Tell me i'm here, chapter 2
Tell me I’m here.
By Dr. Harley
Rating: PG to NC-17 in later chapters
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary
Summary: Holmes has a developing case of dementia praecox and he’s unable to deal with it on his own, but will just-married Watson be there for him, having settles down with his new life?
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, emotional torture
Disclaimer: *lazy to think of a witty disclaimer, so just* not my characters
A/N: Here’s the second chapter, and as I promised it’s much longer than the previous ones.
I also want to thank all of those who reviewed to this story, thank you so much, you can’t even imagine how much your reviews mean to me! THANK YOU!
Now, read and enjoy, and don’t forget to review this chapter, I’ve kinda put my soul in it :)
Chapter 2.
William
When Holmes comes back to his house, his hand is still shaking violently. He doesn’t stop, though, instead he rushes past Mrs. Hudson to the second floor and locks the door behind him on every single lock he has there, annoyed as his hand wouldn’t obey him. Once he’s sure he’s done everything he could to prevent anybody from entering, he slides down the door, closing his eyes shut with a painful expression.
He doesn’t want to think about what has just happened, his mind refuses to acknowledge it or even consider it to be possible. It can’t actually be happening to him, Holmes thinks, desperately, it just can’t.
The images of the eternal darkness right behind the Watson’s chair flash before his eyes, enchanting him, intimidating him, blowing coldness on him, swallowing him, and he shudders, trying to think of a reasonable explanation to it, the one that will not include his being crazy.
It all is the opium, he finally thinks, grasping at the idea, and he’s glad he’s finally found something to blame. He jumps up, standing on his feat unsteadily, and he solemnly swears to himself he’ll never use it in his life ever again.
Or alcohol. He will never ever take a single drop in his mouth once more. The drugs and the alcohol must be the only sensible explanation -
“I think you have forgotten something else”
Holmes stops dead in his tracks and he feels like he has missed the step on the stairs and he’s falling, or something inside of him has just fallen down and broken. He straightens his back, painfully so, but he refuses to turn around to face the person speaking somewhere from the window, because he recognizes that voice.
He thinks he will never be able to forget it.
“What is it?” the voice mocks. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Sherlock?”
Holmes winces. He doesn’t want to hear that, not again, not ever, and he can only breathe deeply and slowly, in and out, in and out.
You’re not here.
“Am I, really? Then do turn around and face me, fine detective!”
The air in the room seems to have gotten cold, really cold, making Holmes shiver slightly and the hair on his arms stand with goose bumps. Left with no choice, but still having hope that all of it will just disappear right about now, Holmes turns around.
There, right on the windowsill, the man is sprawled imposingly, or not a man, but a boy about the age of seventeen. He is half-sitting half-lying on the windowsill, leaning his back onto the wall, his legs crossed at his ankles, arms folded at his chest. He looks Holmes up and down, that ever-present boyish curiosity written on his face and something like madness in his eyes, making Holmes to relive all those times many years ago. The boy smirks knowingly at him.
“What now, Sherlock, can’t you deduce a logical explanation for me?” His voice is the same as it had always been, as Holmes remembers it, and he looks the same too. His reddish hair is still disheveled and bright, his green eyes twinkling at him, dimples showed while smiling.
After all this years he hasn’t changed at all, and for that Holmes knows the reason in the heart of hearts.
Holmes swallows, several times, trying to get rid of the bitterness in his mouth but it doesn’t go anywhere, and his throat is so dry it hurts him to even try.
“What are you doing here, William?” he finally says and his voice is almost as cold as he’d like it to be and he tries his best to at least seem self-controlled regardless of his nearly shaking beneath the calm façade.
“What, are you not happy to see me?” William asks him, tilting his head to the side and squinting at him as if to see him better. Holmes feels the hair on the back of his neck stand.
“Why have you come back?” Holmes wonders bitterly instead of answering, though he’s not sure whether he wants to know the answer.
