Based on the prompt 'Last Second,' suggested by Wordwielder
Rated T
Last Second
"I trust that you and your trained monkeys can tidy up, Lestrade," said Holmes, looking at the dejected cat burglar, the broken china and the bag of swag.
"Oh yes, we can certainly tidy up," agreed the inspector. He was so pleased over the capture of the cat burglar that he ignored the insult to his team. "Are you and Doctor Watson heading home then?"
"I sent the doctor home hours ago," said Holmes. "The capture of Miss Forsythe was a foregone conclusion, and I saw no need to keep him out in the cold for something so anticlimatic."
"Oh, his leg was acting up again, eh?" said Lestrade.
Holmes glared down at the inspector without answering that impertinent question.
The inspector did not take offence, because he was used to the detective's eccentric ways, and besides, the policeman was really very happy that the cat burglar's crime spree was at an end.
"Yes, well, a very Merry Christmas to you Mister Holmes and to Doctor Watson too!" said Lestrade to the detective's retreating back.
The detective stopped and then whirled around, "Christmas?" he asked suspiciously.
"Why…yes, Mister Holmes," said the inspector. "It is December the 24th, though only for another few minutes or so."
"Ah," said the tall detective. "I knew it was December the 24th, but I had forgotten that it meant that Christmas was upon us." The great detective tilted his head slightly then added. "Lestrade, do you perhaps know of any shops or vendors who might be able to provide me with a gift at the last second?"
'Ermm," muttered the inspector, looking up from his notes. "Ermmmm, no. I can't say as I know of any shop or honest vendors, who might be available at this time of night."
"Do you perhaps know of any dishonest merchants?"
"No, Mister Holmes, I do not," said the disapproving inspector.
"Oh, aye," said PC McGrath. "You've gone an'done it now, ha'nt you?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Holmes, looking like an offended eagle.
"Y've gone an' fergot ta doctor's Chris'mas present…agin," teased McGrath. "Lucky fer you; 'e's a man wi' ta patience of a saint. Now m'missus, she wou'n't tolerate gettin' passed o're in ta matter o' getting' gifts. No sir!"
"Mmm," hummed the offended eagle.
"Mister Holmes's situation has nothing to do with you and your missus," snapped Lestrade, who didn't want any untoward rumors following his consulting detective. "And I'm sure the good doctor has better things to do than to worry over Christmas packages."
"Mmm," hummed Holmes, whirling back around and striding down the dark, misty street.
"Merry Chris'mas Mister 'Olmes," called McGrath.
"Merry Christmas, Mister Holmes," called Lestrade.
Holmes waved his hand once in honor of the holiday.
'It is indeed fortunate,' thought Holmes, 'that the doctor in question is not very particular about people remembering to give him gifts. In fact, he'll probably choose to say nothing about it all.'
Nevertheless, Holmes was irritated. He knew that Watson would have purchased and wrapped a present for him, even if it was something rather pedestrian, like a bottle of port. Although...it might be something more exciting, like the small but valuable collection of fluorescent chemicals and minerals that he gave to Holmes last year. That gift had provided Holmes with days… no weeks of experimentation, weeks without boredom.
Watson might do something like that again this year. He probably would, thought the detective. Watson almost certainly had another interesting gift for Holmes, and Holmes had not got so much a packet of tobacco for his very best (only) friend.
The detective, shoved his fists into his pockets, studying every dark shop that he passed, just in case someone was up late, someone who could provide Holmes with a gift at the very last second…
"Oh, I'm afraid all the shops are closed for the night," said a short, rotund older gentleman, who was suddenly keeping pace with Sherlock Holmes.
'Where the devil did he come from?' wondered Holmes. 'And more to the point, what does he want?'
The detective looked around warily for any possible accomplices, should this old man prove to be a footpad…or at least a diversion for another criminal.
"You needn't worry, I'm quite alone and am only here to give you some advice young man," the man was old but hale. His beard full and white. His clothes were warm and comfortable...a bit old fashioned but fashioned out of the finest of cloth and leather...some eccentric aristocrat perhaps? Or, more likely, an entertainer, a magician.
