2. I Thought I'd Lost You
Three long years.
That was how long it had been since I last saw him, since I left my best friend at those damned falls. I had been cursing myself for that long. Not a day went by that I did not regret considering that the letter I had received was odd and likely fake and not a day went by that I did not curse my friend for not warning me. He had known about it, it had said so in his letter. Then again, Sherlock Holmes had always known.
I sat at my desk, watching the birds out the window. The day had been a trying one, as I had been called to testify his findings at the trial of Ronald Adair. I had been called on by Lestrade, and thus I had to speak with him that morning. I had come to hate speaking with Lestrade. He constantly reminded me of Holmes' death, but I could never tell if he was doing it to hurt me, or simply out of the need to speak of him. Either way, I hated it. Now, thanks to the reminder, he was thinking back to that day with far more depth than I normally would now.
I glanced down, letting my cold blue eyes rest on the note I should have been filling out on the patients I had just taken in. I was about to start writing again, when I realized my eyes were watering. I cursed quietly, pulling my sleeve up and whipping the tears away as best I could. They were flowing fast that they had in some time, but I suppose that my forcing the emotion down for the last few months would be the cause of that. I couldn't understand why the event pained me so. I had lost many people, including my wife and none of them raised such emotion when I thought back on them!
I was, of course, lying to myself. I knew exactly why I missed Holmes so, why his death had pained me more than anything else. Regret. Regret and longing were the things that tore my soul apart. I should have told him. I should have told him everything before we got to Switzerland, but I was to afraid. To afraid of what he would say when he found out how I felt for him. I loved Sherlock Holmes, with all my heart and I wished nothing else than to have him with me.
When I finally managed to force the tears to stop flowing, I picked up my pen and began to write my notes. It was almost an hour after that my maid appeared in the doorway. She was a new girl and if I were to be honest, she was not all that wonderful at her job. I kept her around for her own sake, but she had become a rather large nescience.
"A man here for you, Doctor." She started.
"Is it an urgent matter?" I asked without glancing up.
"I dunno, Doctor." She replied.
"Well did he give you his card?" I raised my eyes.
"No Doctor…"
"Ivy if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, my consulting hours are clearly posted outside. Now please-"
I was cut off by the sound of a man coming up the stairs. My eyes turned to the door as my somewhat jumpy maid pleaded with the man to stay down stairs. I waved her off, allowing the man to come inside. He was rather old and looked as though he was without much money. His gloves no longer had fingers and his hair was unkept. His jacket was torn and dirty and the books he carried with him were raggedy. I stood from my chair as he addressed me.
"Dr. Watson?"
"Yes indeed sir. I am exceedingly busy, sir!" I protested to his barging in.
"Yes yes, of course you are, Doctor, of course! You are a man of considerable responsibility, but when I heard you give your address to that cabdriver I said to myself I'll just hobble around and see that kind gentlemen"
I recognized the man now. He was the old man I had bumped into outside the court house I had been in that morning. I had helped the man pick up his books after I had bumped into him and knocked them away from him. He had shoved me, but I had ignored it. Apparently now he needed to thank me?
"You see, I have a conscience. I'm afraid I was a bit gruff in my manner. I came to tell you that I am MUCH obliged to you for helping me pick up my books!" He gestured the books forward.
"You make to much of a trifle sir. You should have spared yourself the journey now if you'll excuse me." I was certainly not in the mood to deal with the ramblings of an old man. My mind was still elsewhere.
"No no, no great journey sir!" He closed my door and I took my seat, realizing that I would get no where with him. "I am a neighbor of yours! You will find my dwellings at the corner of Church Street, may I sit down?" He did so before I could answer. "I'm very happy to see you Doctor I'm sure… Perhaps, you collect?" He gestured to his book, listing off a few of the titles he had in an attempt to prompt me to buy them. "These are just to titles you need to fill up your bookshelf, to give it a little weight!"
I stood from me seat, stepping over to the shelf and running a hand over the books on the bottom shelf. The man could have been right. I could likely have used a few more books. I had stopped reading as much since Sherlock's death, since nothing much held my interested anymore. Perhaps it was time to get back into the literary world. I turned back, about to give the man my answer, but he was gone.
In his place, a ghost. That was all it could be. A ghost from my past come back to haunt me. I thought I might have been having a hallucination brought on by stress. That was a good explanation, until he spoke.
"Watson, do you mind if I smoke a cigarette in you're consulting room?"
That voice. Unmistakable. That short, combed brown hair and the same brand of jacket he always wore. The deep brown eyes, watching my every move as they had so many times in the past. This man that now stood in the place of the old man was unmistakably the man I loved, Sherlock Holmes. I felt the colour drain from my face and watched my vision become blurred. I could see him raise his arms as a greeting, but it was lost as my body lost all tension and I dropped, vision fading to nothing but black. In short, I fainted.
It was a few moments later that I felt my old companion's worm hand on the side of my face. I was attempting to force myself to come to and as the brandy Holmes had found touched my lips, my eyes finally responded to my pleas to open. As the focused, I could see his face, so concerned that I had dropped, I almost laughed.
"A thousand apologies my dear Watson! I had no idea you would be so effected!" Holmes attempted to console me.
