When Watson Doesn't Know What He Wants

It had been a long day for one Doctor John Watson. He had spent all day seeing patient after patient and he was completely exhausted. He wished nothing more than to put his feet up by the fire, whiskey in hand and finish the novel he had started almost three months ago, but he knew his flat mate would be bustling with energy.

Holmes had finished his case a couple of days ago and Watson knew it would be a week or so before he began to sink into one of his notorious black moods. For now though, Watson would have to put up with his friend bouncing off the walls and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Closing the double doors of his practice rooms behind him, Watson sighed and braced himself before entering the sitting room. The sight of Holmes sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire was not unusual. The sight of Holmes sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with the entire contents of Watson's house-call gladstone bag spread out around him was also not particularly unusual. Sighing tiredly, Watson crossed over to his friend and began putting the things back into the bag.

"I've asked you not to touch my bag." He said as he twisted a pair of scissors out of Holmes' fingers and tossed them into the bag.

"I needed a sticking plaster." Holmes told him, looking extremely put out as Watson packed away the rest of his things.

"What for?" Watson questioned while trying to ignore the expression on his dear friend's face. Even though Holmes was (again) destroying his property, he always made Watson feel bad for putting a stop to what ever he was trying to do.

Holmes held out his left hand for Watson to inspect his palm. Taking the offered hand, Watson tilted it towards the light from the fire to get a better look. Across the delicate flesh of his palm was a short deep gash. It had stopped bleeding, but looked angry and sore.

"How did you manage to do this?"

"I broke a test tube whilst trying to combine sulphuric acid and-"

"Please tell me you didn't break the one with the acid in it?" Watson asked.

"If you let me finish, I was going to say that I was trying to combine sulphuric acid and red wine, a merlot to be exact, and-"

"Holmes, please. I am very tired. Let me clean this up and wrap it in a bandage. Plaster won't stick to your palm very well. You should have come and let me tend to it when you first injured yourself." Rummaging through his annoyingly messy gladstone, he pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton wool.

"You told me to go away."

Closing his eyes for a moment in frustration, Watson clenched his teeth to prevent himself saying something mean. Instead he began roughly cleaning the wound, causing Holmes to hiss in pain and try to pull away. Watson held on tightly to his hand. "I told you to go away because I had patients and you were annoying me. You know quite well that had you told me you were hurt I would have helped you."

Holmes didn't reply as he sulkily watched the doctor bandage his palm with more care than he had cleaned it with. When he was done, Watson collected the rest of his things and got to his feet, his war wounds aching in protest. He watched Holmes sulk for a long moment before suddenly feeling the urge to get away from Baker Street and head over to his club for dinner and drinks, despite his exhaustion. He didn't have the patience, energy or will to baby sit Holmes tonight and decided to leave him to his own devices. He needed time to think, to clear his head. He needed some alone time somewhere quiet.

Leaving the sitting room, he entered his own room and dumped`his bag on his bed. Quickly changing his jacket and replacing his tie with a cravat, Watson fixed his hair and returned to the sitting room. Holmes hadn't moved and ignored Watson as the doctor crossed over to the dinner arranged neatly on the clear space on the table. Lifting the lid on a serving plate he noticed that the food was stone cold and completely untouched.

"Holmes why haven't you eaten?" He asked glancing across at his friend who was still not looking at him.

"I was waiting for you so we could eat together." Came the petulant reply.

"Well you are going to have to eat on your own. I'm going out to my club for the evening." Watson said as he crossed to the door.

Holmes was suddenly on his feet and in front of Watson, blocking his path to the door. "Can I come? Just give me a few minutes and I'll get changed and-"

"No Holmes. I don't want you to come. Stay here and eat your dinner."

"But-"

"I want an evening to myself. I want to be able to spend a few hours in civilised company without you embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you?" Holmes asked meekly, dropping his gaze to his shoes.

"Yes, embarrassing me Holmes. You know you are quite good at it don't you?" He snapped.

"I. . ." Holmes trailed off.

"I just need an evening, Holmes." Watson said in a softer tone. "You understand, don't you?"

Holmes gave a half shrug.

"Good. Now I don't know what time I'll be back. I'll get Mrs Hudson to warm your dinner up again and I want you to eat it, alright?" Watson didn't wait for his friend's reply as he took his over coat and hat from the stand and stepped around Holmes to the door. Feeling a prod at his shoulder, he turned back to find Holmes holding his cane out to him, though he kept his eyes downcast, his entire demeanour downtrodden and rejected. Taking it from him he gave his friend a small smile. "I won't be too long. Just stay here and behave."

Opting not to take a cab, Watson walked through the cold evening air before arriving at his club. He entered the welcoming atmosphere, greeting several other men on his way through to the bar where he ordered a whiskey and took a seat.

Watson was unaware of how long he had been sitting alone in the quiet bar though the ice in his untouched glass had melted long ago leaving his whiskey weak and watery. It didn't appeal to him in the slightest leaving him to wonder why he had even bothered to order it. He had wanted this evening alone, but his mind kept playing Holmes' crest fallen expression as he left him behind, over and over again. Watson felt terrible about taking his exhaustion out on his poor friend. Holmes hadn't done anything wrong. He was just being his harmless self.

