Never Stood a Chance
A prompt fill to this.
Holmes has always had somewhat romantic feelings towards Watson, but it was never anything serious and surely nothing would have come out of it anyway, so he has kept it to himself and accepted the fact that Watson is moving out and getting married.
What Holmes did not expect was to fall completely, painfully, head over heels in love with Watson during the Moriarty case.
Whether the feeling is mutual is up to you. Does Holmes tell Watson before he "dies"? Confusion, UST, epic angst, y/y?
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I hate you.
I truly hate you, do you know that?
I resent you. I despise you. I want you disappear from my life and never, ever return.
What, you didn’t think I felt this way? How could you not? I thought it was pretty obvious. Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. I came this close to losing what remains of my sanity and it’s all because of you.
All because of you.
I accepted it, you know. I accepted that I had to let you go. And despite my own selfish feelings and regrets I wanted you to move on, to start a family. To be happy.
I truly meant it, I did. If I couldn’t have you - and so much was painfully clear right from the beginning - at least you deserved to find some happiness. And for a while everything was okay, because I found Irene, and you found Mary, and perhaps we both could enjoy the love that life handed to us on a silver plate.
The only difference is that you truly love Mary and I never loved Irene.
No, that’s not true. I did love her. But not like you and Mary - not like you and me. And instead of making my life better she ended up being one of my biggest regrets, because by giving in to her I sealed her fate. Moriarty never would have killed her - never would’ve hired her in the first place - if she hadn’t fallen in love with me.
What makes it all the more excruciating is that I let her. I let her kiss me, let her love me, all the while hoping to find that spark, that connection that binds two people in love.
Sometimes you have to accept the inevitable. It’s hard enough to do it once, but twice is too much. Out of friendship, out of loyalty I let you go, because I could never forgive myself if you stayed with me. The joy of having you by my side would at first seem like it was all that mattered, but over time the feelings it suppressed would emerge. While walking free around the streets, you’d be my prisoner, subjected to my every whim. I couldn’t do that to you, couldn’t keep you all to myself.
So I came to terms with it, accepted that you would move out and marry that girl. I knew that it was for the best. You know, in the long run. If I kept you, you would start harbouring feelings of resentment towards me and I’d rather have you not with me as a friend than with me as an enemy.
But what I couldn’t deal with, what was inescapable but yet so detestable, is that I was left behind. All alone. I wasn’t joking, you know, as you drove us to your stag night. You’ll settle down, have your family and I’ll… die alone.
If I’m honest, I hadn’t fully accepted it then. Your nuptials would only be held the next day, so I figured I still had time. For what, I didn’t know. Perhaps I was as ready for it to happen as I could ever be. I may even have looked forward to it, to get it over with, so I could get myself together.
Get over you.
Looking back on it now, it should’ve been so easy. I always thought of you as a dear friend, a valuable companion, and I would never do anything that would jeopardise our relationship.
And so I have always kept these feelings to myself - if one could even call them that. As you’ve pointed out quite a few times as I criticized your relationship with Mary, I have never truly committed myself to a woman. You seemed to think that it meant I am inexperienced, unfamiliar with the beautiful phenomenon that is love.
Had you spoken those thoughts aloud, I would’ve agreed with you. I have never loved another human being with all my heart before. In fact, there’s only so few people I truly care about. You didn’t insult me at your stag party - thought I doubt your words were meant to harm - when you claimed I had no friends. It’s true, I don’t. It’s because I don’t need them. Aside from dear, sweet Irene, every person I ever truly cared about was within a few feet's distance.
You and Mycroft.
It’s obvious why I care about my brother, my nearest relative blessed with skills that rival my own. He always looked out for me when we were younger, he was the only one I could ever talk to because he was the sole person who understood me.
Sound familiar?
Still, I put that all aside. I told myself time and time again that things would be fine. You would still come to visit me every once in a while. We’d drink tea or, on occasion despite your complaining about my habits, something stronger. You could read the paper while I’d just sit there staring at you, a thousand thoughts going through my head. Just like old times.
And after that, you would go home. At first I would argue with you, ask you to stay, but in the end you’d always go and I would stop asking. And it was alright. You made your choice in life, I would come to terms with it eventually.
I seem to have a problem with accepting things when it concerns you. Do you have any idea when I finally acknowledged the fact that you’d be marrying her?
