A Thousand Smiles - Empty Dwellings
Fandom: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - EMPT
Disclaimer: I'm not entirely sure I like the implication that I'm quite that old! :P
Paring: Holmes/Watson eventually
Rating: G - not even kisses yet.
Categories: pre-slash, angst, return fic, URST(Holmes),
Warnings: I'm new to livejournal, so despite my best efforts I have no beta. You have been warned, and if you'd like to correct anything here, or even offer suggestions on more Watson-ish wording, be my guest. Also, the Victorian era homophobia is starting to creep in a little here, although it's not really central.
Summary: This is because I'm always left wishing fics drew out the 'getting-together' phase a little longer. This is still basically a return fic, only, before the hiatus, Holmes told Watson about his feelings and was rejected. Now the boys are having to readjust.
This is part one - An Unusual Reunion.
Anywho, onward to the goodies.
Waiting in the empty house with Holmes for the capture of Colonel Moran was exhilarating, and to find myself suddenly in the same space as the man who had hunted my dear friend for three years made my blood boil. The result of this, and having no great involvement in the small scuffle that led to his arrest, left my body restless while my mind was exhausted. I left Holmes to accompany Lestrade to Scotland Yard, and took the walk back to my lodgings as a temporary respite from the intensity of the last few days.
I chose a detour through my favourite part of London over a more direct route, and thus found myself in no particular hurry back to my empty dwellings. My wanderings allowed me to contemplate the day in a way I never could have done under the threat of Holmes’ scrutiny. I reflected that I had no idea that I would be at all affected by the sight of Baker Street now that I knew Holmes was alive and well, but I found myself giddy with longing when I saw our old rooms. Perhaps, I mused, a widower without children could return to the habits he kept as a bachelor. Mycroft had, after all, seen that the flat was maintained as Holmes had left it, and despite us both being wealthy enough to afford out own digs now, I knew we enjoyed each others company enough overlook that fact.
I hardly gave Holmes’ confession a thought; after all, he had implied that it was a longstanding affliction, and therefore we’d lived under the same roof under those same conditions for years. With all of that on my mind, I wandered home humming merrily to myself and considering how to bring the matter up with him.
The perfect opportunity presented itself when he dined at my residence that night. My housekeeper fixed us a lovely meal, although I found myself anticipating Mrs Hudson’s pie in future, and Holmes enthusiastically discussed the day’s excitement with me. He was immaculately dressed, filling my sitting room with tobacco, and he greeted my promise to write up his return for The Strand warmly, although not without some gentle teasing. In fact, Holmes was so much himself, and so very familiar I found my nerves about breaching the idea of moving back to Baker Street fading, and I launched into the conversation at the first opportunity.
“I suppose you’ll be returning to our old rooms at Baker Street now, given that Mycroft had Mrs Hudson keep them for you?” I asked him as I poured us both a brandy.
Homes smiled into his glass as he nodded.
“That was the intention, yes.”
I chuckled at his droll tone, knowing how Holmes disliked having to say anything that was blindingly apparent.
“Would it be too great of an imposition to ask if I might join you again in rooming there?”
All of a sudden Holmes went very still, and his slender hands tightened on the glass that held his brandy. His grey eyes flicked up and locked onto my face, and his expression, although deliberately neutral, was intent.
“Watson, did you not mark what I said in Switzerland?” he asked carefully.
I was surprised that he meant to address the issue, but I found that it was not too difficult to answer, having already thought the matter over.
“It did not seem to matter. After all, we shared digs for many years without any difficulty.”
At this, Holmes nodded slowly, and lowered his eyes down to his hands, which were gripping his brandy even tighter than before. He seemed to be considering his next words very carefully, and I was beginning to feel less confident in the outcome of the conversation.
“That is very noble of you,” he murmured, swallowing hard, “especially considering what your medical background must have to say on the matter.”
During this pause, his eyes flickered up to me briefly, and he gave me a charming smile, but I could not fail to notice his knuckles going white as he prepared to continue, speaking very slowly and quietly.
“However,” he went on “as much as there were no difficulties for you, the same cannot be said for me.”
At this point he turned his head up and began stare intently at the ceiling rather than his fingers, but he continued on before I felt the need to interrupt him.
“I couldn’t have hoped for a kinder response from you; however it matters a great deal to me. I hope you will understand then, that I would rather not take you up on that offer.”
I was too shocked to respond, and so distracted by my confusion that I only vaguely saw him lift himself gracefully from his seat and slip from the room with a quiet ‘good-night’.
