A/N: The characters in this story do not belong to me in any other sense than the symbolic, in which they belong to all of us. Also, I totally hijacked them for my own purposes here.

Holmes sat with Watson at the fireplace in their apartment, trying to pretend to himself that this night was just like any other the two had enjoyed. Watson was reading the paper, and Holmes was going over his latest letters, all entreaties for his help in small matters. One woman's favorite necklace had gone missing; another's husband was cheating on her and hiding it poorly.

More and more often, he was receiving letters requesting his help in petty theft cases and minor disputes. He hated it, but soon, with no one to help him with his investigations, he would be relegated to smaller matters, at least for a time; this was something he was going to have to accept, something to which he would eventually adjust. The more he thought about it, the more upset he became; the more upset he became, the more he ached for his needle. But Watson was only a few feet away, and so he would have to reign in his anger for the time being and deal with it after his friend had gone to sleep. After all, this was not a night for so tired an argument.

Watson peered over the top of his paper at Holmes. "So, are you ready to talk about it?"

Holmes looked up, startled by Watson's abrupt query. "Talk about what, Old Boy?" Holmes smiled dimly and waited for whatever issue had come up to resolve itself. He just wanted to pass the time quietly with his friend by his side. This would be their final night together, but Holmes wanted to believe it was just like any other evening spent in front of the fireplace.

"You've been tense and upset all day, Holmes. I know how you deal with issues. You let them fester just beneath the surface and then take them out on yourself with drugs and boxing matches. Can we just talk about this, just this once?" Holmes noted that Watson hadn't even tried to pretend he didn't know what was bothering him.

He thought for a moment about denying everything and going back to his letters, but he knew that Watson deserved the truth from him, along with so many other things. He took another moment to gather his thoughts, then tried to put them to the right words. So often in matters of such delicacy, the proper words came swiftly, or were not called for. This manner of uncertainty was a state to which Holmes was unaccustomed, nor did he particularly care to familiarize himself. He kept his eyes riveted on his letters as he began to speak. "This is rather difficult for me Watson," he admitted, honest as he was trying to be with his long-time friend and partner in that most noble pursuit. You see, the truth of the matter is…I'm afraid." Holmes looked up to meet Watson's eyes, steeling his resolve to best of his abilities. "I should think you know me well enough to know that I don't make such pronouncements lightly, but I am afraid."

Watson leaned forward in his chair, setting aside the forgotten paper as so much garbage, likely both intrigued and worried for his friend. Holmes could tell he was trying not to show his concern, but his brow furrowed all the same. "Afraid of what, Holmes?"

He took a deep breath, aware he had already taken the proverbial plunge, but still wary of the words he was about to speak. "Afraid of losing someone I've come to care for, perhaps a great deal more than I feel I should. I think I…." He shook his head, shutting down the thought before it grew to words. "I care a great deal for you, Watson. I've come to depend on your presence in my life, to rely on you, and I'm afraid to lose you."

Watson leaned back in his chair and remained silent for a long moment. Holmes saw the shift in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Watson had made a decision, though it didn't seem as though it was a decision with which he was particularly pleased. He continued to look Holmes in the eye as he laughed aloud, but it was a joyless laugh. When he spoke, his scathing tone conveyed a deep frustration and even anger. "Holmes, you aren't afraid of losing me because you care for me, you're afraid of losing your doting assistant, your devoted little errand boy. It's taken me so long to come around to it, but I see through you now. You're afraid to be alone in the flat, with only your self-loathing to keep you company." He stood from his chair and walked to the far side of the room, holding his back to the other man.

Holmes gaped for a moment, truly surprised by his firend's response. "Watson, I'm trying to tell you that I love you. Is that all you have to say to me?"

Watson spun around, scoffing at his proclamation. "I can scarcely believe how truly petty you are. You don't love me. If you did, you would not have waited until I had Mary, until I had some small manner of happiness all to myself, one thing in my life I could realistically call my own without you trying to take at least partial ownership, to say something. You do not love me. You are incapable of it."

"Watson, I just…I wanted you know how I felt before…"

"Before what? Before I finally move past this…I don't even know what this is that we have. Maybe, maybe there was a time when I…. No. Please, if you are any kind of friend, do not insult me. I know you. You don't love me, you just simply cannot stand the thought of sharing me." He looked at Holmes with what approached a fraction of the disgust Holmes often felt for himself.

Holmes felt his pain turn to anger, becoming unmanageable, turning itself outward, even as he opened his mouth to speak. His words sounded harsh in his ears. "I should not have to share you, Watson! You are mine! I—I had you first!" Holmes sprang out of his chair to join Watson across the room.

"You're a spoiled bloody child, Holmes, do you know that?" Watson once again turned his back to Holmes.

"I am no child, Watson!" Holmes could hardly believe the words coming from the mouth of his most trusted, most loyal friend. Perhaps he had fooled himself to believe that after all they had been through, after even those most recent days, things would be any different.

"Then prove it! I dare you! Prove to me that you can act in any way unlike the selfish brat one comes across in the market! Act like an adult for the first time since I've known you and let me go without trying to guilt me into staying." There was something in his voice toward the end of his string of insults that approached pleading in quality.

Holmes turned Watson roughly around to face him, and he saw for the first time the unguarded expression Watson had been trying to hide. His face was drawn, and his eyes were red-rimmed; Watson was crying. Holmes's anger evaporated at the sight of him. He took Watson gently by the front of his jacket and kissed him, lightly at first, but with a growing intensity and passion, the way he had always dreamed it would be to kiss Watson. He backed away after a long moment, expecting to see his firend's face softened, a willingness to have a real discussion. Instead, he saw anger, a heretofore unknown rage in Watson's eyes.

"You…are a real bastard." Watson stormed from the room, and in his anger made a racket such that Holmes was able to follow his progress down the stairs and out the front door, which he slammed with a great force.

Holmes followed him with his eyes through the walls, until he turned to see a mirror hanging on Watson's wall. His own room held no mirrors, all of them having either been destroyed (by his own hand) or removed (by Watson's, tired as he was of cleaning broken glass off his friend's floor). As such, it was not often Holmes had occasion to truly look at himself. While he did, as a matter of course, pass the odd reflective surface and catch enough of a glimpse of himself to straighten his tie when meeting with clients or taking dinner at a restaurant, this was something separate entirely. He was consumed by the need to take the first real look at himself he'd had in months. He was shocked to realize that he did not at all care for what he saw.

I wrote this something on the order of two years ago. I am attempting now to finish it, to lay it to rest, if you will. Do let me know what you think.