Watson sat down on his bed, still stunned by Holmes' reaction towards him. Yes they fought frequently, but never to the point in which Holmes lost his temper so wildly. He shook the image of Holmes' wild eyes from his head and cleared his throat uneasily, settling into the silence of the room and beginning to undress.
_
He was the first one up in the morning, as always. Donning his dressing gown, he grabbed his cane and limped out of his room, glancing at Holmes' still closed bedroom door and went down to the kitchen for tea. 'I wonder what has him so worked up...' Watson thought to himself, honestly worried about his best friend. Usually they told each other everything, no matter the personal aspect of the given matter. They were closer than most lovers. Watson smiled lightly at the thought before jumping at a loud explosion from upstairs. Smile quickly fading into a frown, Watson sighed and sat down at the kitchen table, pouring himself a cup of tea from the tray that Mrs. Hudson had left. 'Guess he's up...'.
Holmes hadn't slept. He hadn't even glanced at his bed. His eyes wild with exhaustioin, he ran a hand through his ravenous hair, looking down at the shattered glass he had been mixing his latest concoction in. He felt bad for yelling at Watson last night. He didn't know how to handle the situation. They were best friends for christ sake. Best. Friends. What was he supposed to say?" 'Oh, Watson old boy, by the way. I am completely unequivocally totally in love with you'. Yeah, that would go over well. Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 'Things wont be the same now...I'm sure of it'. Realizing he wouldn't be able to face Watson, he quickly dropped his dressing gown to the floor and changed his clothes, changing into a new white shirt, black trousers and one of Watson's waistcoats that he stole. Grabbing his hat and jacket, Holmes made his way out his bedroom door, down the 17 steps and out the door of Baker Street without looking towards the kitchen, feeling Watson's eyes on him. He needed to get away, to clear his head. He found himself wandering down by the docks, not even looking for a destination, just for some clarity towards his feelings. 'Is this...is this really happening?' He thought about how his pulse quickened every time Watson walked in the room, and how Watson's smile sent him over the edge every time he beamed at him. How he found it hard to breathe when Watson's fingers brushed his when they handed things to each other, and how he laid awake at night, holding a pillow close to himself wishing that it was him. 'This is pathetic...' Holmes sighed, kicking one of the boat ropes that was laying in a heap on the dock. 'He's an established gentleman. He would never return these feelings. Never.' Deciding that he wouldn't be returning home for the rest of the day, Holmes set out for an early morning drink at one of the pubs downtown, planning on drinking his way into a stupor.
It was 9 o'clock in the evening and Watson was pacing the floorboards. Holmes wasn't back yet and he was more than worried. 'Where is he, where could he have gone. Is he okay? Does he need me? Is it a case? I hope he's not injured'. Watson's head was full of thoughts. He sat down in Holmes' armchair and bent over, picking up the Holmes' dressing gown that was laying on the floor. He slowly brought it towards his chest, closing his eyes and taking in Holmes' scent. Tobacco and mint. He felt his heart flutter and laid back into the armchair, the dressing gown resting in his lap.
"Oh, Holmes...if you only knew..".