A/N: OK so not a lot of violence in this one, for a change. I hope you don't mind. The next maybe one or two chapters will probably be relatively tame as well, if that's alright.
Disclaimer: All I own is Clara.
Chapter VII
Holmes awoke to find himself in his bed lying on his stomach. When he groggily opened his eyes, the first thing saw was Watson's blue gaze staring at him intently. Holmes flinched at their proximity.
"Ah, old chap, you're awake!" Watson said cheerfully.
"He's awake?!?!" Holmes heard Clara shriek from the other room. He winced at the noise. Clara came running over to him from around the corner.
"Oh my God," she began, "you are awake! How are you feeling?"
Holmes hissed in pain as he tried to turn over on his side. "Easy, there, old fellow," Watson said, helping him.
"Can I get you anything?" Clara asked eagerly.
Holmes' throat was suddenly dry. "Some tea would be nice…" he answered.
"Of course! I'll be right back," she said, leaving the room and walking downstairs.
"What time is it?" Holmes asked his friend.
"Four. You've been out since about five this morning," Watson replied seriously.
Holmes winced as he shifted slightly. "So, what's the damage, doc?" he asked.
"Miraculously, nothing broken besides a few ribs. You chipped you shoulder blade, though. However, it's the gunshot that I'm most worried about. It's only a flesh wound, but you're at risk for infection. If you keep your bandages clean and fresh, you should be fine. If all goes well, you should be almost fully recovered in about a month." Watson said professionally.
"Peachy," Holmes answered.
Clara came through the door with, not only tea, but an enormous assortment of foods. Mrs. Hudson was trailing behind her.
"I didn't know if you were hungry or not, so I brought a little of everything, just in case," she explained.
"Mr. Holmes, you gave us all quite a fright," Mrs. Hudson scolded.
"I'm sorry, nanny. I'll try not to get shot next time," Holmes said sarcastically.
"These two," she continued, ignoring Holmes' tone, "never left your side for more than a minute. I don't know what you did to deserve friends like this."
"Neither do I…" Watson commented dryly.
"Well," Watson continued, "It appears that the situation is under control," a strange look crossed his face, "Clara will have to change your bandages, Holmes. You can't reach them on your own. Or Mrs. Hudson – it doesn't matter who, as long as you don't try yourself. Now, if you don't mind, I must be off."
"Where are you going?" Holmes asked.
"Tea with Mary and her parents," Watson said, smiling sadly. "Good day, Mrs. Hudson. Clara. Take care of yourself, Holmes." With that, he left the room.
"'Tea with Mary and her parents,'" Clara mimicked mockingly. Holmes grinned at her agitation.
"What?" she asked when she realized he was smiling at her.
"Oh nothing…" he replied casually.
"Well, I must be going, as well. I have things to do," Mrs. Hudson said looking between the two. "Be kind to my niece, Mr. Holmes," she warned, leaving the room.
As Mrs. Hudson passed through the doorway, Inspector Lestrade came walking up the stairs.
"How are you doing, Holmes?" he asked from the doorway.
"As well as can be expected, Inspector," Holmes answered.
Lestrade nodded. "The Redcliff brothers are both dead." He held up a newspaper. The headline read, "Jack the Ripper Finally Apprehended!" "However, the brothers' parents requested that we don't name them as the culprits. Usually we don't listen to those kind of requests, but, since both of their children were involved in the murders, we decided to humor them."
Holmes let out a mirthless bark of laughter. "Wouldn't look good if they raised two serial killers, eh?"
"No, no it wouldn't," Lestrade said, nodding in agreement.
"So, case closed?" Holmes asked.
"Case closed," he replied.
*
The next month flew by. Clara diligently attended to Holmes' every need and made sure to keep him healthy. She was quite doting, really. Holmes, however, who was never one to be taken care of, dodged her attempts to fuss over him at all costs. Watson visited occasionally, checking on Holmes' progress. However, he never stayed for long. Watson and Clara were acting quite strange around one another, Holmes noticed. Stranger than usual.
One day, as Clara was busy pouring him tea, he asked, "What happened between you and Watson while I was injured last month?"
Clara almost dropped the teapot. "What makes you think something happened?" she asked nervously.
"Well, before, I wasn't sure. But you just confirmed my suspicion," Holmes said slyly.
Flashback…
Clara was kneeling next to Holmes' body, brushing the hair away from his forehead. She studied his face sadly.
"Are you in love with him?" Watson asked suddenly.
"What!? No, of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?" Clara responded, shocked.
"The way you look at him…" Watson said irritably.
"I look at him the same way I look at everyone else. I'm just worried, is all," Clara started. She looked at Watson's expression. "Are you – are you jealous?" she asked incredulously.
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "I'm getting married in February. How dare you even suggest such a thing?"
"I'm sorry," she said. She really felt they needed to address this friction, and now was as good a time as any. "I'm sorry," she repeated, "but the way you act around me – what am I supposed to think?" She stood up and walked towards him.
Watson, who had been sitting in Holmes' armchair, stood up as well. "And just what way is that?" he asked angrily.
"One minute you're laughing and talking with me, and the next you're ignoring me completely!" Clara exclaimed in outrage. "I'm not stupid," she paused, "there are signs…"
"Look," Watson snapped, "I don't know what rubbish Holmes has been putting in your head, but I love Mary. I truly do."
