.

"Just a few weeks. He's very sweet."

I laughed. "I can believe it. At least the police-work hasn't toughened him too much."

"Quite the opposite. He talks about Mr. Holmes more than a bit. Seems like he's always around when there's a good case, yeah?"

"You could say that. He's quite the adrenaline junkie. Consulting detective, as he says."

"That's what Lestrade told me. Said he could practically read someone's life story right off their skin."

"It's true. Sometimes I doubt he's even human." I glanced at you. You must've heard your name, because you turned in your chair and decided to invest yourself into our conversation. "Speak of the devil."

"Anything that John tells you about my sock index, it's all lies." You said.

"I didn't say anything about your sock index," I grumbled.

"Or my goldfish." He continued.

"You have a goldfish?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You two are adorable," Anne said, laughing. "I promise, Mr. Holmes, he didn't give me any secrets about your socks or your goldfish."

"Good." You shot her a smile - a fake, needle-eyed smile - and patted my shoulders. "Come on, John. I think it's about time we go find those 'gifts' Mycroft seemed so irritatingly enthusiastic about."

I peered at you, identifying the strange forcefulness in your voice, which Anne didn't seem to reconize.

"Alright, we'd better do that. It was nice getting to talk to you, Anne." I smiled at her, pushing out of my chair.

"You too, John," She said, slowly lifting her glass to her lips.