*Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction and I'm kind of new to this community so please, criticize as you would like! I would love comments to make it better and it's still being worked out so hopefully I'll add some more soon depending how it goes!*
Dr. Watson's point of view (POV):
In the duration of these last few weeks, events have taken place which can only be described as "unexplainable." Regardless of such, I will do my very best to explain these events in chronological-order, although there may be some difficulty, so bear with me!
It all started on a cool summer's afternoon. This afternoon wasn't particularly cool, as more frozen. Frozen being my expression towards the people partaking in this afternoon, rather than the weather itself.
There was almost a whirlwind swarming around me as I stormed through the front door of 221B Baker Street."You are INCREDULOUS! How on the earth do I ever put up with you? Mrs. Hudson, fetch me some tea. I need something to take my mind of off this UNFORTUNATE occasion," I ordered, practically throwing my jacket on the closest armchair, although I usually take care to hang it by the door.
"NO. Mrs. Hudson, prepare MY tea!" shouted Mr. Holmes, barely completely removing his jacket before flinging it over his personnel desk. "You have no need to take orders from- such an inconsiderate man such as himself!"
"You two are old enough to find the tea cups..," she began to reply but was barely audible over the steam releasing from our ears.
The colour in my face started to rise to the flesh, leaving my face as red as the boiling sun. "HIM? Is that what I am called now; HIM? This demotion is absolutely absurd! Excuse me, but I was not the one who rudely interrupted a fine date with a lovely lady. It is rare if I find time for recreation, Mr. Holmes, while dealing with patients on their death beds. Mrs. Hudson- the TEA!"
Sherlock brushed a raven-coloured curl out of his face before responding ever-so-strongly with, "I just wanted to make sure your lovely lady wasn't a part of the 'Black Lotus'! You should be THANKING me! Now, Mrs. Hudson, ignore Dr. Watson's (he emphasized 'Dr." in a mocking tone) tea requests, as he is a Dr., for he is so generous to remind us over and over again. Instead, bother with MY requests as I am only a-"
"I AM NOT YOUR MAID, MR. HOLMES AND DR. WATSON!" Both I, and Holmes, stared speechlessly at the frail woman who's eyes were usually full of innocence. "Good day," and with that, she was gone, down the stairs and out the door. where she was going, was unclear to me, but I assumed that if it were somewhere dangerous, Holmes would already be out the door chasing after her.
After a few dreadfully long minutes, Holmes spoke, so quiet and calm that it seemed surreal in comparison to the discussion just a few minutes prior, "She'll be back by seven." My eyes lingered up to his face, where I could just see the smallest bit of concern behind the grey wall surrounding his pupil. Instantly, I felt fatigue take over me, and settled in to the settee where I reached for the closest newsprint. I didn't unfold it. I didn't look at the words. I only peered at the faded print of a man's face, so disrupt with the bleeding of the ink, that it appeared he was a sort of menace. Even so, I knew who he was and his story, and in a sense, he was a sort of menace.
"Earl Grey, isn't it? The man who most don't speak of?"
Holmes peered down to where I sat, although he hadn't moved since Mrs. Hudson left. "Yes," was all he could say, so certain, yet so frail.
"And are you accusatory, as well?" I asked, more of a confirmation then anything. Everyone knew how prominent his crime was above all else and to defend him was to disobey London as a whole.
"I do believe I am. It would be unheard of to believe otherwise." It was a logical response coming from a logical man. I expected no different from Mr. Holmes, and yet, I yearned for more...
"You agree, don't you, Watson?"
"Of course," I said but paused ever so slightly and I wouldn't be performing deduction to figure out Mr. Holmes caught the hesitance in my voice. How could I even hesitate on answering a question such as that? Mr. Grey had committed a serious crime. In fact, one of the most pretentious crimes on the streets in London. Why would I ever question, for even a second, the penalty for falling in love with someone of the same sex? It was a felony, after all.
But that was all that was touched on that subject. Like me, Holmes decided things were better left unsaid.
Mr. Holmes POV:
John Watson was a seemingly obvious man to the regular mind. Unfortunately, my exquisite organs did not fall under the category of 'regular', and so, John Watson was as complicated as anyone I had ever met. Don't take my words in the wrong, as I could deduct his simple motifs and habits, but there was more to John than just these. It was John's feelings, whether happy or sad, which always clouded my judgement- especially when they pertained to me. I was at an absolute loss when it came to John Watson, and my loss would only grow deeper as the time passed by because, the longer I got to know Dr. Watson, the less I knew, and the more I became concerned for his well-being.
"You rested well, I presume." My voice carried from the delicately decorated sitting room, in to the kitchen where my view was blocked by the chair which John was so accustomed to. Regardless, I could tell John Watson had freshened up and entered the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea, as it was merely his morning ritual. I sometimes wondered whether he prayed for his everlasting supply of tea, as I had never seen us run out of his favourites.
"Actually, I was quite unsettled. Our little stir had left me concerned for Mrs. Hudson. You had expected her to be home by seven- but that wasn't the case was it? How is she doing?" He carried his small frame and full build in to our sitting room, where he took his usual spot across from myself.
