Note: I don't own any of the characters from the Sherlock BBC television series, nor any of the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Crumpled Carriages - Precious Hands

My fingers reach for my wedding ring, again, turn it. In your absence, this physical representation of our bond can make me feel closer to you. The end of your shift was two hours ago. It's not like you to not even send a simple text to let me know when you're running late. My texts and calls to you remain unanswered.

I try to distract myself with reading case notes and playing my violin, but only get more restless as time passes and worry tries to claw at my nerves. I don't want to call Mycroft. Yet.

Finally, I remember that you had scribbled the name of the hospital and number you could be reached at on a piece of paper. "Here, in case you need to get a hold of me, I'm putting this on the fridge," my ears had registered, while my eyes were observing an experiment through the microscope and my mind was calculating the results. Clearly you deserve all of my attention - if only so I can find out where you are sooner!

I sense that my fingers will start trembling very shortly, manage to keep my voice calm as I call that number.

"Hello, can I speak with Dr. Watson, please?"

...

"I appreciate you not giving out such personal information to strangers! This is his husband, Sherlock Holmes!"

...

To my great relief I hear that you're still at the hospital. Safe! "Yes," I roll my eyes. If you paid attention to what you read you would know that "We are both mentioned in the newspapers! Now, can I please speak with my husband?!"

Do these people not know that we're married? Where have they been? There were articles about our wedding in newspapers and magazines, with headlines ranging from 'Sherlock Holmes Weds Dr. John Watson' to 'Finally Tied The Knot: Famous Detective And His Partner/Blogger!'. Ten months ago, but still...

...

Frustrated, it's difficult for me not to shout at the person over the phone. "How much longer do you think it'll be?"

...

"You could have relaid that information right away. Thank you for having done so, finally!" I remind myself that you'd certainly give me a stern look for my not-tactful tone of voice.

...

"Thank you, have a good evening!" I press the end-call-button more forcefully than necessary, throw myself on the couch. There's a reason I don't like to have to interact with people at your work...

After half a minute of sulking I sit back up, grab my laptob and, sighing, go to a "latest news" page. Ah, there's what the person on the phone mentioned: "Train derails - 5 confirmed dead, dozens wounded being taken to hospitals in London...". I swallow seeing the pictures of the crumpled carriages, first responders trying to get to the casualties.

You're being kept away from me in order to help others that, right now, need you more. Their life may depend on your expertise and skill. A lump forms in my throat as I realize and ponder the responsibilities placed on you, and in your competent hands.

I try to distract myself with reading, but my thoughts keep returning to you. At this time, you are one of many doctors in this city trying to help and save lives affected by this train crash. I check my phone several more times. Finally, there's a message from you!

Dealing with train crash victims. Will be a couple of hours yet. I'm fine. Love you! JW

Quickly I type my answer hoping you'll see it right away, in what little break you were able to get.

I'll be waiting for you at the hospital. Text me when you're done. SH

Ta. JW

I take a deep breath, go freshen up in the bathroom, then call a cab. Wrapped in my Belstaff and purple scarf, on my way out I let Mrs. Hudson know that we'll be back later.

During the cab ride my fingers reach for my wedding ring, again, feel it. We've both dealt with death through The Work, you additionally as a doctor. Seeing pictures of the train crash makes me aware how much I need you, am not ready to lose you. Even though you were not on that train yourself, are helping victims now, I want to physically touch you, to reassure myself of your well-being.

At the hospital I switch my phone to vibrate, locate the chapel, it's not hard to find. I sit quietly for a while. At first I'm alone. Various people come in, stay for various times.

I hadn't planned to, but it's not hard to deduce why they're here: the old woman prays for her husband who is deathly ill; the young couple holding a baby each give thanks for the birth of their healthy twins; the middle-aged woman crying is worried about her sick sister; the two young men pray for their friend in ICU who attempted suicide; a mother and father are here praying for their son and daughter-in-law who were both hurt on that train...

I do thank God for you, ask him to keep you safe, help you as you operate... I leave the chapel to get some fresh air, outside look up at the stars, or rather what is visible of them through the light pollution. When my phone vibrates with a text, I see it's from you.

Done. Was rough. Where are you? JW

Waiting for you outside. SH

You rub at your face as you step through the door, look tired. I'm right there to embrace you, hold you tight, kiss your face...

"Sherlock..."

I feel your arms around me, finally.

"I think we should step over to the side."

You try to get me to move while I still kiss your hair, don't want to move.

"Dear,... I love you, too..."

You try to get me to move again, as other people have to walk very close by us. Yes, I can do that to give us more privacy.

"Hmm," I sigh as I feel you leaning against me. "You're tired and your feet hurt?"

"Yes, I just want to go home, wash up, eat, go to bed..."

I pull back and smile at you. It's hard not to keep kissing you. I hold your hand while we walk to the curb where I stop a cab for us. Inside, I give the female driver our address. We sit close, I put my right arm around you so you can rest your head on my shoulder, and I can lean my head on yours. With my free hand I hold yours, stroke it.

"I love you," I kiss your hair, "and I'm so proud of you for helping your patients!"

"Hmm," is your only response as you yawn without covering your mouth, relax more against me, on the verge of falling asleep.

Why does the driver keep looking at us in the rearview mirror when we're doing nothing untoward, just mind our own business? Occasionally I've wished wedding rings were worn on the middle finger so I could extend only that one on purpose to show off my ring, and get away with it. Instead, I hold up both our left hands to show her.

"See this? We're married, he's my husband. Stop staring!" I say as coldly as I can, yet with pride, then feel your foot kick my ankle. The smile at the corners of your mouth, though, says you understand me and agree.

Back in our apartment I kiss you on the lips properly, then help you out of your coat and hang it up, before taking off mine. While you're in the bathroom I order your favorite takeaway, because, of course, I hadn't cooked supper. By the time you emerge refreshed after a long soak I've arranged it nicely on plates with cutlery on the coffee table, our drinks are in glasses. I've even lit some candles.

Your surprised "That smells and looks lovely, Sherlock!" is enough reward for my efforts. As soon as you sit down beside me I turn to you, take both your hands in mine because I feel the strong need to kiss them all over.

"May I kiss your hands?" I ask.

"Sure," your smile is warm and fond.

I take my time kissing the palms and backs of your hands, each finger, also move my lips around your wrists.

"You are precious, so are your hands," I say, see you blinking away tears.

You lean forward to give me a quick kiss and hug. "Let's eat."

When we're done, I clean up the dishes quickly, then join you in bed. Not only are you my conductor of light, but as a surgeon also, where possible, restore life.

"I love you, John," I whisper in your ear. You're already sleeping when I turn out the light.