A/N: I'm really excited about getting this posted...this is my favorite chapter so far, written at my grandparents' house around 11 pm. (Which is strange, because I generally like longer movieverse fluff better, and yet this is short sad-with-a-happy-ending bookverse. Hmm.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes in book, movie, or show form. But now I have the movie poster! :D
Rating: K+ for mentions of death
Summary: Watson's not yet recovered from Reichenbach and the hiatus. Post-hiatus, bookverse.
Watson woke with the invented image of Holmes plummeting to the bottom of the falls lingering in his mind.
But all he needed to do to recall that Holmes was alive, through that brief moment of terror in which the past two months seemed a dream, was simply wake up. The tall, thin frame sprawled across his body belonged to Holmes, as did the breath next to his ear and the hand burrowed beneath his shoulder. Watson knew what Holmes felt like next to him, and if Holmes was here then he really was alive, and everything from the last two months was real. Holmes was alive.
Watson felt the tension leave him by degrees and focused on the feeling of Holmes' body across his own, anchoring himself in that reality until the nightmare completely vanished from his thoughts. After playing it almost nightly for three years, it seemed more like a memory than a dream, but the fact that it was imagined was currently sleeping unconcernedly on top of Watson.
With a sigh, Watson lifted a hand to Holmes' hair and combed his fingers through it lightly, feeling it spring back into curls. Holmes' hair had been curling for eight days now for reasons unbeknownst to either of them, though Watson suspected the recent humidity played a part in it. Of course, Holmes thought the gentle curls were a nuisance and made him look unkempt, as he'd explained while attacking his hair with a comb, but Watson liked it. As soon as he said as much the day before, Holmes stopped complaining, so it looked as though the curls would stay.
"Wa'son?" Holmes mumbled blearily, lifting his head an inch. "You're awake?"
"I am, but you can go back to sleep," Watson suggested in a hopeful whisper. Holmes needed sleep when he could get it, in accordance with his habit of staying awake for days at a time.
Holmes groaned and began to shift. "I'm sorry, I'm on top of you, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that…"
"No!" Watson protested, moving his hands to Holmes' waist to hold him in place. "Stay there. Please. As long as it's comfortable for you, that is."
To tell the truth, Holmes' weight spread across him comforted Watson more than the smaller signs of his presence. It was constant, and a constant reminder that Holmes was here.
"Very. Love you," Holmes muttered, already closing his eyes as he nuzzled closer in to Watson's neck. The pattern of Holmes' breathing evened out against his skin when Holmes almost immediately fell back into sleep.
That had been one of the most terrifying things about those three years. The supposed surety of never being able to tell Holmes that he loved him, that he'd been in love with him for years had been nearly unbearable, almost as much as the absence of Holmes himself. Now the three words worked towards healing the pain of three years, every time Holmes and Watson said them.
"I love you, Holmes."
Hope you liked it! I'd love to hear feedback on this so I really appreciate every review.