Here's a short little scene I wrote for the weekend writing prompt on Watson's Woes. No warnings whatsoever to mention -- I hope you like it!
"For goodness' sake, Holmes, don't look so gloomy! We're here to have fun."
The two of them were strolling down a beautiful country road, with lovely wildflowers blooming on either side and tall trees shading over the lane. A gentle breezy stirred the air and sent carefree clouds gliding across the balmy summer sky. But Holmes' face looked about as cheerful as a thundercloud, with no sign of lightening up.
"Pray, define 'fun,'" Holmes returned, kicking at a loose rock that appeared to have offended him.
Watson sighed in exasperation. "Really, Holmes, you're not exactly a model patient. You're supposed to enjoy yourself! Lay down all the ordinary stresses and vexations and do something that amuses you."
"In that case," Holmes said, "I was having 'fun' back in London. I see no reason why you should have to bring me out here when I was perfectly happy as I was."
"You were also neglecting to eat and rest far more often than is healthy," Watson reminded him. "Surely fainting twice in the space of a week from lack of nourishment is a little much?"
"But Watson, the case -- "
"Not to mention the fact that you were falling asleep if you sat anywhere for more than sixty seconds."
"Well…"
"Honestly Holmes, what am I supposed to do when I come downstairs for breakfast and nearly trip over you because you collapsed as soon as you came in the doorway?"
Watson took the silence that followed to signify embarrassment on Holmes's part. He risked a sideways glance and found the detective's chin sunk deep into his collar despite the warmth of the day, his eyes brooding.
"Neither of us are as young as we used to be, Holmes," Watson said gently. "Maybe we should stop behaving as if we are."
Holmes didn't look at him, and took a few moments more of brooding before responding. "Surely it is a dreadful thing, is it not, to look forward and see only a downward spiral in front of you?"
"Oh, surely it isn't that bad, Holmes?"
Holmes smiled sardonically. "No, Watson: I see it clearly now. Age has forced my hand. From this point on I must ever pull back until I withdraw altogether. And then what? How does one grow old?"
Watson contemplated the question for a few moments before the answer appeared in his mind, not sparkling and brilliant as he would have hoped, but some sort of an answer all the same.
"We'll leave that question until we come to it," he said. "Until then….we live." He pointed a butterfly as it lazily fluttered past. "Isn't it pretty?"
He glanced at Holmes to see a slow, reluctant smile growing on the face of the detective. "Yes," he murmured. "I suppose that is what one must do."
They strolled on down the lane, arm in arm, honestly enjoying themselves for the first time in a while.