It was when we came to the point where no return was possible. When the inevitable became definitive.
Some might say that I didn’t accept it as much as it was forced onto me, but alas. As the two of you were announced husband and wife I felt this heavy weight lift off my shoulders. The roles have been reversed. Now you are the one tied down, the life of matrimony your chain and ball. And I, for I now have absolutely no right to claim you as mine, am free. I have to feel no guilt over trying to keep you with me, for you will always go home to her. Not being around you all the time should be enough to drown out these feelings. I need only wait until they die down.
If only things were so simple.
Once more onto the breach, you’d said. I knew it meant I’d still lose you afterwards - but at least it wasn’t now. I should thank Moriarty in some way for bringing us back together one last time. Had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have had to save your life and you never would’ve agreed to help me. I was the one who suggested that after our case I would never again ask for your assistance and you should know that I had every intention of keeping that promise. But who knew, I’d been able to persuade you once - granted, both your and Mary’s life had been at stake - so perhaps in time you might see things differently. There was always a possibility, no matter how small.
You’ve told me once that I’m a masochist, that my fighting in the ring and shooting cocaine up my veins is my way of dealing with emotional problems. But those self-destructive habits are nothing compared to you. I shouldn’t have asked you to see this through to the end. In the back of my mind I knew that I would be able to solve it myself, my only concern should’ve been whether or not you’d be safe. I should’ve told you to take Mary and go into hiding. But I couldn’t. I had this opportunity to postpone your leaving and I couldn’t let it go by.
I’ve spent so long accepting it, but it only took a second for that resolve to vanish.
You’re a married man now, you’ve irrevocably moved out of Baker Street. And while I spent the entire Blackwood case denying the thought that our partnership was nearing its end, I know that if it weren’t for Moriarty, it would’ve been. He’s essentially provided us with an encore. And while I was grateful for the chance to spend more time with you - time I never should’ve had - I have never more dreaded solving a case.
Time has gone by, my friend, so much time. Yet it seems like it was only yesterday that we were introduced. It was a strange experience when I got to know you, from the minute we shook hands I noticed things I didn’t ordinarily pick up on in others - the strength of your fingers, the way your eyes bore into mine as we exchanged pleasantries being only a few of them. I knew then that there was something special about you, that you weren’t just another man.
At first I thought it meant I had finally found a true friend - and it’s true, I did. But over time I started experiencing thoughts and sensations that I figured did not come forth out of common friendship.
There were times when you complained that I was being distant with you, that I didn’t let you in. You’d think that you did something wrong and tried to make me tell you what it was that was bothering me. What was I supposed to tell you then? That I felt my urges rising and that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep them in?
I lusted over you, I desired you, but never anything more than that. We are men, it is unnatural, forbidden.
And yet, my heart would never listen to reason. I’m not sure what I would’ve done had you not met Mary; I find it quite possible that one day I would’ve tried to extinguish my desires with even more alcohol and cocaine to prevent myself from doing things I would be sure to regret the very next day. And perhaps doing so would instead fuel the need inside of me, thus causing me to act accordingly and ruin both our lives.
No, it would be wrong to belittle whatever thoughts I had of you. I didn’t merely want your touch, your body; I wanted you. I wanted you to sit close to me so I could rest my head in your lap, for you to caress my cheek, to lean in and kiss my lips. As little as I may know about love, when I came to know you I knew that my feelings for you far surpassed any I have ever felt for another human being - woman or man.
But you are male, as am I, and most importantly, you’re not interested in other men. And so, after giving them careful consideration in the beginning, I willed those thoughts away. As you know I must keep my mind busy, so usually difficult cases would be enough to distract me; other times I would just shut you out to limit temptations.
Eventually I came to accept these urges, it was much easier to embrace them than denying they existed. I succeeded in controlling them whenever you were around and as such I found myself able to open up to you. No longer did I need to be afraid that you’d see right through me, see these desires slumbering beneath the surface. I safely locked them away, already caring more about you as a friend than I ever had for anyone in my life - perhaps save my brother.
You spent longer and longer by my side, causing me to nearly forget that these feelings were still burning in the depths of my soul. Then you met Mary. I was angry at first, frustrated, but I quickly grew to accept that she could make you happy; even if this couldn’t take away the sadness of you leaving me.
