A.N. Today's prompt comes from Garonne: epiphany.
A few months had gone since Holmes and Watson had started sharing the flat at 221B, Baker Street, when the detective's thoughts one evening took an unusual – for him – and hopeful turn.
The day had seen the both of them pitted against a criminal gang that had sicced a few half-starved, crazed dogs against the too nosy sleuth and his faithful companion. Despite his longer legs, it was Holmes who had been caught by the beasts – at least until a couple of well placed bullets hadn't dispersed his four legged attackers (and the human ones too).
Then Watson had taken care of him, helped him home, bandaged his bites, helped him get as comfortable as possible and was currently relating some humourus anecdote he'd heard at his club to distract him from the pain.
And while he shoudl really be hearing the doctor out, Holmes' mind had instead suddenly wandered off. Because there was someone else, a long time ago, who'd endeavoured to distract him from a dog bite...
And it had dawned on the detective, leaving him mildly astonished – Watson and he were becoming friends too, weren't they? Maybe they could already be considered as such. He would have to consult the doctor about it but – not now.
They were flatmates, of course, and Watson was his doctor, if need be, and they'd become colleagues, even, since Watson had consented to accompany him on cases. But none of these required Watson to keep him entertained so he would feel less pain; not even his hippocratic oath.
No, they were indeed well on their way to becoming friends, and to be honest, it left Holmes both hopeful and mildly terrified. After all, he'd botched things terribly with his other friend. When he'd moved away, Victor had cut all ties with him. Because he'd seen too much, or because he had not seen enough. He hadn't been able to solve the case (he hadn't even realized that there was a case that needed solving) until it was too late to effectively help Victor or anyone else.
He could only hope that things with Watson would never go the same way. He missed having a friend. It was almost ten years that he had acquaintances, clients and enemies only. Almost ten years that people didn't like him. The change would be more than welcome.
If he didn't do anything to make the doctor want to move out (that was, in actuality, more than a little probable). Or if the next criminal that attacked them hadn't too much success against Watson (but Holmes didn't want to give him up as a precious colleague). Or if...he didn't even know, but their friendship would probably end, and disastrously at that. Did he have the heart to give it up in advance? No he didn't.
"Sorry old fellow...I'm afraid my mind wandered a moment," he said with a warm smile.