Kinkmeme Fill: Confessions
Title: Confessions
Author: florfina
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2992
Spoilers: It's been a year, I think we're safe. BUT, no spoilers here!
Summary: For the prompt: Holmes confesses his love to Watson, and its mutual. But as soon as Watson's hand his between Holmes' legs, he becomes hysterical and starts crying. A big childhood trauma resurfaces.
Notes/Warnings: There is mild evidence of child abuse, but I dare not get graphic with such a thing (you know what I mean).
Disclaimer: Only read through it twice, wrote it at night, we'll see if I regret it later!
Sherlock Holmes was a man of resolute ideals and driven purposes. Nothing he says goes without context and noting he does is without reason. He is a man that will risk his life for his art and not think twice about doing so. Indefeasibility, determination, and calculation, could not be applied to a more deserving man.
And yet it should also be mentioned that, as inconceivable as it seems, Sherlock Holmes is also a most devoted lover. Just a month earlier I had been made aware of this, though by means I should never wish to put ourselves through again.
It was an easy night which followed an hellacious day that it all started. I will spare the details of the case, as it was nothing remarkable save that I had nearly been shot, Holmes thrown almost hard enough to break his neck as we two faced down God knows how many other men. We had stumbled home with blood on our shirts and sweat streaking our hair in a pursuit that lasted intensely over thirty-six hours.
It was late and the two of us were inconceivably tired. Holmes had his arm slung round my shoulder as I helped him climb the stairs to deposit him in his bedroom. However, being dead on our feet for the much too long already, it was not unlikely that I, too, would collapse the moment my leg touched his mattress. We fell together, much in the same position with which we had walked, and began to laugh. Holmes had grabbed my hand, lifting it in the air and shaking it triumphantly as he pulled himself into a more seated position.
"This sure was a devil of a day, eh?"
I nodded, pulling myself more fully on the bed and shifting so we both had room.
"You will forgive me, Holmes, for not caring if I fall asleep here tonight." I had said.
"Not at all."
He tugged the blanket from beneath our bodies and haphazardly tossed it over the two of us. I closed my eyes and prepared for a dreamless sleep, but was sufficiently surprised to feel Holmes moving against me. His foot brushed hesitantly against my shin, his shoulders prodding closer to mine as I felt his quiet breaths caressing my face. I opened my eyes to see him looking affectionately at me with a slight blush across his cheeks. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Watson. I find your company most agreeable."
I fell into his touch, possibly out of fatigue, but he did not refrain nor comment.
"I find you agreeable too, Holmes."
He chuckled, sliding his hand along the back of my neck and across my shoulders. He was warm and inviting, and so I thought nothing of it at the time. As cold and reserved as Holmes could be, he could also be just as equally tender and affectionate. True these moments were sparse, even a bit eccentric in their appearance, but I made to savor each and every opportunity I got on those rare occasions where Sherlock Holmes would openly display his heart. It was with some surprise, then, when he pulled me closer then I've ever felt before.
"What are you doing?"
He didn't say anything. He held me close so that our legs tangled together and our hearts beat against the other's chests. I hesitantly held him round the waist as his lips pressed against my forehead, feeling warm and comforting to my skin. It was in that moment that I realized what he was trying to tell me. He did not say anything nor did he look away from me when I met his gaze. My heart pounded, my cheeks hurt from smiling as my soul melted within his glorious eyes, and then I kissed him.
There was no reluctancy as he accepted my tongue. Despite being on the verge of collapse, Holmes and I had managed to wake ourselves up enough to realize what we were doing and what we were promising to one another.
He had murmured soft words into my ear as I rubbed slow circles into his back, my face buried in the crook of his neck and his hands gently threading through my hair. I was about to kiss him again when I suddenly found myself alone on the bed.
I looked up frantically, fearing I had done something wrong or offensive, when Holmes waved away my concern and regained his position on the mattress. But instead of joining me where we were moments ago, he had sat rigidly at the edge with his hands tucked beneath his legs and his foot tapping rapidly. Almost like a child.