If I truly cared about you, I should put your needs before mine. And so I did. I can’t recall all of the times you called me selfish, but if only you knew how much I sacrificed for your happiness.
I could deal with it, you know. It was all because of you. I didn’t give my feelings a chance to grow, a chance to become something real. Had they been serious, I don’t know what I would have done.
But that was then. This is now.
I tried to forget about our impending separation, told myself I’d let you go as soon as we brought down Europe’s most villainous professor. Believe me when I say I tried. But there are some things even I can’t foresee.
This being the most unexpected of them all.
And no matter how much I wish they were, some things turned out to be not under my control.
In the end you shattered every last ounce of willpower I had left. Unintentionally, but you did so nonetheless. How remains a mystery. All I know is that at some point during our final case I found myself looking at you, entranced by simply your presence.
I’m sure you must’ve noticed, because you turned to me and asked me if I was alright.
I can’t even remember what I answered. The feelings racing through my body were vaguely familiar, but never before have I been completely captivated by them. I felt elevated, drunk, high, all at the same time. Even a little nauseous, because the experience was utterly overwhelming.
It reminded me of injecting the cocaine you hate so much. That moment when the substance enters your bloodstream, you won’t believe the effects it has on you. You’ve always refused my attempts of talking you into giving it a try, saying it would cloud your judgment, but using it I’ve never seen more clearly. It’s so very stimulating, until now I’d never been more drawn to a feeling.
Intoxicating. That’s the word I was looking for. You were intoxicating.
The rest of that memory is a bit blurry, though I’m not sure whether it was because I was under some sort of influence at the time - had we been drinking, did you drug me as I was wounded? - or because the sight of you just took my breath away and I wasn’t able to register anything else.
It’s strange. From what I do remember, there was nothing out of the ordinary. You were sitting next to me, facing away. You were talking, I can’t remember about what - it probably wasn’t very interesting, hence why I was lost in my own thoughts. I seemed to be focusing on your features as the words carried through the air, until you stopped, mid-sentence I believe. You turned towards me, probably to ask me if I was listening. The grin on your face slightly faltered as you took in my expression.
I remember being shaken out of my trance and looking up to meet your eyes, lost for words, my mind completely blank. It wasn’t until I was left alone with my thoughts that I understood what had happened. At that moment everything had come together, lost thoughts and long forgotten feelings. They seemed to have gained in strength over the years, because where at first my heart had been confused by the initial sensations, it was now completely clear what it was I felt for you.
And just like the first time I became aware of it, I didn’t tell you.
Why would I? What could I possibly have accomplished by doing so? Nothing positive, of that I’m certain. It’s perfectly obvious that you don’t share these sentiments and I care far too much about you to hurt our friendship by professing my feelings for you.
I’m so sorry for hurting you. I hadn’t meant for you to witness my final battle, the inevitable collapsing of my resistance.
Had I truly meant for Moriarty to go down without putting myself in harm’s way, I would’ve found another way for us to deal with him. Entering that balcony on my own with a right arm that was barely functional - it was madness. No matter my own skills, in a battle in which I fought with half my strength against the boxing champion of Cambridge only a fool would bet on me.
That fool would be you, I’m convinced of that. And I should have you know that I had every intention of beating Moriarty the conventional way. But as you undoubtedly realized the second you opened the package I’d sent you, I’d already taken precautions beforehand.
Precautions in case I didn’t land on the sharp rocks at the bottom, or was knocked unconscious from hitting the water - not to mention the serious risk of contracting hypothermia.
Had I known prior to our struggle that I’d be jumping down the waterfall along with the professor? It’s possible. It was the most obvious outcome, hence why I borrowed Mycroft’s oxygen device. One could never be too prepared.
It really sounds like I’d given up before even trying, doesn’t it. And perhaps, in a way, I did. Think about it. I talked him into a five minute game of chess, confident that that would be all the time you’d need to prevent a war from happening and save the lives of two innocent men. On our way to the peace summit I told you that no matter what, do not come to my aid until you’ve fulfilled your role.
You didn’t come after those five minutes.
It told me that things were more complicated and probably hadn’t gone according to plan. When Moriarty got up, I knew I had to stop him, had to stall him before everything would be ruined.
