Title: To My Dear Watson (continuation)
Author: aSummersDance
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: A letter to Watson and the aftermath
Rated: PG-13 for darkness
WC: 834
Warnings: Angst and no beta, sorry!
Spoilers: None.
My dear, dear Watson,
I do not apologize for my actions, for this is truly for the best. Please resist the temptation of blaming yourself. Do not worry your mind over what you could have done to prevent my actions, you shall hurt yourself. This is a crime without a criminal and I have satisfied justice
I hope that you will not think of me often. When you must, think only of the fondest memories. There were a few we shared. When you look at Mary, do not look for me. You will have the life you long for and I am happy to give it to you, know this well.
Make use of my dress shoes, I know how you admire them. My brother will take Gladstone should you and Mary find no place for him. Lestrade will want the case file on my desk; it was the girl's father, of course. Take it to him when you inform him of your resignation.
Please know that you shall succeed without my guidance. Despite what you may think of yourself, you do not need me. It was always I that needed you and now, I do not.
With all the love I possess,
Sherlock Holmes
The letter slipped from Watson's shaking hands as he looked up at his companion sitting motionlessly in his favorite chair. The small, empty bottle on the floor where it had fallen and not been picked up.
No.
No no no no no…
Watson fell forward, desperately grasping at the man he loved. He shook Holmes, praying the still body would reanimate itself somehow. That Holmes's eyes would pop open and he'd laugh. Ha, got you old boy. It would have been simply a disgusting joke. Watson wouldn't even be angry…
Terrified, he reached for Holmes's face. As if guided by habit, Watson watched his fingers find the vein beneath the warm skin. There was no pulse-
It was still warm.
Very warm…
Watson stepped closer, a pinprick of hope daring to show itself. Clink. The glass bottle rolled away from his shoe and a thought dripped into Watson's mind.
He spun around, ripping open his medical pouch.
Oh God, where was it? Please, please…
Fumbling around for an agonizing minute, he found the tiny cobalt bottle. Hands shaking, the doctor rushed back to Holmes; opening the man's mouth, pulling his tongue out of the way of his throat and spilling the bottle's contents inside.
For an endless moment he waited, not daring to think nor breathe. The only sound was the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock in a world far away. Please, please…
"Please," he whispered.
And he was answered.
A great lurch and the detective was folded over, vomiting and coughing.
"Dear God, Watson, what did you do to me? You weren't supposed to be home till this evening, damn, I knew that poison wouldn't work fast enough. Never trust a gyp-"
The punch was strong enough to through Holmes off balance, even in a chair. But he couldn't right himself before he was smothered by Watson's lips on his own.
"Holmes, you bastard," Watson sobbed through his kiss, oblivious to the taste of poison, ipecac and blood. He couldn't still his hands; they flickered from Holmes's face to better kiss him, chest to feel his heartbeat, around his back to pull him closer, neck to support him. Watson kissed every bit of the precious face, leaving no curve or wrinkle neglected. He probably would have continued that way if Holmes hadn't pushed him away gently.
The look in Holmes's eye was the same he wore on a particularly difficult case. Studiously, he drew a line down Watson's jaw. Looking into the penetrating blue eyes, he breathed "dear… would you really be that put out?"
"Put out?" Watson nearly scoffed, "Holmes, if you had… it wasn't only you that you nearly killed," his throat tightened around the last word.
"No, no. I was getting in the way of you and Mary. You are done with the part of your life which contains me...
"I would kill Mary myself if it meant keeping you safe."
The clear blue eyes told Holmes he meant that.
Holmes's mind reeled, "you'd grown to hate me-"
"Oh for God sakes, Holmes, I don't hate you I've fallen in love with you!"
Unfiltered tears flowed down Watson's face. After a long silence, Holmes could only say, "oh, my…"
Holmes reached out and pulled his companion close, placing kisses of his own over the pained face. Then words spilled from his lips.
"I love you."
It was an apology, a declaration and a promise. Watson tightened his grip in response. Yes, he understood.
Watson moved forward so that he straddled Holmes in his chair. Had it been a different occasion, Watson would have felt heated but now he only felt like a child. He curled in on himself to let Holmes hold him.
"Stay," Watson said, a command that was almost a question.
"I will."