From sirensbane: WWI

"I can't believe how much you've grown." Watson looked wonderingly at Wiggins, who had already heard similar from Mr Holmes. "My, how fast time goes..."

Wiggins smiled indulgently. "Mr Holmes said exactly the same, when he came to pick us up from the station."

"Ah yes, Elsa! Your uh-?"

"Wife." Wiggins blushed. "We wanted to marry fast, wasn't a big to-do or anything. After the war-"

"I understand. The war has made us all realise how precious time is." Watson smiled warmly. "Well. Congratulations my boy. I look forward to meeting the new Mrs Wiggins-"

"Er-," Wiggins stopped Watson from rising with a raised hand. They were in the Doctor's study, Watson in his desk chair and Wiggins sat opposite. "She's out looking at Mr Holmes's bees at the minute."

"You're sure we shouldn't rescue her?" The Doctor's greying moustache twitched. "Holmes can get quite... enthusiastic... about his bees."

Wiggins laughed. "I'm sure he can." His smile faded and he drew a deep breath, clasping both hands in his lap. "The truth is, Doctor Watson, I've had a uh... a bit of a problem recently."

"A medical problem? You know I am no longer an active practitioner."

"I know, but I- I didn't want to go to anyone else." Wiggins gripped his hands together tighter, to stop them shaking. "It was Elsa actually, who said I should come and see you. She said- she said, what with you having fought in the war, maybe you'd understand."

Watson's sight was not so good as it had once been, but he had worked with Sherlock Holmes for enough years to spot the clues. His eyes darted from Wiggins' clasped hands to the slight tremor in his jaw, and his expression turned sympathetic.

"Shellshock?"

Wiggins winced as if slapped. Watson, seeing this, hesitated a moment before pushing on,

"Elsa was right, you know. I have suffered, even before this war." The Doctor's eyes turned distant. "We didn't have a word for it then, but the symptoms... nightmares, lack of appetite, tremor..." He shook his head as if to dislodge his own demons and turned his attention back to Wiggins. "Are those the sorts of things you have been experiencing?"

Wiggins nodded. "The thing is I never had these problems during the war itself. It's only been the last few months they've started."

"I was the same. It was in moments of rest that things were hardest."

Wiggins' lip quirked. "Was that why you liked working Mr Holmes's cases?"

"Very possibly," Watson chuckled. "But truthfully Wiggins, it was Mr Holmes himself who most helped me. His companionship, our conversations... And I've needed him more than ever since returning from the front."

"You mean, even now, that you still..?"

"Yes." Watson sighed heavily. "I don't have any easy answers for you, I'm afraid. There is no simple 'cure' that I have discovered and I have little faith in the treatments being recommended nowadays. All I can advise, from my personal experience, is that you keep yourself busy and confide in those closest to you."

Wiggins shook his head violently. "I couldn't. Elsa-"

"You will find her more accepting than you think," Watson interrupted gently. "My wife was. Holmes was."

Wiggins pursed his lips, gaze downcast. Watson rose from his chair and moved around the desk to grasp his shoulder.

"You can always come to me, you know that, but I shan't be around forever. A burden shared is a burden halved. Promise me you will at least try to talk to Elsa?"

Wiggins looked up at his old mentor, eyes glistening. "Yes, Doctor. I shall try."

Watson gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then dropped his hand. "Alright then. Shall we go and save your new wife from Holmes's melittology [1] lecture?"

The rest of the afternoon was spent outside in the weak winter sunshine, getting to know Elsa Wiggins and discussing her and her husband's plans for purchasing a property in London. As the day wore on, Holmes suggested the couple take a stroll by the sea, whilst he and Watson retired to the dining room.

"My leg can't take long walks any more," Watson explained, ruefully tapping the offending limb with his cane. "Please do go ahead, our housekeeper should have dinner ready by the time you return."

The couple departed, and Holmes and Watson strolled inside with their arms looped together.

"How was Wiggins?" Holmes asked once he was certain the former-Irregular and his new spouse were well out of earshot. "He hasn't been sleeping or eating well."

"After-effects of his time on the front," Watson sighed. "An affliction I fear too many like him will experience."

"Has there been any progress in treatment for such afflictions?"

"Nothing so effective as the 'Holmes' method."

Holmes eyed Watson incredulously. They had reached the living room of their Sussex cottage, and took their customary seats in front of the fire. "Have my ears finally given in, or did I hear that correctly? The Holmes method?!"

Watson laughed. "Ah, my dear fellow. You must surely know how much you've helped me over the years? A well-timed refrain on your violin, our conversations about my time as a soldier, the distraction of a case... from the moment I met you, you were helping me process my experiences of war."

Holmes had thought himself long past embarrassment, but he squirmed uncomfortably at the praise. "Truthfully I never felt I did enough."

Watson reached across and patted Holmes's weathered hand with his own. "You did more than enough, more than I can ever express gratitude for. I would have been lost without you."

"That sentiment goes both ways," Holmes insisted firmly, and they whiled away the rest of the time until dinner happily bickering back and forth.

[1] Melitollogy: "a branch of entomology concerning the scientific study of bees"