Disclaimer: I'm not entirely sure I like the implication that I'm quite that old! :P
Paring: Holmes/Watson eventually
Rating: G - not even kisses yet.
Categories: pre-slash, angst, return fic, URST(Holmes),
Warnings: I'm new to livejournal, so despite my best efforts I have no beta. You have been warned, and if you'd like to correct anything here, or even offer suggestions on more Watson-ish wording, be my guest. Also, the Victorian era homophobia is starting to creep in a little here, although it's not really central.
Summary: This is because I'm always left wishing fics drew out the 'getting-together' phase a little longer. This is still basically a return fic, only, before the hiatus, Holmes told Watson about his feelings and was rejected. Now the boys are having to readjust.
This is part one - An Unusual Reunion.
Anywho, onward to the goodies.
Waiting in the empty house with Holmes for the capture of Colonel Moran was exhilarating, and to find myself suddenly in the same space as the man who had hunted my dear friend for three years made my blood boil. The result of this, and having no great involvement in the small scuffle that led to his arrest, left my body restless while my mind was exhausted. I left Holmes to accompany Lestrade to Scotland Yard, and took the walk back to my lodgings as a temporary respite from the intensity of the last few days.
I chose a detour through my favourite part of London over a more direct route, and thus found myself in no particular hurry back to my empty dwellings. My wanderings allowed me to contemplate the day in a way I never could have done under the threat of Holmes’ scrutiny. I reflected that I had no idea that I would be at all affected by the sight of Baker Street now that I knew Holmes was alive and well, but I found myself giddy with longing when I saw our old rooms. Perhaps, I mused, a widower without children could return to the habits he kept as a bachelor. Mycroft had, after all, seen that the flat was maintained as Holmes had left it, and despite us both being wealthy enough to afford out own digs now, I knew we enjoyed each others company enough overlook that fact.
I hardly gave Holmes’ confession a thought; after all, he had implied that it was a longstanding affliction, and therefore we’d lived under the same roof under those same conditions for years. With all of that on my mind, I wandered home humming merrily to myself and considering how to bring the matter up with him.
The perfect opportunity presented itself when he dined at my residence that night. My housekeeper fixed us a lovely meal, although I found myself anticipating Mrs Hudson’s pie in future, and Holmes enthusiastically discussed the day’s excitement with me. He was immaculately dressed, filling my sitting room with tobacco, and he greeted my promise to write up his return for The Strand warmly, although not without some gentle teasing. In fact, Holmes was so much himself, and so very familiar I found my nerves about breaching the idea of moving back to Baker Street fading, and I launched into the conversation at the first opportunity.
“I suppose you’ll be returning to our old rooms at Baker Street now, given that Mycroft had Mrs Hudson keep them for you?” I asked him as I poured us both a brandy.
Homes smiled into his glass as he nodded.
“That was the intention, yes.”
I chuckled at his droll tone, knowing how Holmes disliked having to say anything that was blindingly apparent.
“Would it be too great of an imposition to ask if I might join you again in rooming there?”
All of a sudden Holmes went very still, and his slender hands tightened on the glass that held his brandy. His grey eyes flicked up and locked onto my face, and his expression, although deliberately neutral, was intent.
“Watson, did you not mark what I said in Switzerland?” he asked carefully.
I was surprised that he meant to address the issue, but I found that it was not too difficult to answer, having already thought the matter over.
“It did not seem to matter. After all, we shared digs for many years without any difficulty.”
At this, Holmes nodded slowly, and lowered his eyes down to his hands, which were gripping his brandy even tighter than before. He seemed to be considering his next words very carefully, and I was beginning to feel less confident in the outcome of the conversation.
“That is very noble of you,” he murmured, swallowing hard, “especially considering what your medical background must have to say on the matter.”
During this pause, his eyes flickered up to me briefly, and he gave me a charming smile, but I could not fail to notice his knuckles going white as he prepared to continue, speaking very slowly and quietly.
“However,” he went on “as much as there were no difficulties for you, the same cannot be said for me.”
At this point he turned his head up and began stare intently at the ceiling rather than his fingers, but he continued on before I felt the need to interrupt him.
“I couldn’t have hoped for a kinder response from you; however it matters a great deal to me. I hope you will understand then, that I would rather not take you up on that offer.”
I was too shocked to respond, and so distracted by my confusion that I only vaguely saw him lift himself gracefully from his seat and slip from the room with a quiet ‘good-night’.