"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Clara asked innocently. They were close now, almost toe to toe.
Clara glared into Watson's eyes angrily. They were so close. Watson's scowl faltered and Clara's face relaxed.
"This is so wrong," Watson whispered, barely breathing.
"I know," Clara said simply. She wasn't looking into his eyes anymore - she was looking at his mouth.
"Mary..." Watson warned quietly.
"I know," Clara repeated. She could feel his mustache brushing her face.
It was too much. She couldn't help herself. Lightly, she pressed her lips to his; she closed her eyes and he rested his hand on the side of her face. After a moment, they pulled away.
"I'm sorry," she said, tears in her eyes. "I shouldn't have..."
"We mustn't speak of this," Watson said guiltily, "ever."
Clara nodded in agreement. "This never happened."
"I think," Watson began, clearing his throat, "I think that it might be best if we don't see each other quite as often."
"I agree," she replied.
Luckily, only it was only about a half hour of awkwardness until Holmes began to stir.
End Flashback…
"I can't tell you," Clara said simply. "What happened," she paused, "Is buried in the darkest depths of time, never to be brought up again."
However, from her tone and the expression on her face, Holmes could tell that something had definitely happened. Something that made them steer clear of each other.
They must have had some sort of romantic encounter, Holmes deduced, Watson is a gentleman, though. He must have felt that he took advantage of her or something – which is why he's avoiding her. He must feel guilty about Mary whenever he sees her, as well, even though they aren't married yet. Technically, he has no obligation to her. Holmes did not press the subject further; he was confident that he had figured out what happened.
*
The next few months leading up to Watson's wedding were brutal. Clara shut herself away in her room and Holmes in his. Clara would occasionally go check on him, and he was almost constantly in a state of inebriation.
"Holmes, I'm upset, too, but for god sakes, come on," Clara pleaded. "Why do you do this to yourself?"
"Come here, Clara, come here," he said, frantically beckoning her over to his desk. "I am in the middle of developing a device that will revolutionize combat."
Holmes had set up some sort of crude mannequin; it was wearing a kind of material that vaguely resembled a woman's robe.
"Holmes! Is that my night robe?!?" Clara screamed.
"It's for the sake of science," he assured her.
"Holmes, that was silk. Do you have any idea how expensive that was? It was a gift…" Clara whined in despair.
"Shh!" he hissed. "Yes, I know it was silk! That's why I needed it. I'll purchase a new one for you. Just look"
He shot the mannequin from across the room.
"I honestly don't understand what this is accomplishing," Clara said distractedly. She picked up the bottle Holmes had been drinking from, trying to determine whether or not the contents were meant for human consumption.
He ran over to the mannequin. "Come here," he said manically.
Clara slowly walked over to the mannequin and crossed her arms impatiently.
He lifted up the silk contraption which had been damaged by the bullet. The mannequin underneath, however, was unharmed. Clara had to admit that she was impressed, but she did not show it.
"Very nice," she said as if she was speaking to a child. "Now, why don't you go clean yourself up. John's rehearsal dinner is tonight."
"What? Already?" Holmes asked in disbelief. "It's only December!"
"It's February, Holmes," Clara stated.
"I missed Christmas? New Years?" Holmes asked frantically.
Clara nodded solemnly. "Watson tried to come talk to you, don't you remember seeing him?"
"Maybe I'll remember later," Holmes reasoned. "It must just be the alcohol. Alright, alright, I'll go clean myself up. What time is it?"
"It's five. The dinner is at seven," Clara answered. "Do you have the ring?"
"The ring!" Holmes exclaimed. "That's right! I'm the best man," he started proudly, "Yes, yes, it must be here somewhere…"
Gladstone started barking and Clara bent over to pet him. "Why is it tied to his collar?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I haven't the foggiest. I didn't put it there, that's for sure," Holmes stated.
"Well, fine. As long as you have it. Come on, Holmes, get going!" Clara said, ushering him towards the bathroom.
When Holmes emerged, he looked as good as someone who hadn't eaten or slept in days could possibly look. Clara clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"You're terribly thin, Sherlock," she said despondently. "When will you understand the consequences of your actions?"
"I understand the consequences of my actions perfectly," Holmes answered defiantly.
"Ah," she said, smiling sadly, "But you don't. Or, if you do, you are horribly cruel. I hope to believe it's the former of the two."
"Horribly cruel?" Holmes asked confusedly.
Clara nodded. "How is it, that a man who sees everything does not see what's right in front of him? When you do these terrible things to yourself, you hurt those around you as well. John in particular. That's why he hardly comes here anymore. He can hardly bear to see you like this. And me, well I can't either."
Holmes was oddly touched and at a loss for words. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I mean – I'm sorry – I didn't think…" he stuttered.
"It's alright. I accept your apology." Her tone changed and she said, "But come on! We really must be going!"
Pushing their sentiments behind them, Holmes and Clara exited 221b Baker Street and Holmes hailed a cab. The manner in which they entered the cab could only be described as that of a pair of criminals walking towards their execution.
A/N: lol finally, some real romance. I hope it doesn't seem too soon, but if you look at the timeline of the story, they've known each other for like three or four months, which I think is plenty of time for them to be able to kiss. And it's just a kiss- nothing else. Alright, so I hope you like it! Please review!
