This is my first ever Holmes/Watson fic, happened somewhere after I fell in love with the movie. Most of the times I write for the BBC version but when I wrote this, we didn't know about its existence so...xD Anyway, I'm publishing it, as it was hidden on my computer for too much time and it's time to think of emotions as well not just of the shamless hot sex I'm mostly writing about... xD

Have fun, my dear Readers :)

Liz

If Only

On a road to a small estate near Chichester.

5:23 pm.

"You were right, Holmes, this place really is beautiful."

"I'm always right, old boy." He smiles at me as our carriage takes us through a green valley.

"It is nice of your brother to let us stay here for a couple of days."

"Well, Mycroft would do anything to please me. He needs my help for a case." He looks out of the window.

"I don't understand, how is it possible that Sherlock Holmes would rather go out for a holiday, even if it's a short one than stay at home, solving a case?" I'm calling him to account. If we are here, only because of me, than we should go back right now. I don't need his pity.

"This isn't the greatest mystery, my dear Watson. I have already solved his... so called case." He answers lightly, but I feel the pride in it.

"I thought you said, your brother would do anything for you because he needs your help, not because you helped him."

"Yes I said that." He is looking out again, studying the great oaks or maybe just thinking.

"Then...?" Why do I always have to pull each and every word out of him one by one?

He sighs as he looks at me. Great, now I feel stupid again.

"There was no case. One of his men never went back to work. He thought something bad had happened to him. Poor Mycroft and his logic. The missing worker went to Columbia with the housemaid."

"So then, may I assume, that you didn't tell this to your brother?" I didn't have to be Sherlock to know the answer.

"Yes, you can."

"And why on earth didn't you tell him, that you know exactly where his worker is?"

Holmes looks at me, with his great hazel eyes. A cocky smile appears at the corners of his mouth.

"Just because."

This man and his twisted logic will bring me to my death. I'm quite sure of this.

"Look, we've arrived!" He shouts, jumping out of the moving wagon.

6:05 pm

As we unpack our baggage, Holmes tells me about the house we will live in for the next few days. It was rebuilt by his brother about ten years ago. He rarely used it, only in winters; he loved to come up here to hunt. As we are in the middle of the summer, there hadn't been anyone here in about five months. The servants had cleaned most of the rooms for us, before we arrived, but there are still some secondary bedrooms, which were not dirt free. Holmes had already told his brother that we wouldn't need many servants, so only three people help us carry our luggage. Charles, Amy and their son, Benedict. Charles was the one, who looked after the house when the owner wasn't here. He and his family lived in a small cottage, right next to the estate.

I don't have time to look around, we are already in the house. It's pretty and elegant. There is a huge fireplace in the living room and when I look closely I notice that there is even a tiger rug in front of it.

"The two of you are really brothers..." I murmur shaking my head slightly.

Benedict walks me to my room. I throw my luggage down and look out of the window. It's clear that I won't spend too much time in here. This place is stunning. There are huge trees everywhere I look, a river flows close to the house, the sun shining on its surface, seducing me already to go down there and cool myself off in the cold water. But unfortunately it has to wait. I have to unpack first and I'm sure that after we have finished Amy will be ready with dinner.

7:13 pm

Amy made a wonderful dinner for us. We ate lamb but she used some kind of spicy flavoring that I couldn't identify. I must ask Holmes, I'm sure he knows what it was.

"Where are you going, my dear friend?" I hear his gentle voice behind me. I'd rather go to the river by myself, but I couldn't refuse his company.

"I just wanted to take a walk after this delicious meal. Would you like to join me?"

We are ambling next to each other among the bushes, listening to the sounds around us. We don't talk. We don't have to. Our relationship has reached a level where silence is not frustrating but comfortable and calming.

And I think I need to calm myself down right now. After what happened in the last few days, after I split up with Mary... I just don't feel like myself anymore. Or maybe this is who I am in reality.

I'm still not sure if I have done the right thing. But there is one thing I know, after I did it, after I said good bye to her, my heart felt relieved. It was like I was carrying tons of stones but then, after those words, I dropped them, left them in that doorway.

We reach the river. I sit down on a stone and look at the water. It is flowing slowly, but it seems deep enough to swim in it. I grab a few rocks and throw them into the running water one by one.

I don't have to look back, I feel that Holmes is looking at me. I always feel some kind of tickling at the back of my neck when he does that.

"You know, Mycroft has a great wine collection; before we head back to the house we could try one of his Chardonnays, if you wish."

