This fic is inspired by Volcano, a beautiful song by Damien Rice, which I highly recommend you listen to while reading this fic. I don't know – it sets the mood. The lyrics at the end of this fic are from the same song.
MILES OF SEA
Mary, beautiful Mary, in her mother's white gown and veil, his mother's pearls around her graceful neck, looks at him, smiling.
Watson can't figure out for the life of him why he is so bloody nervous. He tells himself it's the fact that he's holding the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world in front of God and everyone he's ever known and tolerated for more than twenty minutes. He tells himself it's not the man sitting at the back of the church, fingers itching for his violin or a bottle of gin. It's not those gray eyes that make his hands tremble over hers. They're so soft, her hands, he feels guilty for pressing his calloused palms against them.
Guilt. The doctor knows a lot of guilt. He tells himself not choosing Holmes as his best man was kindness. He tells himself that when he swallows, he doesn't think of the pale column of throat under the collar of Holmes's shirt.
He's my friend. He should be happy for me.
Holmes is far from happy. Sure, he put on a clean coat and shaved this morning. Sure, he crawled out of the dark sitting parlour that smells of stale liquor and the blood from the strings on his violin. Sure, Gladstone is somewhere under Watson's customary armchair, giggling like some giddy schoolgirl instead of the watery-eyed pug that he is. Sure, he looks every part the slightly barmy detective everyone takes him to be but he can't stop the trembling of his hands even as he tucks them into his pockets. He can't stop the clenching in his chest as Watson kisses Mary or the shaky breaths as they walk back down the aisle, hand-in-hand.
Their eyes meet for a brief moment, gray against blue. Time seems to stop. Breaths catch in throats, collars seem too tight. Holmes has an overwhelming urge to rush forward, social niceties be damned, and shake Watson and hit him and kiss him and hold him and hold him and –
The moment is over.
The married doctor looks to his bride and kisses her gently. When he looks up, his friend is gone. And he can't help but feel something else is well.
What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea
This will probably remain a oneshot but I might consider it extending to something multi-chaptered, depending on the feedback I recieve. Please let me know what you think.
Edit: Miles of Sea will now be multi-chaptered. Please stay tuned for updates! And don't forget to review ~