Title: Tàladh Chriosd
Prompt: Watson sings Holmes to sleep.
0o0o
It is very late at night and Holmes' fingers tap in an unwieldy staccato against his thigh, radiating nervousness. Watson watches with concern as his lips move in a silent, trembling stream of nonsense words as he lies on the bed, curled up onto himself. Holmes' wide eyes are glazed with exhaustion, but he can't sleep, no matter how much he desires to.
The case has been too much, as some of their more involved cases usually are. Coupled with Holmes' tendency toward starvation and use of narcotics to tide himself over, he's brought himself to near wreckage once again.
Again. Watson wants to be cynical and uncaring, to let Holmes reap what he's sown, but he can't. It's not in his nature and besides, is there a better time to slide in beside Holmes and pull him into his arms, unresisting? To smooth down his wild hair, to pet him and comfort and listen to his stuttering heart-rate slow into something reasonable?
If only he could get him to sleep.
Watson thinks about the times he's been overtired, those nights in the trenches when his nerves were near past the point of breaking. The only thing that helped then was a memory of a lullaby, sung in the old tongue, perhaps by a nurse ... he can't exactly remember. But he remembers the words and the tune clearly enough.
Maybe it could work again.
With some embarrassment, Watson clears his throat and hesitantly sings. He knows his voice isn't the best but that's not the point of a lullaby, its beauty lies in its purpose, not its execution. The words stick on his tongue at first, then come more easily as he goes along.
Mo ghaol, mo ghràdh, is m'fheudail thu
M' ionntas ùr is m' èibhneas thu
Mo mhacan àlainn ceutach thu
Chan fhiù mi fhèin bhith 'd dhàil"
He can feel Holmes shift a little with surprise before settling in and losing himself to the song. His twitching ceases, his breathing slows and finally, his wound-up body lets go, relaxing completely into Watson's embrace.
The lullaby ends. Holmes is practically boneless in his arms, very close to sleep. "Beautiful," he murmurs. "What do the words mean?"
"No idea," Watson lies. "Go to sleep, Holmes."
"Yes," he whispers before drifting off.
Watson continues to hold him and with a final check to make sure he's asleep, begins the song again, this time in English.
"My love, my dear, my treasure are you
My new treasure and my joy are you
My beautiful fair one are you
I am unworthy to be near you
The sheep in the field sleep and sigh
Safe within my arms you lie
Blessed am I to hold you near
And feel your beating heart"
Perhaps it's for the best that he never quite sees a silent and secret grin curl over Holmes' lips.
o0o0o
end