"Yes. She warned me of her visit to France. As to why she chose now to leave this house after all these years, I'm unsure, but she exclaimed it was urgent... so I let her be."
"You planted something on her, didn't you? Holmes..."
We stared at each other for a few minutes, as Mr. Watson, was correct. Mr. Watson was ALWAYS correct when it came to my actions and precautions.
The moment of silence passed as we both curled our lips in to smiles, and let out synchronized laughs- the usual.
"Oh, Holmes... you sly dog!" he spoke between bittersweet laughs. "When will you learn to leave people to their own business!" He spoke as if our disagreement from last night was non-existent, which was something we quite commonly did as of late.
I paused laughing for a few moments, before offering, "Want to see?"
"I couldn't. I- Oh, alright... if only for a brief moment!" Although he spoke as though it went against his morals, he took no time in removing himself from his seat and practically jumping to my side of the settee. His shoulder brushed against mine as I grabbed his laptop from the desk and pulled up a screening website. Instantly I saw Dr. Watson's amusement in the little flickering lights and symbols which appeared on the screen. There were parallel and criss-crossed lines filling the screen to represent the streets, as well as labels to identify buildings and such. Within seconds both I, and Dr. Watson, were staring in awe at Mrs. Hudson's whereabouts. Her name showed up overlapping the words 'The Rose and Crown' a well-known pub in downtown France. "So you think-"
"Precisely. She is visiting an old friend. We should not bother her by worrying." It was quite clear Mrs. Hudson was up to no good, as most of her friendships had been disconnected after her troubles with her ex husband, but to worry Dr. Watson was waste of his concern. With his many medical examinations coming up, the extra stress was a burden, not too mention it would stop him from expressing his happiness through his defined smiles and laughter, which were ever-so charming.
"Alright... well, if you believe so, then it must be true." I could feel him adjust his weight so that he was no longer leaning in to my shoulder. "As you are the professional."
"Yes." I murmured, standing up from the settee. "Shall we do something more productive?"
"Such as...?"
"Solving a crime!"
Dr. Watson's POV:
I couldn't quite grasp the excitement Holmes carried when solving a case, but regardless, I kept a positive eye towards the otherwise negative situations. "Fabulous, Holmes. Simply fascinating." As always, he glanced my direction with an appreciative grin, but then washed it away as quick as it had formed, and faced Lestrade once again.
"You don't expect me to hand out compliments like your sidekick, do you?" Lestrade asked with a playful smile, before heading out the small villa in which Sally Hansen's murder had taken place. As Holmes and I followed closely behind, Holmes concluded the explanation to his rather intriguing discovery.
"It was quite clear when we found he handkerchief that it was her partner, Mr. Hansen. Only someone foolish enough to leave key evidence behind could be the committer of such a typical crime. Really, can't men forget their tedious emotions for long enough to pull a creative murder?"
Sherlock, with an expression so far from amusement, tightened his grip on his button-up trench coat, and began walking out the way we had came, with Lestrade pale of surprise- an expression Sherlock and I had grown accustomed to seeing. It was quite similar to the one I wore, except mine was full of amazement, whereas Lestrade's was more of annoyance. I didn't have to be a consulting detective to deduct Lestrade's plaintive emotions towards Sherlock. He was bewildered in the fascination of Sherlock, but also carried a sense of jealousy, as Sherlock could discover a case in a tenth of the time it would take for all of Lestrade's best-men.
"Coming?" Sherlock asked, turning his head for a split-second before trudging down the apartment's staircase. With a slight skip in my walk to catch up with Sherlock's long legs, I followed closely behind.
It was getting late by the time we returned to 221b Bakerstreet. Mrs. Hudson was still absent but the lights shone threw the upstairs window panes, illuminating the otherwise darkened street. As Sherlock picked the lock to the place where I had grown to call "home," I couldn't help peering at his face (I did it quite often, to be truly honest. It was quite difficult not to.) As always, there was a deepness to his almost perfectly chiseled cheekbones. I really hadn't met a man so defined in my life.
Spending my late nights, early mornings, and disastrously days in Afghanistan, I had grown so accustomed to men spending mere moments in my life discussing the reasons for their battle-wounds and then leaving to never be seen again, or, perhaps, leaving in front of my eyes. I would watch them fade away right before me with their eyes turned dark and their head rolled back. But Sherlock, well, Sherlock had been in my life for nearly four years now, and he had never left me- not by choice and nor by force. Aside from my sister Harriet, no one had stayed with me so long, not even my parents who so absent-mindedly shipped me away at any opportunity they were given. "Sherlock-"
The door gave a loud sigh as it un-hooked itself from place, and by Sherlock's force, was shoved open to reveal our main entrance. Our I thought to myself.