"Holmes."
He didn't look at me. I started to doubt myself then, which began to make me apprehensive.
"I'f you'd like me to return to my own room, Holmes, I'll be gone in an instant."
My friend did not reply though I did notice his face beginning to blanch. I can't say I detected regret, but instead, had found something more akin to fear. I then lost all nervousness and soon became wrapped with concern. I swung my legs over the edge, scooting close to Holmes and placing a friendly hand to his shoulder.
"Have you never done this before?" I asked in a low tone.
He bit his lip and shook his head, no.
I nodded, squeezing his shoulder in understanding. "It's alright, Holmes. Don't think anything of it. We're both as about articulate as a corpse right now anyway."
He smiled weakly at my condolence but was quick to take hold of my wrist when I stood to leave.
"Incoherency is not my game, Watson. I'm fully aware of what we're doing."
"Shall we... hold off, then? Till morning so at least I can think clearly again?"
"I would be decidedly miserable, Watson, if you were to leave me tonight. Please stay with me."
I stared down at him for some moments, not quite knowing what to make of the request, before I quietly took my place next to him. He gave me a most grateful smile and leaned his head gently against my shoulder.
I put a hand to the curve of his stomach and splayed my fingers against him. "Do you want this?" I asked in a hushed whisper.
He placed a hand over mine and said that he did. Keeping our hands where they were, I swiveled my head just enough so that our mouths were now properly positioned to be taken. I parted his lips with mine and gently nipped his bottom lip. My hand found its way to his back as our kiss deepened, he grip on my shoulders growing tight. I could feel myself awakening despite the lack of energy and soon began to lose myself in the sensations Holmes was making me feel. His hand had traveled down my back and rested over my hip, his thumb toying with the seam of my waistcoat.
I began to pull us down but Holmes resisted, pulling me back by twisting his body to a new angle and preventing my movement. With my mind half clouded by blinding desire, I had not thought twice when my hand fell to his knee and slowly started rubbing against his thigh. I could feel him tensing at the touch but I had assumed it was due to the same reasons I had been. Still, he did not protest as my hand went higher, my fingers sliding between his leg and the mattress. He whimpered slightly when my thumb brushed against his groin, but I could not help myself.
You can imagine the shock I received, then, when finally I had cupped him and thus felt a deliberate punch to the jaw.
I was dizzy and lightheaded, thrown on my back due to the excess force and quite a bit dazed. I was about to curse at Holmes for hitting me unaccountably, when my vision cleared enough for me to catch something truly breathtaking.
Holmes was on the ground, his back to the floor as he hid away his weeping face behind shaking hands. I forgot my pain and was beside him in an instant.
"Oh God, Holmes, I'm sorry! I did not mean to push you, I-I--"
He gasped for air, his arms trembling and his stomach convulsing frighteningly. It looked as though he wanted to speak, but was unable due to his sobs.
I jumped up and raced for the decanter of brandy in the sitting room, grabbing a glass and hurriedly reentering Holmes' bedroom. He gulped down the drink in two massive sips and wiped his mouth against his sleeve, squeezing out the last of the tears in his eyes. I sat back numbly as he collected himself.
"I'm sorry, Watson," he croaked. "It was nothing of your doing, I just..." He could not continue.
I looked at him in a way I've never seen before in all my years of knowing him. His breathing was haggard, his eyes red and his body crumpled upon itself. I wished very much to embrace him, and yet I wanted to do nothing that may frighten my dear friend.
I pulled the blanket from his bed and draped it along his shoulders, finally seating myself a good two feet away from him. He leaned his forehead against raised knees as I watched the glass tremble in his hold.
"Has something happened?" I asked quietly after some moments.
He threw his head back and wiped a hand laboriously down his cheek. "The biggest something of my life."
I tilted my head, trying desperately to name the emotions I saw flickering over his features, but I could not.
"Do you want to tell me?" I offered.
