This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"
Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)
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The figure in the bed sighed and rolled over to look at the door, his face illuminated by the faint candle light. "Whatever is the matter?" Holmes groaned.
Watson said nothing. He only came closer. Silently, he put the candle on the nightstand. Silently, he knelt down onto the bed. Wordless he crawled over to Holmes. Wordless, he kissed him.
Holmes frowned and wrapped an arm around him. "John are you alright?"
"How could I possibly be alright, knowing the state you are in. Oh, Sherlock..."
"I'm fine, don't worry about me. Go to bed, get some rest. Please..." Holmes murmured, stroking a thumb across John's cheek.
"I fear it is too late anyway. There will be not much use in attempting to sleep now." Watson sighed.
"Why too late? If you really want to stay in here for the night, you can."
"Thank you, Holmes. I would feel much
better, if could stay by your side..."
Holmes opened the bed sheets to allow Watson to clamber in beside him. "Are you sure you're not ill?"
"Yes. Absolutely sure." Watson clung to his friend. He wanted at least to have the illusion of being able to protect him. However something deep, dark inside him knew that he never could.
Holmes just lay still. He didn't hold Watson back like his friend had hoped, he just lay.
"I am fine."
A sigh. "I wish I could believe you..." he nuzzled his head into Holmes' back
"Why do you not?" Holmes asked. "They are only nightmares... Trifles."
"No. You seem to forget that I too was plagued by nightmares. I know that it's more than trifle."
Holmes sighed. "I know, I'd just prefer you to not worry. I'm not going to jump off a bridge or walk into the sea... I've battled much worse."
"I know..." Watson whispered, rolling over to face Holmes. "That is one of the few reasons why I'm not yet mad with sorrow..." he moved a hand through his partner's hair.
Holmes once again didn't say anything, just exhaled a large amount of air from his lungs.
"Let us try to get some sleep." Watson suggested. Holmes asgrred; but twenty minutes later, when Holmes seemed to finally have dozed off, the night-air was cut by a scream that came from the beach.
Like a blood hound, Holmes was up again, dressing himself a quickly as humanly possible.
"Are you coming?" He enquired to the doctor, who was still rubbing his eyes.
Watson sighed, and cursed whatever force had caused this to happen. He hoped that his warning, reproachful glare would be enough to stop Holmes. But there was no use. The scream outside turned into a pitiful howling, sobbing and eventually cries for help. "Yes. Let me just get dressed."
"You're too slow... I'll see you down there." Holmes disappeared through the door, calling back, "Do not take too long!