(no subject)
“Why don’t you call me ‘Willy’ anymore, Sherlock, my boy?” he wonders playfully and Holmes shudders, hearing the endearment he once so loved to hear.
Watson meanwhile takes advantage of Holmes’ immobility and finally lets himself in, turning his head in all possible directions. He looks disappointed when he realizes there’s nothing extraordinary in the room.
“You are not experimenting, are you, Holmes?” Watson states rather than asks, realizing the detective had lied to him, again, and Holmes would’ve been able to see hurt in his eyes if he had turned to look at his friend, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuts his eyes until he sees stars, hoping against hope, William will disappear.
“So what’s the matter, Holmes?” Watson begins again, and at the same time William speaks:
“Ooh, Watson himself is here, I’m so excited!” he exclaims and his eyes darken, telling Holmes there’s more than just excitement beneath. He swallows loudly.
“Holmes!” Watson calls him, trying to gain his friend’s attention, looking positively furious.
“I’ve been watching him, you know” William speaks again, tilting his head to the side. “I mean, after he moved. Do you want to know what I think?”
Holmes keeps silent, unable to answer while Watson is in the room and his heart beats painfully in his chest as he tries to decide how to make both of these men disappear from his room.
“In my humble opinion, he’s missing you so much, he can hardly sleep” William continues cheerfully. “He just keeps tossing and turning in his bed all night long, thinking of you, while that useless witch deceives herself in thinking he’s all hers -”
“Yes, Watson?” Holmes almost shouts, trying to outvoice William, and he feels like shrinking in a ball from all this insanity.
“What the blasted hell is the matter with you?!” Watson matches his voice in loudness, his brow furrowed and his glare burning a hole in Holmes.
‘Go away, William, please’ he silently pleads, gasping loudly when the whispering appears in his ears.
“Are you telling me I’m not welcome here anymore?” William says, quirking an eyebrow, always aware of what Holmes is thinking. His eyes darken once again. “I see Watson has made you forget all about me” he spits Watson’s name like it’s curse and Holmes pleads him with his eyes to stop.
How could I possibly forget you?
“I’ve always been there for you!” William continues, his voice dangerously sweet. “I used to keep you company, make you smile and laugh, protect you from all evil, and it had always been just the two of us, Sherlock! Or have you forgotten that?!”
William’s eyes are almost black now and Holmes can’t make himself look at him anymore, he turns around, feeling tears in the back of his eyes and he can’t do anything, he doesn’t know what to do anymore, his hand is shaking so hard, and oh god, Watson is calling him -
“HOLMES!”
There are hands on his shoulders and Holmes is afraid of opening his eyes to look whose they are. The hands are warm, though, unlike William’s and he believes it’s Watson who’s been led down to his boiling point.
Watson shakes him and Holmes’ eyes fleet open in surprise to see Watson’s worried face few inches from his own.
“God, Holmes!”
William appears out of nowhere just behind Watson’s shoulder and looks intensively at the doctor, his eyes narrowed.
“I do like his moustache” He grins sincerely, glancing at Holmes over Watson’s shoulder. Holmes swallows the bile in his throat and feels the shiver go down his spine.
And then -
Holmes’ heart explodes with pure horror and he forgets how to breathe
- then William leans in and gently kisses Watson on the cheek.
Watson doesn’t even notice.
William looks back at him smugly, grins and pats the doctor on the cheek. “What do you feel now?”
He doesn’t say anything, looking stupidly at the place on Watson’s cheek where William has kissed him. The whispering is so loud he barely hears Watson’s voice at all, William’s, though, is as loud as ever, seemingly sounding right in his head.
“How do you truly feel, Sherlock?”
“Please, Holmes!”
“Say it, my dear, say it!”
His head is spinning.
And then:
sayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayit
“SHUT UP!” He screams, his hands protecting his ears. “SHUT UP! Shut the hell up and go away already! I hate you, you bastard!”
And everything disappears at once - William, the whispering and so do Watson’s hands on his shoulders.
Watson stares at him, anger, hurt, offence and something else in his eyes which Holmes doesn’t have time nor wish to recognize, and, just like that, Watson walks away from the room, shutting the door quietly.
Finally being left alone, Holmes leans heavily on the wall as his legs refuse to hold him and his left hand is gently rubbing his shaking right one. He stares blankly at the windowsill where William was sitting less than an hour ago.