As I turn back, I realize there are two glasses and a bottle in his hands. How could I have missed them during our short walk to the river? Without a word, I nod, smiling at him.

He sits next to me, reaching the glasses out to me to hold them while he opens up the bottle with his clever fingers. The cork comes out in silence and Holmes pours out the crimson red wine into the two glasses.

As he takes his glass from my hand, his fingers brush lightly against mine. For a second I close my eyes and think about how pleasing the feeling is. If only he knew this. If only he knew how I felt... about him.

I open up my eyes. Brown eyes are staring at me, observing.

"Cheers!" We say at the same time, clinking the glasses together.

The wine is strong, full bodied, even the first drop makes me a bit dizzy on this warm summer evening.

"Amy is a great cook, isn't she?" I ask him, before he could ask me about Mary. I know he wants to ask me about her, about why I left her. But I'm not ready to answer yet. I don't know what to say when he raises that question. To be honest, I already had the answer, only two words long, but that response will not leave my mouth as long as I live. And those two words are: For. You.

"Yes, indeed she is. Really great. That lamb was phenomenal. Did you taste that special spice? It was like saffron but somehow different..."

"I wanted to ask you about it, but it looks like you don't know either." I laugh.

"There are some mysteries in the word for me as well, my Watson. Maybe not many, but there obviously are some." He laughs too, taking another sip of the wine.

One tiny drop starts running down from the corner of his lips. My eyes are automatically following the crimson trail it's leaving until it disappears under Holmes's white shirt.

"Why are we here, Holmes?" I can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did you bring me here?" I'm angry now. Why am I angry? He didn't do anything to me, a moment ago everything was perfect.

"I told you before. I wanted to spend a few days here after you... After my last case. And when it turned out that you are... That you and... That..."

"That Mary and I broke up..."

"Yes, that, I invited you as well."

"Holmes, it's me, your friend, your Watson." Yours. Only yours. "You don't take holidays; you are desperate to solve cases. Your mind rebels at stagnation, remember? Why on earth would you come here after a hard case? Usually you just bury yourself in another crime."

He looks at me, eyes narrowed.

"I..." He doesn't say anything else, just jumps up and heads back to the house.

"Holmes...! Wait, Holmes!" I'm calling for him but he doesn't hear me. Or just doesn't want to.

I left Mary for this man. First of all, he is a man. We could never have a normal relationship, not in this time. It's forbidden, blameworthy, disdained, they would say, but when I look at him, words like trust, love, need, respect echo in my mind.

Moreover, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, doesn't care about emotions. I came back to a man, who will never think of me as I think of him, who will never love me back.

Half of the bottle is already empty and as I stand up the strong red wine and warm evening air makes me feel like the whole word is spinning around me. I grab the bottle and go back to the house.

8:42 pm

I'm in the living room, now. Holmes is not here, he is nowhere to be seen. I'm lying on the comfortable settee in front of the fireplace, next to the rug. This tiger was a special white tiger, when it lived. It was huge, most likely a male. But who cares about that.

The wine-bottle lies next to me. It's empty... like me.

The door behind me opens and then closes. It could be anyone, but I know it's him. I can smell the tobacco and something else, maybe whisky.

"Why did you leave her? My dearest Watson, tell me, why did you leave her?" His voice is rough because of the whisky. If only I could tell him but I remain in silence.

"Watson, please tell me this one thing. When I told you that marriage is a curse and you should stay with me, you said I was crazy and that you loved Mary..."

That's right I love Mary. But there is someone I love much more...

"And after I give you my blessing, after I stop asking you to stay, you leave her? Why Watson, why?" As he talks he moves closer. He steps right before me and kneels down to see my face better. I'm still staring at the tiger's blue eyes, but when he places one hand on my knee my eyes are drawn back to hazel ones. When I look at them, I see only confusion. Sherlock Holmes doesn't know something but I know it. And I won't share my secret with him. Never. I shut my eyes, than look at the rug again. This is much safer I think, until I feel his right palm on my face.

His skin is soft, oh, so soft, and warm. His thumb caresses my cheek and I'm lost. Lost in his eyes, lost in his touch. How could this be possible, Holmes touching me like this? Gently, concerned? This must be a dream, and if it is, I want it to never end.

"Why, John?" His whispers and I hardly hear above the blood pulsing in my head.

"Oh, Sherlock..." is all I can say before I lean forward and kiss him.

Fin

As I said, just some cuteness :)

I'm gonna be 20 tomorrow (03.05) anyone wants to surprise me with some reviews? x)

'Every word opens a new gate."