It also provided me with the ability to finish our game. A game I needed to win, because I had to best Moriarty at least once on an intellectual level before I took him down. And so I did. It took surprisingly little to work on the man’s nerves, manipulating him into taking his anger out on me.
Once he told me he’d try his best to find the most creative of endings for you, he’d sealed his own fate. No matter the cost, he would not live to see the day. And seeing as I wouldn’t be able to overpower him on my own, I would have to rely on the element of surprise. Surely he couldn’t foresee the most selfish detective giving his own life to take down the only criminal with skills that matched his own.
What he didn’t know was that my reason for giving up had absolutely nothing to do with him.
I again refer to our conversation on our way to your stag party. Something about dying alone. You were getting married and I would die alone.
Whether it was now or years of miserable unhappiness later wouldn’t matter much. Might as well get it over with, right?
Without you by my side, there really would be no reason for living. I’d just solved the biggest case of my career and there was nothing left that I could use to keep you with me.
Like I said, I wasn’t planning on dying. I just wouldn’t mind if I did.
Being away from you has given me time to think. Even if I was still breathing, I could still be dead. Start a new life. Move on.
Did you know I attended my own funeral? You didn’t say a word the whole thing through. You just sat there, all withdrawn, staring into nothingness. It broke my heart seeing you like that.
You didn’t sit with your wife. I know you’ve refused any of her attempts to console you over the past couple days. I know you. When you’re hurt, when you’re grieving deeply, you dissociate yourself from everyone around you.
I’ve always been the only one to break through that barrier of yours.
Not Mary. She could never understand you like I do.
You have absolutely no idea what it feels like to feel so strongly about someone that you’re willing to die if you can’t have them, do you.
And yet of the two of us, you are married. You claim to be in love with the woman you now call your wife.
I’ve seen the way you look at her. If it’s love you feel for her, then what is this I feel for you? I’m confident that my feelings are indefinitely stronger than whatever lies behind your eyes when you look at the woman you’ve sworn to spend the rest of your life with.
I’m rarely confused, but this truly had me baffled. And so I thought.
Thought about whether I should leave you be and start my new life without you. It seemed like the most sensible choice if I wanted to get over you.
But you and I both know I’ve never been good at making the right decision.
You’re going to punch me when I tell you this, but I sat through the funeral knowing that within days you would find out that I was still alive. I sent you the package before I found my way back to England. Even if I wasn’t yet ready to return, by doing so I had made sure that someday I would. If I didn’t face you after you learned of my survival you’d come and find me yourself.
For the past week I’ve been in London, within a mile’s distance, telling myself every day that I’ll go up to Cavendish Place.
As you may have noticed, I still haven’t gone.
I’m still not sure I will, even if I can see your door from where I’m standing.
You know I’m alive, shouldn’t that be enough?
No, I’m not that selfish. I can’t keep you waiting just because it hurts me to be near you, not being able to act on my desires. You did nothing wrong, I shouldn’t punish you by staying away.
I can already predict what’s going to happen when I do stop by.
Mary’ll open the door. She’ll stare at me in shock, mouth wide open, resting a hand on the doorway to steady herself. She’ll try to call for you, but will have significant trouble accomplishing this task. Upon hearing her stammering you’ll come into the hallway, meanwhile asking her if everything’s alright.
As soon as you’ll see me, you’ll march to the door, push her aside, throw me the same look she did earlier and - this is the part I’m most certain of - punch me in the face.
I could easily evade your incoming attack, but I wouldn’t. It’s the least I deserve for hurting you as much as I did.
After that you’d wrap your arms around me, shivering and trembling as you’d try to come to terms with the fact that I’m standing right before you, definite proof that I’m alive and breathing.
I’d apologize. Apologize for putting you through hell, for keeping you in the dark.
You’d push me away, grab my shoulders, conflicting emotions apparent on your face. You’d ask me why.
I wouldn’t answer with the truth. Make up something about being chased by Moran, using my newfound anonymity to solve other cases.
You’d nod, not really listening, just staring at my face as if you still can’t believe I’m there. I’ll start to grow conscious of your hands still firmly holding me in place, refusing to look into your eyes as we stand so close together.
You’d pull me inside the house, push me down into a chair as Mary would go make some tea. You’d ask me to tell you. Tell you what? I would only think of the things that I should be saying to you, but you’ll just ask me why. Why I never let you know I was still alive.