Sherlock Holmes gave the man a slightly contemptuous look. "I suppose you do this for effect?" asked Holmes. "Using your powers of observation…such as noting my visual canvassing of the neighborhood and my reticence to speak to you, you deduced that I was suspicious of you. Noticing that I looked into the shops you supposed that I was interested in purchasing some item…"
"A Christmas present for John, although as McGrath suggested, John really doesn't care much whether you give him a gift or not…"
"You presume to call him John?" asked Holmes angrily.
"What John really wants is for you to come home safely. He plans to feed you some of Martha's delicious potato soup and toasted bread. He's waited up for hours and is just becoming a bit worried, so I suggest that you continue walking, Sherlock. I can tell you everything that I need to while we move along."
"You've been spying on our Baker Street lodgings," accused Holmes. "Why? Who are you working for? Are you about to deliver a threat?"
"Good heavens, no!" laughed the old gent heartily. "No indeed. You have been so very good the past few years that I have come, as I said, to deliver some advice. There now, you forced me to repeat myself, and we both know that you hate repetition."
Holmes stopped again, his heart pounding with anxiety. 'This man knows too much. What if this seemingly harmless old man is about to threaten John,' thought Holmes…'or perhaps he has already caused my doctor harm?'
"Nonsense! I would never hurt John. Such a good man," pronounced the odd little man. "I do wish you would stop worrying, Sherlock. I mean no harm to you and yours. Now, I shall get right to the point, so that you can get home to where John is fretting. Really the two of you worry about one another is quite touching and a bit comical," said the stranger chuckling.
"I beg your pardon," said Holmes repressively. He now walked as fast as possible, both to lose the shorter man and to get home to check on Joh….to check on Watson.
"I grant you pardon, of course," said the man. "Now then, you wish to give John a gift worthy of the rather impressive set of…well, I do not wish to ruin that Christmas present for either of you. The gift that I suggest, is that you talk to John. Tell him how you really feel, Sherlock…"
"You have no idea how I feel about anyone or anything," snapped Holmes aggressively. "I do not appreciate you intimating anything between me and Joh…and Doctor Watson, nor do I appreciate the familiarity you take with me or my friend!"
"I've known you since you were a puling infant, Sherlock, I believe that gives me the right to be a bit more familiar with you than most. And you needn't worry, I have only the greatest respect for love in all it's forms," said the man smiling gently.
"Love, who the devil spoke of love?" demanded Holmes indignantly.
"I did. It certainly wouldn't be Satan. Sadly, he only loves himself now…" said the old man mournfully. "But you must stop dragging your feet. There is no reason to delay your happiness, or his for that matter. My wish this Christmas is to see the two of you happy at last."
"This is absurd and insulting. John Watson is not …not whatever you are insinuating."
"John is a good, kind, brave man," said the old man sternly. "And he is just as stubborn as you, perhaps more so, which is why I've come to you first. Nevertheless, John will certainly be receptive to you. And while I realize that the situation must remain private, given your country's Byzantine legal system at this time, there should be no problems as long as you are discrete."
"I categorically deny any so called feelings and am quite sure that J…Watson would do the same!" growled Holmes.
"Yes, well you have to say that in public, don't you," said the white-haired man with a frown. "But I want you to carefully consider my advice. I call you young man, because to me you are terribly young, but in reality, neither you nor your doctor is getting any younger. You do not want to wait until the last second with matters of the heart, Sherlock. You do not want to tell someone that you love them, as they are saying goodbye to you for the last time."
"How dare you…"
"Now hurry home before your doctor comes out to look for you. It will only make his leg ache even more. Oh and do make sure John wears the gloves I left for him and make sure that he doesn't lose this pair. Every bloody year I give him gloves or mittens and every year he loses them or gives them away to some poor homeless man or down-on-his luck veteran. He really needs to wear gloves in this cold whether," instructed overly cheerful old man, who looked down at his mittened hands with satisfaction. "Well, Merry Christmas, Sherlock."
Infuriated, Sherlock Holmes, stopped short, to give the old busybody a dose of his own medicine. Holmes fully intended to tell the man…the man, who was nowhere to be seen. There were no alleys, no secluded doorways…
It was disturbing, and Holmes was very seldom disturbed by anything.
As he all but ran back to Baker Street, he reminded himself that all so-called supernatural events, which disturbed lesser minds, could be reasonably explained, once all the facts were determined. Thus, he forced himself to slowdown to a sedate walk, and review all the clues before him. It was only a matter of time before he would be able to rationalize the odd interaction and determine whether it was a curious meeting or a threat. Just a matter of time.