He doesn’t worry about Watson - he knows he’ll be back sooner or later.
He has another problem to worry about.
He doesn’t know for how long he’s been sitting there, but he’s sure to wait until his hand stops twitching before he stands up and goes to the bathroom.
There’s no sight of William in the room and all is quiet.
----
That night, lying in his bed Watson thinks about what had happened today over and over again and it just can’t leave him alone, the images of Holmes, scared out of his mind, wouldn’t stop flashing before his eyes.
Watson has never been stupid, quite the reverse, he’s always considered himself to be smart, and he surely could draw a sensible conclusion of what he’d witnessed earlier this day. He could focus on Holmes’ behavior and collect a whole bunch of his friend’s actions which can - must - be called symptoms. Watson could concentrate his attention on the detective’s shaking hand, his appearance, his words and they would be enough even for a stupid man with no medical education to realize there surely is something really wrong with Holmes.
Of course, Watson could do this but then it would mean something is wrong with Holmes, and he just can’t imagine such a thing. Holmes can be sick with flu, he can be wounded by a bullet, he can fracture his leg and though Watson would still be worried he’d know it is all fixable and simple, and Holmes will remain his cheerful and annoying self.
But he can’t nor wants to imagine anything really wrong with him, something that will be serious and terrifying, something that would deeply affect his character. It would mean he will have to lose Holmes, his best friend, the most (one of the most) dearest person in his life, his Holmes and he can’t even bring himself to think about it.
So, feeling truly horrible and scared and terrified in the heart of hearts, Watson grabs at the idea of Holmes being his usual annoying and impossible self today, yelling at Watson and lying to him and sending him away from his house -
He sighs desperately, turning to his other side again, as he knows that’s a lie
“Try to sleep, darling” Mary mumbles sleepily from the other side of the bed, her voice muffled by the pillow, and Watson moves closer to her, wrapping an arm around her petite fragile form and he forces himself to stop thinking of goddamn Holmes, he’s just been a complete moron today, there’s nothing unusual about it
In a minute he’s deeply asleep, his conscience lulled by the fake confidence his mind has created, to relieve himself of all the responsibility he subconsciously feels.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know yet how much he will regret it later.
----
Please, review.
Watson meanwhile takes advantage of Holmes’ immobility and finally lets himself in, turning his head in all possible directions. He looks disappointed when he realizes there’s nothing extraordinary in the room.
“You are not experimenting, are you, Holmes?” Watson states rather than asks, realizing the detective had lied to him, again, and Holmes would’ve been able to see hurt in his eyes if he had turned to look at his friend, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuts his eyes until he sees stars, hoping against hope, William will disappear.
“So what’s the matter, Holmes?” Watson begins again, and at the same time William speaks:
“Ooh, Watson himself is here, I’m so excited!” he exclaims and his eyes darken, telling Holmes there’s more than just excitement beneath. He swallows loudly.
“Holmes!” Watson calls him, trying to gain his friend’s attention, looking positively furious.
“I’ve been watching him, you know” William speaks again, tilting his head to the side. “I mean, after he moved. Do you want to know what I think?”
Holmes keeps silent, unable to answer while Watson is in the room and his heart beats painfully in his chest as he tries to decide how to make both of these men disappear from his room.
“In my humble opinion, he’s missing you so much, he can hardly sleep” William continues cheerfully. “He just keeps tossing and turning in his bed all night long, thinking of you, while that useless witch deceives herself in thinking he’s all hers -”
“Yes, Watson?” Holmes almost shouts, trying to outvoice William, and he feels like shrinking in a ball from all this insanity.
“What the blasted hell is the matter with you?!” Watson matches his voice in loudness, his brow furrowed and his glare burning a hole in Holmes.
‘Go away, William, please’ he silently pleads, gasping loudly when the whispering appears in his ears.
“Are you telling me I’m not welcome here anymore?” William says, quirking an eyebrow, always aware of what Holmes is thinking. His eyes darken once again. “I see Watson has made you forget all about me” he spits Watson’s name like it’s curse and Holmes pleads him with his eyes to stop.
How could I possibly forget you?
“I’ve always been there for you!” William continues, his voice dangerously sweet. “I used to keep you company, make you smile and laugh, protect you from all evil, and it had always been just the two of us, Sherlock! Or have you forgotten that?!”