Dear Watson. I had always loved it when he called me that. I felt, loved, cherished. I was in such a state, my voice hushed and all I could do was stare back at him in a loving way, wondering how in the world it was possible. I could touch him, and he me, so this was not a fabrication as the last few had been. Holmes really was standing right in front of me.
"Is it really you?" I whispered out. "Could it really be that you are alive?"
"Are you really fit enough to discuss things?" He moved back slightly, much to my dismay. "I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic entrance!"
"No no! I'm alright! I'm alright.." I stood from my chair, shakily at first but well enough that I could steady myself. I stepped forward, examining the man I had lost so long ago. He seemed unharmed. He was exactly as I had last seen him, save a change of clothes. Still just a lovely as ever and now back from the dead. All at once my mind raced to find the right thing to do. So many things I had promised myself I would say, that I would do if something like this were to ever truly happen. What was I to do?
"Are you sure, Watson? You seem a little off."
I nodded, and as he spoke my mind finally decided on a course of action. Knowing that he was truly there, knowing I could touch him was enough to force my hand. I stepped forward, taking hold of his lapels and pulling him toward me. He gasped n surprise but before he could get a word in, my lips pressed against his. For a moment he stood there, completely tense and unsure as to how to react. I waited for him to push me away, to reject me, pack his things and never return. I was sure he would be disgusted with me and my highly illegal act, but to my surprise, he did not force me away.
He relaxed after a moment, allowing his arms to close around me and pull me in close. I was shocked to find that he would return such an embrace, but more shocked when he pushed into my kiss. My hands found their way to his sides and for a long time we remained so, until I managed to pull myself away and rest my head on his chest.
"I thought I'd lost you…" My tears were beginning again.
"My dear, sweet Watson.." He spoke in hushed tones "You shale never lose me, never."
My eyes turned up "Untrue, dear friend. I have already lost you once…"
"For a time." He admitted. "But I have returned, and I shale not be leaving you again."
I dared not move. I would not allow this illusion to slip away, as I was not sure that I was not dreaming, How else could he be here and return my rather sudden expression of desire? I turned my eyes back to his chest and let the tears that flowed from my eyes soak into his shirt, shaking slightly from every ounce of emotion that wished to break loose a that very moment.
His hand moved from my back and under my chin, forcing my eyes on his once more. He used his thumb to clear some of the tears, willing me not to cry anymore. I wished to oblige his silent request, but I could not. How long I had waited to see him and how many times I had considered following him to the grave. The sudden reappearance without warning proved to be to much.
"How long?" His voice broke my thoughts.
"How long, what?"
"How long have you felt this way?"
"How long have I loved you?"
He stared back at me, as though the word held so much more meaning that anything else I had ever said to him. I knew I had changed everything and that there was no going back. I had just admitted to loving a man and I was fairly certain he at least cared for me in a similar fashion. I had to answer his question, if only to ease his mind.
"Sherlock Holmes, I have been in love with you since the conclusion of a Study in Scarlet." I admitted.
His eyes had not left me, and I was not sure whether to feel uncomfortable or happy. He seemed to be trapped between shock and joy, but either were showing through well enough of his face for me to be sure which was dominant. I waited there before him for some time before he spoke, wondering exactly what he was going to say about all this.
"Well… I feel like a fool." He smiled fully.
"Why's that?" I asked quickly.
"I have been in love with you since first we spoke, my dear Watson… I have simply been to much of a coward to advance on you."
"Then I suppose, that makes us both fools."
"Indeed it does…"
In a moment, I felt him push me back so that I was pinned against the wall. I wasn't sure what he was doing when he started, but in the end I understood. The soft kisses he lay on my neck and the speed at which he unbuttoned my shirt were clear indicators of what was about to happen. I wanted it so badly, I almost lost my better judgment. He had my shirt off me and on the ground while his hands played over my skin before I managed to interject.
"Holmes!" I breathed, almost passionately. "Holmes, my maids are awake! Please… Tonight?"
Holmes stopped, pulling away from me and looking down, in a somewhat flustered state himself. "You… You are correct. Many apologies, John."
I tensed again. He never used my first name. Never. For some reason, it caused a shudder and only made me want him more, but I knew I would have to wait. I could not let us be discovered, or it was the ropes for us. Even with half of Scotland Yard on our side we could be doomed.
"Holmes, you know the danger of us…"
"Shh." He warned. "Do not speak of that. I will keep us safe, sweet Doctor." He pulled me closer to keep me warm without my shirt. "I will see that we are safe…"
"I trust you." My head rested once more on his chest and I allowed my eyes to close as he ran his hand through my hair a few times. We remained so for almost a half hour before I stepped away, picking up my shirt and pulling it back on. "Now Holmes… Care to explain exactly HOW this has all been possible?"
"Oh, yes… I suppose there is that matter." He frowned and seated himself on my desk, in front of my chair. I took my seat on the chair, looking up at him and waiting for him to explain. "It is a long story… And I do hope you wont be cross…" He was frowning again, but leaned forward and kissed me once more. "but it begins with my wonderful defeat, of that scoundrel Moriarty."