His gaze slid down to meet mine, his eyes swollen from crying. "If you want me to tell you, Watson, then I shall tell you everything."
I reached out a hand and touched his toe, his sock rough to my touch. "Please, Holmes, tell me everything."
What he told me was not beautiful, it was not incisive nor was it anywhere near expected. He sagged against the bedpost and sniffed, closing his eyes with a sigh.
You will forgive me, of course, for leaving out the numerous pauses and sniffs within this recollection.
Holmes began: "I had a cousin, back when I was a boy, with whom I greatly admired. His name was Sandifer, and though I was only eight, I was well-minded enough to applaud his grand sense of intellect and the ways in which he spoke. I don't know what it was about him, but he was one of the few men I truly honored in my life. Perhaps that is why..." A pause. "Watson, you know what kind of man I am? You know that I do not admire what the world would have me admire nor do I think that society would have me think? Well, Sandifer was quite the quintessential youth in contrast to myself, as he was both extraordinarily proper as well as handsome; though if you asked me now what he looked like I'd be unable to tell you. I can't remember his face anymore. Anyway, this cousin; this god of my youth, he was as I said typical.
My mother and father were out with Mycroft at the time, looking for school books or something, leaving just Sandifer and myself at home by ourselves.
"Sandifer said to me, 'Sherlock, I know that you're hiding something.'
" 'I hide nothing,' I'd said in reply.
" 'It's horrid for a boy to lie to his elders.'
"We were in my room at the time. I had been sitting on the floor puzzling over a dead cricket I found beneath my bed. Thinking that that had been the reason for my beloved cousin's accusations, I lifted the insect off the floor and held it out to him.
"He glanced at it but said nothing of the matter. Instead, he closed the door behind him and removed his waistcoat. 'Do you know what love means, Sherlock?'
" 'Yes,'
" 'Do you? I don't think you do. Because I know you love me, but you do so in a way that is vile and disgusting.'
"I didn't know what he meant by that, and so all I could to was hang my head in shame. If I could not articulate what he was saying, I thought, then it was not worth it for him to waste his intellectual words on me.
"But that, as was the cricket, was unessential. He stepped forward, grasping my arms tightly to the point where it was painful, and tossed me onto my bed. I was paralyzed with fear, mind you, Watson. This was Sandifer, someone I grew up with and someone I looked up to. When I heard he was coming to stay with us, my heart had always leapt at the announcements. Sandifer was someone I trusted.
"And so, as he threw me against my blankets with such a rage I've never seen before, I could hardly breath let alone think. I remember him hissing hateful words with a faint scent of something alien upon his breath. I had begun to cry but that seemed only to provoke him further.
"I remember... sorry, I remember him grabbing my trousers. His hands were cold to my skin, but he didn't seem to care. There were shouts but I can't recall what I'd said. He... Sandifer, Watson, Sandifer had hurt me that day. All I can remember was pain and agony, flashes and images that've taken me years to forget. He was the first and last person to touch me in such a way, so that all hints of intimacy with anyone would instantly conjure Sandifer to my mind."
Holmes had begun to cry again, but he did not allow it to control him. As I sat motionless across from him, feeling a hatred I've never felt before, all I could do was stare in awe as Holmes, my closest friend and my most beloved companion, had detailed to me this most tragic of incidences.
His lips pulled into a frightful grin. "Of course no body knows about this. Sandifer had a spell over me despite what he'd done. As he lay round me, my body paralyzed and my throat sore from crying, he had thrown his arms over me as if in a protective stance. He murmured sweet condolences into my ears, telling me that this was nothing and that my parents and Mycroft were never to know. He told me that this was something special and not to be shared, because that's what love meant. I knew that was a lie, but the way stroked my hair and my stomach, his fingers brushing against my bruised flesh, it felt comforting. He even kissed me."
My hands hurt from how hard I'd been clenching them. I could already feel the broken skin in my palms, but it did not matter as I looked at Holmes with such remorse and sorrow. I tried as best I could to keep the anger from rising in my voice.