He knew Holmes couldn't help that he didn't understand personal boundaries and personal space. He knew the detective wasn't to blame for himself having a bad day and being so damn tired that he couldn't even keep his mouth shut when he should have.

Holmes' confusion and hurt as Watson had said awful things to him made the doctor bite his lip to prevent a wave of tears escaping. Ridiculous! Watson suddenly hated himself for being so pathetic to think he needed to have any 'alone time'. He was tired for god's sake! He needed sleep. He needed Holmes. He loved the man with all his heart.

Standing suddenly, Watson slapped a few coins down onto the bench to pay for his untouched drink and left the establishment. He hurried out to the street and waved down a hansom with an old, tired looking horse with an even older, tired looking driver.

"Baker Street, 221B, my good man." He told the driver as he climbed inside.

Twenty minutes later, Watson cursed at himself for taking such a worn down hansom as the trip shouldn't have taken nearly this long. When they finally did arrive at Baker Street, he exited the cab and paid the driver. Casting one last look at the poor half dead horse (and feeling sorry for making the beast trot all the way here),
Watson made his way up the stairs and through the front door into the warm hall of 221B.

"I hope you had a fine evening, Doctor." Mrs Hudson said as she came from the kitchen to take his over coat and hang it on the peg by the door.

"Yes, thank you." He gave her a smile. "Did Holmes eat anything?"

"Of course not, not even a bite, even after I warmed it up for him. What a waste!"

"I do apologise again for needing to go out, Mrs Hudson."

"Oh, never you mind. At least those little street rats appreciated my cooking." She gave him a slight smile, before it dropped and she looked concerned. "Doctor, I cannot help but notice that Mr Holmes is already in one of his bleak moods. He's already curled up in bed and refused to talk to me. Did his case not go according to plan?"

Watson felt his heart clench painfully as he realised Holmes had been more affected by the evenings events than he had thought. "He's just sulking, Mrs Hudson." He said, trying to smile reassuringly. "You know how he gets when he doesn't get his own way."

"Hmm, well, I will bring up some sandwiches for you both. See if you can get him to eat something." She said, before making her way back to the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Watson walked up the stairs and went to Holmes' bedroom. He paused at the door before deciding not to knock and entered the room. It was dark inside, so he lit the gas lamp on the nearby stand. Seeing Holmes lying on his bed facing the wall, Watson removed his good dress jacket and cravat, then lay down on the bed close behind his friend so his chest was touching the lithe man's back. He kissed the nape of his lover's neck though did not speak. He knew Holmes was awake and he could tell his friend wanted to say something, so he waited.

"Do you hate me?" Holmes eventually asked. His tone was nonchalant, but Watson was not fooled.

"No."

"I think you do."

"What would make you think that?" He asked stroking the soft skin at the back of his neck. He knew Holmes had moments of self doubt and periods of feeling worthless when it came to their relationship, so he always let him speak before he reassured him. He knew Holmes had never been in any form of relationship and, even after they had been together for nearly a year, it was still the one thing he didn't truly understand.

"How could anyone love me?" He said after a lengthy pause.

Watson's heart felt twist and he bit his lip to keep silent. He kissed the dark hair and put an arm around his lover and waited.

"You said I embarrass you. And I annoy you. And. . .And you need civilised company. I waited for you for dinner and you left." He paused again. "I'm sorry I cannot be who you want me to be."

"Who do you think I want you to be?"

"Normal."

Unable to take this current round of self doubt any longer, Watson forced Holmes to roll over onto his back. Leaning down over him Watson kissed his lips chastely.

"I love you exactly as you are and I never, ever, ever, ever want you to change for anyone. I love everything about you. Sometimes you annoy me, sometimes you embarrass me and sometimes you bloody well infuriate me, but it does not make me love you less." He smoothed back the dark hair and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"But you didn't want to have dinner with me and you left me."

"I am just a tired, grumpy old sod who thought a night out somewhere quiet was just what I wanted. It wasn't. I sat there on my own and wondered what I was doing."

"You don't hate me?"

"Never. Can you forgive me for being a cad?"

Holmes nodded. "I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"I don't want you to be perfect. I want you to be you." He lent down and kissed him deeply. As they separated for air, he lent in close and whispered; "Do you know what else I love?"

Holmes shook his head with a frown as he noticed Watson's evil little smile.

"I love all your ticklish bits."

Holmes cried out as Watson launched his attack, tickling him ruthlessly and pinning him to the bed. He tickled him until he was crying tears of laughter and gasping for breath. He loved the sound of Holmes' laughter. It was a sound that wasn't heard nearly as often as it should be.

Deciding he'd had enough, Watson let up on his assault and kissed him again. Holmes kissed back hungrily and pulled Watson down closer. Watson slid a hand up under his shirt and down Holmes ribs and nipped at his neck.

"I think I'd better lock the door." The doctor whispered.

In the sitting room Mrs Hudson set the plate of sandwiches down on the coffee table and rolled her eyes as she heard the bolt slide home on the bedroom door.

"Boys." She muttered as she left the room. "As if I don't know what they get up to. They must think me a stupid old woman indeed."