So here we are with another story! :) Song fic with lyrics from my favorite Muse song. Must say that I completely ship this pairing; it's bloody canon...
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
It amazed Watson at times, the amount of time that had past since he had first been acquainted with the genius of a detective that resided at one 221B Baker Street. Even more so, the amount of things he had been through with the man. They had been through thick and thin together, it seemed, and were closer than brothers, sharing a relationship that few could possibly fathom. Watson knew more about Holmes than anyone else, save Mycroft perhaps.
And yet, the good doctor feared he had only begun to scratch the surface of the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. There was a mask of sorts, several in fact, which his good friend chose to wear. There was the gentleman, a man shown to be polite to random strangers, the investigators of Scotland Yard and to his clients. There was the sleuth, an unwavering guise Holmes donned when on the trail for clues to a mystery or when in an excited state of deduction, piecing the puzzle together. There was the morose and solemn Holmes, where so completely numb to the world, he would tell Watson, with the help of a needle and rubber tie, of the more depressing moments of his early life and his theologies on the world, before bowing a melancholy tune on his treasured instrument.
Watson found himself at most times during these episodes saddened, and at the same time determined. Determined to provide for and keep Holmes as well he could.
I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide
He wanted to cherish the detective as no one else did. He would give of himself freely; become the safe harbor Holmes could retreat to when he found his reserves of strength and mind-power depleted. Someone who would never turn him away.
It's cold and loveless. I won't let you be denied
He would be the stalwart and loyal friend when Holmes needed as such, and the person whom the detective could bounce ideas off of. He could back away when Holmes wanted solitude, and be the proverbial boot in the sometimes-arrogant man's ass when he was deserving of it.
Soothing, I'll make you feel pure. Trust me, you can be sure
And when Holmes was a tad more on the bruised side, adrenaline infused and rowdy from the process of venting his more violent tendencies in the fighting ring, Watson would be the one to tend to his injuries with chiding words and hidden smile.
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
There were the quiet evenings in between however, when no case was hovering over the pair and they could both simply relax in each other's company. It was during these times where Watson could simply admire his companion's inherent charm, the contrasts between the poised and relaxed Holmes, the way the soft candescent light from the room's lamps lit his face. And it was every so often during these quiet evenings where Watson would be privy to one of Holmes' private concerts, and would be content to listen to the heart achingly beautiful notes pulled from the strings beneath the detective's fingers and take in the content smile on his detective's face.
I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask
Moriarty was not just a thorn in Holmes' side, but in his as well. How could the devil-of-a-man not be, when he caused his detective such trouble? Many a time, Watson had wished he could simply murder the man where he stood, simply to eradicate an irremovable, burdening cloud from over Holmes' head. In his more fanatical, dark musings, he wished to see the light draining from the devil's eyes…but such thought was not befitting a good doctor as he. His duty was to heal now, not to harm.
But there was so many times when he wanted the opposite. Every time someone threatened his beloved friend, he wanted to beat the life from them, to glare down the appreciative gazes of those who took an interest in the detective, especially that dreadful Adler woman.
He wanted to be the guardian that stood between Holmes and the ghosts that haunted him. Fight off the pain he saw etched into heroin-dulled eyes. Chase away whatever plagued the detective and all that ever would.
I want to exorcise the demons from your past
But out of all the faces of Holmes' that Watson was subjected to, it was the one Holmes reserved for him in secret, stolen moments that the doctor loved the most. When the detective would murmur his given name with a harsh, "John."
It was a tango in the dark most of the time, this secret dance of theirs; lips would meet in shadowed alcoves or doorways, touches that seemed merely friendly or brotherly to others, a hand on the shoulder, a fixing of a hastily done bowtie, a pat on the leg, were made the caress and touch of a lover with a hidden look.
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart
It discouraged Watson, when he would see the mask of forced politeness and cold indifference slide over Holmes' face when faced with either his brother or the Adler chit. He supposed it was a defense mechanism of sorts with the two; Holmes hiding whatever pain he had suffered at the hands of either.
He loved the fact that the man was more apt to show those hidden emotions with none other than himself, and yet, it killed him a little inside to see it pushed behind that icy, intelligent façade.
You trick your lovers that you're wicked and divine
There was much one could find at fault with the man Sherlock Holmes. He could be quite arrogant at times, looking down upon those he deemed intellectually inferior to one such as he. He was also apt to mood swings of an alarming variety, and excitable at the most random of times.
The heroin was perhaps Watson's worst enemy. Its suffocating grip on Holmes left the doctor in an infuriatingly helpless state when the detective's lapses struck. Perhaps it was the proud man's denying of an addiction that maddened Watson so, or maybe the way the tell-tale pock marks met his sight each time he saw the bare skin of Holmes' arms. It, however, made no difference when he was left picking up the pieces the man had smashed himself into each time.
And despite all, the tender moments where Holmes would share with him one of those rare smiles would make it all worth it.
You may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine
Such was Holmes and his demons, but Watson had gone past all that, in his urge to know and fully understand the man. He wanted him on a level that transcended need. He wanted Holmes to be completely focused on him and him alone, to show him the one face that no one else had been privy to.
With every gentle touch that turned into one of a more impassioned motive, with every caress that left clothes discarded haphazardly in the dark and them short of breath, Watson sought to break down the walls the other had built.
Please me. Show me how it's done
Yes, it was when Holmes came to him needy and wanting, pushing against him, within him, that Watson hoped that this was the true face of Sherlock Holmes, laid bare for only him to fully see. That every groan, gasp, and whispered endearment was a secret admission of the feeling the other held for him.
And it was in that one moment where they both would reach the pinnacle together and come undone where Holmes would clasp Watson to him with a pleasured gasp and continue to clutch him, as if to never let him go, that the doctor felt most at peace and content, until the budding feelings of pent-up desire would ensnare them once more.
Tease me. You are the one
It was when Watson would look upon the sleeping, content face of his beloved detective when he could finally whisper the words he was forced to keep inside while in the outside world. It was when he could whisper, "I love you," into Holmes ears without fear of being caught by others. Many might ponder at the how, when, and why of his love, but no matter…
Trust me. You are the one
For Watson, it had always been elementary.
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