By: QrYx
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary Morstan
Summary: Holmes reflects on Watson's actions leading up to Watson's declaration of his proposal to Mary.
Warning: Angst.
Rating: PG to be on the safe side but mostly just G
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes nor intend to make any money out of this... bla bla bla! Ok. that should do it right?
A/N: I've taken some liberties with canon, I think the timeline might be a little obscured, but it's mostly set sometime before and during a Sign of Four. I know Holmes is slightly out of character here, it got away from me but I don't see anything that can be changed mostly. It's sort of very personal to me as many of Holmes' thoughts are my own, and think it should be similar to people going through or who have gone through similar situations. I hope it's coherent enough to the readers as well… it makes sense to me and since it's something as personal as this, I'm reluctant to pass this on to a beta even though I should. In fact, I'm not even sure I want to post it as it was mostly a cathartic thing for me but since I've written it, I might as well. Anyway, there are some quotations towards the end taken from SIGN and for those who can't make it out, Watson is speaking throughout it all with Holmes narrating his POV. Ummm that's all I guess, please read and review… enjoy…
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"No," Just one word, not even shouted, maybe if it had been shouted, but no, it had been spoken softly, in his smooth, calm tenor voice. If he had shown some emotion, some sign that this was hurting him as much as it was hurting me, maybe then it would feel better. Not even hurt would be necessary, just some emotion, regret, mocking even would be better then this calm resolve.
"I cannot continue this." Why? Even with my prowess in logic, at deduction and analysis, even if I know the reasons behind his decision, I still want to shout out why. Funny that. I want to barrage him with countless questions, explore each and every action of mine that caused him to come to this decision. What changed to start all this? Why did I, the great detective, not have any inkling that this was going on in his thoughts? Why did he not talk to me about this first before summarily making his decision? Why?
"It's not you, it's me, it's my fault." Of course, he assures steadfastly and with all sincerity that it is not my fault, nothing I could have done different. It's all him, all his decision, he was to blame. His fickleness and lack of self-knowledge was what brought us to this impasse, at least that's what he claims. But no, can I believe that? Dare I believe it? How can it be? Simple elementary will prove that it could not be because of him? God knows I am not an easy person to love. My mood swings, my selfishness, my temper, my constant mocking of his abilities, it's a wonder he even was willing to begin it in the first place. There isn't even the redeeming grace of attractiveness that could explain it all. I suppose I should count myself lucky that there is something to mourn. Somehow though, repeating the mantra of 'it is better to love and lost then never to have loved at all' does not take away the pain.
"I'm sorry." Why even say that? What does that mean? That he's sorry he even started it in the first place? Did he regret it all? Or that he's sorry to have to put an end to it. If that's the case, then why do it at all? If what we had made him as happy as he claims it did, and if I did nothing wrong, then why? Why end it? The whys resound on and on constantly, filling up my brain whenever my effort to fill the time and the emptiness with work and continual activity fails.
"I'm just not able to give you what you want." Is what I want all that different from what everyone wants? I'll admit, it is illegal but the crime has been committed, the sin has been partaken. So why shy away now? Is it because of the change? Because it's beyond the norm? Since when did I ever claim to be normal? But no, it cannot be that. Is this denial somehow going to change everything we have shared and reveled in? Maybe he wants to punish me for tempting him to enter this life of sordidness. But it does not make any sense. That as much as anything else is why I cannot just let it go. Everything has a reason. Everything makes sense. This has to as well.
"I'll remove myself for the time being to make the transition easier on you." Unfortunately, nothing can make it easier. The worst is that my skin, my bed, my life doesn't feel mine anymore. Before him I carried on perfectly. I was happy, self-reliant, strong. The loneliness did not echo as it does now. The hard won strength seemed to have disappeared the moment he entered my life. How in the blue blazes did he manage to disrupt everything so effortlessly and without my knowledge? Even my work no longer is as satisfying without him next to me, listening intently with that look on his face, intent, hung on every word, and always looking for a flaw to trip me up. I miss being able to impress and baffle him with sudden revelations. How did he manage to take with him my triumph of solving a mystery? How? Even my valued privacy is lost because he insisted on writing his thrice-damned accounts of it all. And then he took away my crutches of morphine and cocaine, his care and tenderness, his worry for my well-being made giving it all up an easy thing. And now, I wonder why I allowed it. How could I have allowed him to remove one of the few pleasures and escape routes in my life? How did he permeate each and every aspect of me so thoroughly and intrinsically? Why do I feel every moment is incomplete because of his absence?
"I never meant to hurt you." Sometimes I wish I could just hate him. Revile his gumption and scorn his protestations of innocence. I want to tear up his apologies, rip into his speeches and spit in his eye at the piteous looks he gives me. But ultimately he is a good man. He was able to put up with my foibles and my failings for far too long, and he seems sincere. For some reason my temper and anger fade fast when it comes to him. It always has. Grudges seem to disappear in light of his soft brown eyes. I never thought I would be so weak. Little does he know that everything hurts. It aches constantly, living in these rooms and lying in our bed causes pain. Even the plans we made, the little things, the tickets I bought for the concert next week, tea with Miss Adler after her final performance this weekend, they all hurt. Even the token he admired in passing once which I purchased last week Sits in my locked drawer and mocks me for my silly dreams and emotions.
"I hope when this blows over, we can still enjoy the camaraderie we have always had between us. I would hate to lose so great a friend." Ah, the agony of the untouchable. Fighting the instinct time after time to not reach out. What seems natural is now so obviously awkward and every look, thought, word, gesture has to be weighed and measured to not drive him away further, for his company and friendship is still better then nothing. At least I'm allowed the pleasure/agony of his presence in my life, and the pretense of friendship covers the obviousness of my still present regard and esteem. I can sit and bask and steal glances while he talks on about his practice and his interests. I can observe and judge his health and well being, listen to the sound of his voice and share some of the thoughts that ache constantly to be shared with him.
But I withstood it all. I shouldered the pain and focused on other things, told myself that something is better than nothing and lied to myself, fooled myself. I am nothing if not a master of governing my emotions and need when I have to. But then finally…
"I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective." Those simple words, the earnest look of happiness on his face. And the tentative hope that I thought was squashed burst into flames. A sound escape me, but I strived thereafter to no longer show any weaknesses in front of him. Instead, I gathered my dignity around me, like the shroud I suspect will be my sole companion to Hades one day and informed him that I was unable to congratulate him.
"Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" Yes, she isn't me I wanted to scream, but held back. Damning myself for wanting to remove the hurt on his face, I murmured nonsense, wanting to end the moment as soon as possible. Quickly putting an end to his happy pleasantries and his concern for my well being, I reached out for my one remaining comfort and sank down into its waiting, welcoming arms. That night I broke the promise I had still kept because of that tiny speck of hope I did not know I still harbored. The pinprick of the needle was a welcome distraction as the oblivion of the cocaine allowed me to ignore the pain in my chest. Only with my mind clouded with the effect of the drug did I permit myself to even acknowledge the part of me that wanted to shout to you that I would wait forever till you were ready. What would that accomplish? Nothing. There is nothing left for me but this.
fin.