William’s eyes are almost black now and Holmes can’t make himself look at him anymore, he turns around, feeling tears in the back of his eyes and he can’t do anything, he doesn’t know what to do anymore, his hand is shaking so hard, and oh god, Watson is calling him -
“HOLMES!”
There are hands on his shoulders and Holmes is afraid of opening his eyes to look whose they are. The hands are warm, though, unlike William’s and he believes it’s Watson who’s been led down to his boiling point.
Watson shakes him and Holmes’ eyes fleet open in surprise to see Watson’s worried face few inches from his own.
“God, Holmes!”
William appears out of nowhere just behind Watson’s shoulder and looks intensively at the doctor, his eyes narrowed.
“I do like his moustache” He grins sincerely, glancing at Holmes over Watson’s shoulder. Holmes swallows the bile in his throat and feels the shiver go down his spine.
And then -
Holmes’ heart explodes with pure horror and he forgets how to breathe
- then William leans in and gently kisses Watson on the cheek.
Watson doesn’t even notice.
William looks back at him smugly, grins and pats the doctor on the cheek. “What do you feel now?”
He doesn’t say anything, looking stupidly at the place on Watson’s cheek where William has kissed him. The whispering is so loud he barely hears Watson’s voice at all, William’s, though, is as loud as ever, seemingly sounding right in his head.
“How do you truly feel, Sherlock?”
“Please, Holmes!”
“Say it, my dear, say it!”
His head is spinning.
And then:
sayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayitsayit
“SHUT UP!” He screams, his hands protecting his ears. “SHUT UP! Shut the hell up and go away already! I hate you, you bastard!”
And everything disappears at once - William, the whispering and so do Watson’s hands on his shoulders.
Watson stares at him, anger, hurt, offence and something else in his eyes which Holmes doesn’t have time nor wish to recognize, and, just like that, Watson walks away from the room, shutting the door quietly.
Finally being left alone, Holmes leans heavily on the wall as his legs refuse to hold him and his left hand is gently rubbing his shaking right one. He stares blankly at the windowsill where William was sitting less than an hour ago.
He doesn’t worry about Watson - he knows he’ll be back sooner or later.
He has another problem to worry about.
He doesn’t know for how long he’s been sitting there, but he’s sure to wait until his hand stops twitching before he stands up and goes to the bathroom.
There’s no sight of William in the room and all is quiet.
----
That night, lying in his bed Watson thinks about what had happened today over and over again and it just can’t leave him alone, the images of Holmes, scared out of his mind, wouldn’t stop flashing before his eyes.
Watson has never been stupid, quite the reverse, he’s always considered himself to be smart, and he surely could draw a sensible conclusion of what he’d witnessed earlier this day. He could focus on Holmes’ behavior and collect a whole bunch of his friend’s actions which can - must - be called symptoms. Watson could concentrate his attention on the detective’s shaking hand, his appearance, his words and they would be enough even for a stupid man with no medical education to realize there surely is something really wrong with Holmes.
Of course, Watson could do this but then it would mean something is wrong with Holmes, and he just can’t imagine such a thing. Holmes can be sick with flu, he can be wounded by a bullet, he can fracture his leg and though Watson would still be worried he’d know it is all fixable and simple, and Holmes will remain his cheerful and annoying self.
But he can’t nor wants to imagine anything really wrong with him, something that will be serious and terrifying, something that would deeply affect his character. It would mean he will have to lose Holmes, his best friend, the most (one of the most) dearest person in his life, his Holmes and he can’t even bring himself to think about it.
So, feeling truly horrible and scared and terrified in the heart of hearts, Watson grabs at the idea of Holmes being his usual annoying and impossible self today, yelling at Watson and lying to him and sending him away from his house -
He sighs desperately, turning to his other side again, as he knows that’s a lie
“Try to sleep, darling” Mary mumbles sleepily from the other side of the bed, her voice muffled by the pillow, and Watson moves closer to her, wrapping an arm around her petite fragile form and he forces himself to stop thinking of goddamn Holmes, he’s just been a complete moron today, there’s nothing unusual about it
In a minute he’s deeply asleep, his conscience lulled by the fake confidence his mind has created, to relieve himself of all the responsibility he subconsciously feels.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know yet how much he will regret it later.
----
Please, review.