Sherlock Holmes entered 221B, which was well lit despite the very late…perhaps one would say very early hour. It was nearly twenty minutes past midnight.
"Holmes," said John Watson. "There you are! I was just coming to look for you." Indeed, Watson was apparently in the process of lacing his boots.
"You were worried?"
"Nooo," lied the doctor. "I just thought you might need a hand dealing with Lestrade and his band of merry men," said Watson lightly. "Of course I don't sit around here and fret. That would be stupid."
"You were worried, but there was no need. It just took a bit longer for Miss Forsythe to put in an appearance," said Holmes, removing his coat, which Watson immediately took from him to be certain that it got hung up properly.
"Come sit by the fire, man," said Watson. "And get those damp shoes off. If you need a hand…"
"I can take off my shoes, doctor," said Holmes irritably. "You might be glad to know that Miss Forsythe is in fact in police custody. The case was solved just as I predicted this afternoon. By the way, how is your leg now?"
"My leg?" asked Watson, surprised at Holmes's concern. "Oh it's just fine. It's still a bit stiff; I'm not getting any younger you know," Watson chuckled.
Holmes turned his eagle eyes on his friend, noticing the fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth when his doctor smiled, and then there was just a hint of grey at the temples. No, Watson was actually middle aged, as was the detective who had just a bit of rheumatism at times. Perhaps the old man a point.
"Watson…" began Holmes softly.
"I wanted to thank you for these gloves," said John, waving a pair of soft, chocolate-brown gloves. "They fit perfectly, almost as if you had them custom made this year. And such supple leather, really they are too fine for the likes of me."
"Watson, I didn't leave you any gloves. I've never..."
"No? Well, who ever did leave them had very fine taste," murmured Watson, placing the gloves back under the little tree that he and Mrs. Hudson had set up earlier. "I suppose Mrs. Hudson bought them, anyway, my hands are always cold and I lost my last pair on Tuesday last…or maybe it was Wednesday…"
"Watson! Did Mrs. Hudson make soup?"
"Why yes, she made your favorite- potato soup, I kept it warm by the fire. I thought I'd toast your bread too, so just sit down and I'll fetch a bowl…"
"I don't want soup."
"We made an agreement, Holmes," said Watson, with a hint of his soldier's steel showing through. "I try not to bother you with such mundane things as food while you are on a case, but when the case is over, you are supposed to eat."
"John, I do not want to eat right now!" cried Holmes.
John Watson froze at the use of his given name. This was unheard of. Holmes had never used his given name. The doctor turned slowly, his full attention on the great detective.
"John, what I want is for you to sit down in your chair. I need to tell you something."
Speechless at the sound of his given name twice in less than two minutes, Watson fell back into the chair, which was essentially reserved for his exclusive use. Now alert and frankly worried, the doctor gripped the arm of the chair tightly; his eyes fixed on his friends every move.
Holmes drew his chair closer. He leaned forward and placed his hand on top of the doctor's hand.
Watson stared with wide eyes at the hand on top of his own.
Holmes seemed to think better of his action and began to pull away.
"I don't…mind," said Watson, his face a study in confusion.
"Very well," said Holmes, nodding and placing his hand back. "John, we are neither of us getting any younger."
John nodded because this was quite true. He was suddenly struck with the horrific possibility that Sherlock Holmes was dying form some sort of tumor or heart condition or…
"John," said Sherlock, "What I mean to say…what I'm trying to say... I am not good at this, John."
"John nodded and tried to smile encouragingly.
"But while it may…" said Sherlock, still at a loss for words. "Well, I hope that this does not create complications or cause any trouble, which it should not. It is not as though you or I are indiscrete."
"No, we're not. But...I don't understand," said John, looking confused and concerned now.
"John, I do not wish to wait until the last second to tell you this. John, you are my friend, my companion and my assistant…no, you are my partner. And it is time to tell you how I truly feel…"
A/N
Merry Christmas-to those who celebrate this holiday.
To others, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year, Good Health and Best Wishes. Happy Birthday (it must be someone's birthday) and Happy Wednesday...unless it's Thursday where live...yeah, I suppose that's enough. I wish peace and contentment for you all. Sendai :D
