Author's Note:
Longer installment this time, no fixed word count. And Holmes!torture. Forgive me, but something about it appeals to my fan-sadism. Maybe because it makes Holmes human and vulnerable, and I like seeing that. (As a note, this was originally going to be the 13th installment, but then I decided to do another shot about Mycroft. Too bad, as, of course, the beginning of a "Final Problem" arc would have been perfect for number 13.)
Btw, I now have 59 reviews here, making this fic my most reviewed story of all time! Thanks for all the love, guys! *group hugs all around*
To my reviewers:
Moonspun Dragon: Well, I think collapsing in the middle of a shoot and then going on to finish it is totally worthy of Sherlock Holmes, and that's just what Jeremy did. =(
Spockologist: Thanks! Ooo, please do check the link, and let me know what you think!
reflekshun: Ha-ha. Thank you. =)
Brazeau: Thank you! (Um, btw, if you don't mind a bit of shameless begging, A Time to Heal has been updated, just a few days ago…)
Hades Lord of the Dead: Now you're confusing me! xD Thanks!
==14. The Not So Final Problem, Part I: Nightmare==
The shoot for "The Final Problem" brought back many bad memories to Watson, but he didn't realize how bad the memories were for Holmes as well until he entered the detective's room on the first day of Switzerland shoot. Holmes was curled up in bed, moaning in his sleep.
Watson moved forward to wake him, but froze when he heard his name whimpered. Then Holmes began to moan "no" repeatedly, and a tear slipped down his cheek. Unable to bear it any longer, Watson rushed forward and shook his friend.
"Holmes! Holmes, come on, man!" He wasn't able to keep the note of fear out of his voice.
The detective jerked awake convulsively, and his grey eyes widened when they focused on the doctor. "Watson!" Holmes whispered hoarsely. "It is really you?"
Watson gripped him firmly by the shoulders to give him physical reassurance. "Yes, my dear fellow, it is really me."
Holmes gasped in relief, closing his eyes and falling back upon his bed. "Oh! Oh, thank God!"
Watson settled on the edge of the bed. "My dear Holmes, what on earth were you dreaming of?"
"Oh, nothing!" Holmes gasped, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if to purge them of the images they had witnessed. "Nothing, my dear fe—"
"Holmes," Watson said quietly, "you spoke my name. You were almost sobbing."
A shudder ran through the detective's spare frame. "I shall be glad when we are back home, that is all," he murmured, very unconvincingly. He must be much shaken, indeed.
"I shall be in my room," Watson said at last. If you need me were the words unspoken but understood.
"…Thank you, Watson."
Author's Note:
Poor Sherlock! *sighs* Well, so, this is the first of a mini-arc, and I'm not sure how long it will be. But as you can imagine, there's a lot that you can do with "The Final Problem," both for Holmes and Watson and for Jeremy and David. (It was around this time that Jeremy knew that his wife was deteriorating, and David left, of course, after they wrapped up the second season.)
Well, tomorrow's Sunday, and I don't post stories on Sundays, so I'll see you guys Monday!
Please review!