Notes: Thank you to dwells-in-the-night for your well-wishes! I feel much better now; a slight cough is all that remains of my terrible illness. Okay, terrible is a bit of an exaggeration, but I hate being ill, so it felt terrible.

Disclaimer: I own several cherry-patterned handkerchiefs, but not Sherlock Holmes. *sniffle* I'll just go dry my tears with one of my hankies.

xxxxxx

Undeserving

'I love you.'

Holmes' silver eyes went wide at my bold declaration. His hand rose to his lips as though to keep his words in. It had little effect.

'No!' he rasped. 'No, Watson. You cannot mean that. You cannot love me. No.' He took a small and, it appeared to me, unwilling, step back.

'But Holmes, it is true. I love you.' I extended my arms in an invitation of an embrace.

'Watson!' he said desperately. 'You mustn't love me! Take the words back. Say that you don't love me! Please, say that you don't love me.'

'Why, Holmes? Why must I not love you?' I asked in great confusion. I knew that he appeared to abhor the softer emotions, but I never thought he would deny so vehemently the thought that anyone could love him.

'Watson, you cannot understand! Just don't. Let us never speak of this again.'

'Holmes, I have just told you of feelings that I have kept hidden for a long time-'

'No! Stop, please! Cease, desist! Just stop saying that you love me...' he trailed off miserably.

'Why, my dear Holmes?'

He averted his gaze from mine, his face slightly turned from me. When he spoke, it was in the faintest of whispers, 'Because I do not deserve your love, my dear, dear Watson.'

I was shocked at this statement. 'Holmes, why on earth would you be undeserving of my love? You are likely the worthiest, most deserving man I will ever know!' I cried, stepping closer to him. He did not move away as I laid my hand on his shoulder, but he shuddered a little.

'My dear Watson!' he moaned quietly. 'I do not deserve you.'

'Why, Holmes? Tell me and let me decide for myself.'

'Oh, Watson. My vices, for a start. The fact that I constantly abuse you verbally and act coldly towards you. The fact that I always unthinkingly drag you into unnecessary danger. The fact that even when you tend me when I'm wounded, I still manage to find some silly little way to hurt you. The way I always ignore your concern for me. These reasons are simply the beginning of a very long list of reasons why you should not love me! I do not deserve you, much as I wish I could!' Holmes cried, pushing my hand off his shoulder.

'But Holmes,' said I, carefully, so carefully placing my arms around him, 'You do. It is not you who is unworthy, my friend, but I. You have it entirely backwards. John Watson, poor, crippled, retired army surgeon, can hardly deserve of the love of so brilliant, so intelligent, so ingenious a man as Sherlock Holmes, unofficial consulting detective.'

'My dear Watson!' murmured Holmes. 'Don't say that. It's a lie. A falsehood, and you know how much I detest falsehoods. I am the undeserving one, not you. Really.'

I was becoming annoyed by this conversation. 'Holmes, why do we not stop arguing about which of us is unworthy and simply enjoy each other's presence?'

Holmes shrugged and moved his face close to mine. 'It is true that I enjoy your presence, dear friend, but that does not change the fact that I don't deserve it!'

'You must always have the last word, mustn't you, Holmes?' I asked, smiling a little.

'Yes,' Holmes replied simply, and proceeded to give me a kiss which in my opinion we both deserved.