"I suppose we should head out to-"
"I-uh. I have plans, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock took a deep breath in, almost looking frustrated, before wiping his face bare and saying, nonchalantly, with a surge of bitterness behind his tongue, "Oh, I was mistaken. I had thought you would want to enjoy your company tonight. But I see, as always, I'm incorrect." He didn't hesitate to march up the stairs and what I'd assume was reach under his armchair to cradle his violin. Of course, I wouldn't actually know whether or not he reached for his violin, because with an exasperated expression, I turned away and walked back down the street to meet with another of the woman from my work- this one, well- dressed and manicured, carrying a confident yet dainty essence.
Mr. Holme's POV:
It wasn't as if I had followed Dr. Watson. Our meeting was nearly coincidence, but then again, the world was never so lazy as to allow coincidence take place.
At about 8 o'clock the same evening, I had been surprised to find myself famished. Retreating to the kitchen of John and I's flat, my luck grew thin when there was nothing but my latest dissections overflowing the refrigerator. I scavenged the house in search of even a pot of tea I could put on, but only John's favourites were in stock, so reluctantly, as I hated to go outside when not on a case, I headed down Baker Street, until I passed an aromatically lit diner. The building was dark with few candles and looked much less warm and inviting than Angelo's- the kind of place John enjoyed while on his stiff and artless dates. Without much thought, I removed my satin scarf and entered the shapely doors of the diner, oblivious to the sign reading 'Acapella's Diner'.
The overpowering scents of perfume and cologne and the image of fraudulent people chewing slowly and steadily in front of their partners with awkward table manners were soon lost in my vision. Sitting across from the central fireplace of the diner, was John and his very own fraudulent woman. She lay her legs out in a manner which just slightly brushed her knees with his own, she cradled her wine glass ever so carefully, leaning slightly in to John, and (most irritatingly!) she pursed her lips in a way that screamed for attention while focusing her eyes on John's. Whether this woman noticed how artificial and seemingly-typical she looked did not matter, for it was clear to any onlooker that this woman had more on her mind than just simply, dinner. Allowing John to fall for someone who looked much too comfortable repeating these actions which had given her nine partners, four of which she was wedded to previously, was unfathomable.
As a waiter came to seat me, he looked as though it were a sin to enjoy a meal in your own company. "Are you- uh waiting for someone?"
"No. Table for one. That one, please." I stated pointing to a table just behind John's, As I crossed the carpeted floors to take my place facing John I saw his eyes dart to me for the briefest moment. Although he placed a bothered expression on his face, I could see the sparkle behind his eyes that would normally associated with a smile.
John Watson's POV:
I couldn't help but to look past my date, Angela, and peer at my friend behind her. He sat all alone drinking as if he were with someone, but the seat in front of him was empty, it's back facing me- taunting me. I couldn't quite comprehend why I was being pulled towards that chair- theoretically, of course- but I was. I couldn't keep my eyes off of it, even as Angela lightly brushed my foot with her own.
"John," she pouted, looking intently at me. "Is there something the matter?
My eyes flashed her a forced smile and then went back to my menu in front of me. "No, of course not! I'm having a wonderful time, I just- I'm getting a little winded from all of these scents in the air." For the briefest moment she looked offended, as though I were referring to her perfume, and not the billions of candles which surrounded this diner. "No, no. You're keeping wonderful company, believe me. Please, don't worry." My voice trailed off as our waiter approached, bearing an uncanny resemblance to my friend, although he was still seated across from me.
"Can I get you something to drink to start?
"Actually, I think we're ready to order..." As Angela and I explained the exact preparation of our food (Angela's no-fat, no-sugar, no- anything-except-water diet) my eyes stayed focused on the lonely, yet seated in perfect company, chair. It's partner was accompanied by my best friend. The man I just couldn't keep my eyes off. He noticed my gaze and smirked, not letting me lose sight of his eyes.
The candle lit up his pale face and darkened his eyes. The hollows in his cheeks were carved almost perfectly, which made his cheek bones look more chiseled than any I had ever seen before. He was ever so beautiful; an almost perfect representation of what God must have wanted when he created man.
"John- John, what ever is the matter?" I turned back to face my seemingly-boring partner in envy of that empty chair. "It's as if you aren't even here."
"I' apologize my dear, I am truly sorry. It's just, my mind seems to be out at the moment. These candles are forcing me to hallucinate."
"Hallucina-" She whipped her head around to face the unoccupied chair and its partner, but by then, the pale man was back to focusing on other matters. "I just thought- I thought there may be a woman behind me."
"Hmm?" I asked, pondering her motives. "Why is that?"
"Well, you just- you seem as though you are caught up in lust. You can't keep your eyes off of whatever it is behind me, and yet, there doesn't seem to be anything you would interest. But the sparkle in your eyes-" I could feel the faintest flush of my cheeks that were doubtfully visible behind the candlelight. "You just, you seem as though you admire something more than me."
"No. Don't-" I could feel a lump catch in the bottom of my throat. It was true, I did admire my friend to great lengths, and I cared about him more than anyone I had ever met, but her ideas of me longing someone else's affections were not fitting to how I felt about Sherlock, or Mr. Holmes. "I'm just lost in thoughts, my dear. There is nothing that could capture my attention aside form you now."
"You probably say that to all of your lady friends" she sneered before two plates were set down in front of us. The way she said "lady friends" made my stomach turn.