I wouldn’t know what to say, and you’d grab my face with both hands, desperate for an explanation that you so deserve, but that I could never give to you.
Mary would enter the room and leave the tray without saying a word. Your hands would let go and you’d avert your gaze, suddenly looking very tired.
My hands would grab yours, not wanting you to leave, to be any further apart than you need to be. Your gaze would return to settle upon my eyes, silently begging me to ease the pain.
I would tell you that I was sorry. We’d both know I was apologizing for leaving you, but only I would know my true motives. That I wasn’t gone to prevent you from being physically harmed, but to protect myself.
But as you’d stand so close to me, I would start questioning my own sanity. Again. How was I ever able to stay away from you for all that time?
How am I able to stay away from you now.
I would feel my urges rising, completely vulnerable under your stare. Urges that I still can’t admit to. That I never will be able to admit to.
I would feel tears welling up, covering my face so you wouldn’t see them - so I wouldn’t have to look at you.
Your anger would momentarily be replaced by the need to comfort me, kneeling down before me to calm me down, but your closeness would be too much to handle. I would want to push you away, tell you that I was alright, but a man can only take so much.
In the end I would succumb, wrap my arms around you and just let you hold me. You’d sit still, endure the pain in your bad leg, allowing me to rest my head upon your shoulder.
To just sit and hold each other.
Breathe in your scent, feel the muscles of your back, your strong neck, the soft strands of hair between my fingers.
I’d cling to you as if I were in danger of drowning, but I’d contain my tears.
Maintain my pride.
I’d tell you I missed you. Tell you that I had no choice in staying away. I would whisper, voice soft and just a little unsteady, not quite believing that I’m there, with you, talking to you, even if I were still pressed against your body and it was all that kept me from breaking down.
I’d say that I could understand if you wouldn’t forgive me, knowing that we both knew I didn’t mean it, that I would die if you told me to leave and never come back. You’d either stay silent, sigh as a way of letting me know that these assumptions were ridiculous, or you’d just straight out tell me to stop making a fool out of myself.
That he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was I. That he’d already lost me once and wasn’t going to lose me again.
I’d suddenly feel relief washing over me, mildly overcoming the need burning inside. I might, in my alleviation, quickly press my lips against your cheek - just a brotherly act to show my appreciation, my thankfulness for you being there. For being you.
At least that’s what you would think. And surely I’d feel all of those emotions, too, beside the small satisfaction that I’d gain from being this intimate, from taking that one, small step that I’ve never taken before and will never be able to take again.
I’d disentangle myself from you, allowing you to stand and groan as you stretch your leg - feeling a pang of guilt shoot through my chest - but not letting go of your hand. You’d look at me, confused, and I’d return your gaze, unwavering, mentally forcing myself to look you in the eye and face you. To stop hiding. Stop running.
I’d place your hand on my chest, cover your fingers with mine. I’d tell you to feel the beating of my heart. Tell you I’m alive, never breaking eye contact.
No matter what my feelings are regarding you, I’ll always be by your side. I’ll never leave you again, even if I die a little every day from not being able to have what I want.
You’d only see the determination in my eyes, the confirmation that you’re never going to get rid of me, and a smile would carefully make its way to your face.
It’s been so long since I last truly looked at you - the last time being moments before I plunged down with Moriarty. You could never begin to understand how much I missed that smile, the way your eyes light up with genuine happiness.
Even now, only imagining what would happen were I to knock on your door, if I took those final steps towards it, I can see it in my mind. It’s all I ever wanted for you, to be happy, even if I’d rather that you be happy because of me.
I should turn around, turn around and leave before I do something stupid as a result from these boiling emotions inside. But why did I come here in the first place if I wasn’t planning on creating a mess? To learn of my existence will be confusing and upsetting, no matter how you look at it.
Maybe I do want to drive a wedge between you and Mary, despite my noble intentions.
You’re with the woman you’ve promised to spend the rest of your life with, while you should belong to me.
You do belong to me.
No one will ever care about you as much as I do, and you know it.
I should make a decision now. Decide whether or not to announce my presence, or to leave you to your quiet, easy life with Mary.
It’s such a shame, Watson. Such a shame that you don’t know what I’m feeling.
That in the end, despite my desperate attempts to prevent it from happening, I’ve fallen completely, painfully, head over heels in love with you.