“Why? Well, Sherlock, my friend, I believe you are fully capable of deducing it yourself” William grins, his dimples showing. “Because you need me.”
He’s silent for a moment and then: “I’ve never left, though, my friend” he smiles happily, nodding.
“You have never been here, to begin with” Holmes corrects him firmly, though he feels more and more with each second that he’s losing it. He realizes he’s been clenching his hands in fists so tightly, his nails have left almost bleeding marks on his sweaty palms. He wipes them on his pants hastily.
“You’re mistaken, Sherlock, I’ve always been here. Your inability to see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t here all this time”
He can’t believe this is happening, not again, please. He exhales shakily, shutting his eyes until they sting, willing William to disappear, praying all gods and spirits he doesn’t believe in to please, please, make William disappear.
When he opens his eyes, William is no longer there. For a moment he stands still, shocked, and dazed and then he turns around feverishly, his heart beating violently in his chest.
There’s a sudden knocking on the door and then Watson’s voice calls “Holmes! Open up!”
Holmes breathes shakily and goes to the door, to undo all of his locks, trying to stiffen his hair while he does, suddenly very careful about his appearance.
“What in blasted hell have you put all these locks for, Holmes?” Watson exclaims, bemused, from the other side of the door, obviously bored of the numerous clicking sounds of Holmes’s locks. “As if Devil himself was chasing you!”
May be he was
Holmes opens the door finally, but not completely, just for his face to fit in and Watson at once starts to enter the door, failing as Holmes holds it firmly, not letting his friend in.
Watson’s face wears the expression of both worry and annoyance, though he chooses the latter when he speaks.
“Holmes!”
“Yes?”
“Why wouldn’t you let me in?!”
“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t, my friend” Holmes says and puts a smile on his face which comes out shaky and unsteady, as he tries his best to think of a reason not to let Watson in his room.
“And why so, pray tell me?!”
“Ah” he mumbles to win some time “I’m currently in the middle of an experiment” he finally ventures.
“Oh really?” Watson repeats quite dubiously “And what is it, exactly?”
“I can’t tell you” Holmes says bluntly, suddenly getting annoyed with Watson. All he wants is just being left alone and Watson doesn’t help the matter. “And I can’t let you in my room, too”
“Holmes, don’t be petty, let me in!” Watson insists indignantly and Holmes flares up, too.
“This is my room, Watson!”
“And I’d been living here for three years!”
“So what?! You left!” Holmes shouts, not sure why exactly he’s so dangerously mad, not liking one bit of his own tone which contains too much information, too much emotion, too much hurt and pain.
Watson keeps silent and exhales deeply; his hand goes up to rub his forehead - a clear sign that he’s indeed either furious or annoyed or, even, sad.
“And what are you doing here, anyway?” Holmes demands, still angry and rather uncomfortable with having lost his self-control so fast and shown so much emotion.
“Why, obviously I followed you after your rather dramatic escape from my house! I thought something was wrong!” Watson explains and Holmes can detect defending notes in his voice, as if he has done something truly terrible by coming here. When he speaks again, his sound much less confident and a tiny bit hurt, making Holmes regret his tone immediately. “And who are you talking to?” Watson asks him suspiciously.
“Why, I do believe I’m talking to you, old boy.” Holmes answers, sounding calmer this time.
“Holmes!” Watson is annoyed now. “I mean who you were talking to when I came? I heard your voice.”
“I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about, Watson” he answers nonchalantly, his mind racing.
“I’m sure you do! When I came to your door I heard your voice! Is anyone in there?” Watson demands, trying to peer into the room, standing on tiptoe. He’s saying something else, something about Holmes behaving like a child and mistrusting him but the meaning of his words doesn’t register in Holmes’ mind as he suddenly hears a sound of movement from behind his back.
As quickly as he can he turns around and his heart stops, just like it always does, at seeing William who smirks at him.
He closes his eyes, tired, scared, confused, hurt, his right hand shaking as he mouthes the word ‘William’.
On to the PART II