"And what happened to Sandifer?"
Holmes shrugged. "I don't know. I never saw him again."
Holmes looked at me with his eyes inexplicably sad and pleading. I took that moment to slowly crawl over and to take him into my arms.
"What I hate most about Sandifer, incredibly, was the inability he forced upon me to give in. Being betrayed by someone whom I loved as much as him... as much as you... I cannot enjoy the loving intimacy of your touch. It pains me like you cannot believe."
I held him tighter as I repositioned ourselves so that I was beneath him against the post. I ran my fingers gently though his hair as he buried his face in my arms.
"We don't have to be like that, Holmes. Holding you is enough for me."
"I want you to touch me, Watson, without my mind retreating to such dark and evil places. I want to share with you my deepest passions, unobstructed by Sandifer. Love does not work without pain, but if I must endure it, I shall. I want us to be something happy together."
"We will, Holmes. I'm going to help you out of this, to push that bastard from your heart forever."
We fell silent after that. My mind was in such complete turmoil that I was too afraid to dwell upon any number of emotions I felt burning like a furnace in my chest. To hold him in my arms, knowing what he'd been through and what we'd now accomplish together, gave me a dreadful feeling of how dangerous love could be. But not this time, not for Holmes. I had promised to hold him, to support him and to fight till the very end to restore his shattered heart. That love had been so very far away for his entire adult life, it was now my turn to save him for once.
So finally, after infinite moments of private solitude, I gently collected him closer and murmured, "Thank you for telling me, Holmes."
"No, Watson, thank you for caring. Thank you so, so very much."
Author: florfina
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2992
Spoilers: It's been a year, I think we're safe. BUT, no spoilers here!
Summary: For the prompt: Holmes confesses his love to Watson, and its mutual. But as soon as Watson's hand his between Holmes' legs, he becomes hysterical and starts crying. A big childhood trauma resurfaces.
Notes/Warnings: There is mild evidence of child abuse, but I dare not get graphic with such a thing (you know what I mean).
Disclaimer: Only read through it twice, wrote it at night, we'll see if I regret it later!
Sherlock Holmes was a man of resolute ideals and driven purposes. Nothing he says goes without context and noting he does is without reason. He is a man that will risk his life for his art and not think twice about doing so. Indefeasibility, determination, and calculation, could not be applied to a more deserving man.
And yet it should also be mentioned that, as inconceivable as it seems, Sherlock Holmes is also a most devoted lover. Just a month earlier I had been made aware of this, though by means I should never wish to put ourselves through again.
It was an easy night which followed an hellacious day that it all started. I will spare the details of the case, as it was nothing remarkable save that I had nearly been shot, Holmes thrown almost hard enough to break his neck as we two faced down God knows how many other men. We had stumbled home with blood on our shirts and sweat streaking our hair in a pursuit that lasted intensely over thirty-six hours.
It was late and the two of us were inconceivably tired. Holmes had his arm slung round my shoulder as I helped him climb the stairs to deposit him in his bedroom. However, being dead on our feet for the much too long already, it was not unlikely that I, too, would collapse the moment my leg touched his mattress. We fell together, much in the same position with which we had walked, and began to laugh. Holmes had grabbed my hand, lifting it in the air and shaking it triumphantly as he pulled himself into a more seated position.
"This sure was a devil of a day, eh?"
I nodded, pulling myself more fully on the bed and shifting so we both had room.
"You will forgive me, Holmes, for not caring if I fall asleep here tonight." I had said.
"Not at all."
He tugged the blanket from beneath our bodies and haphazardly tossed it over the two of us. I closed my eyes and prepared for a dreamless sleep, but was sufficiently surprised to feel Holmes moving against me. His foot brushed hesitantly against my shin, his shoulders prodding closer to mine as I felt his quiet breaths caressing my face. I opened my eyes to see him looking affectionately at me with a slight blush across his cheeks. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Watson. I find your company most agreeable."
I fell into his touch, possibly out of fatigue, but he did not refrain nor comment.
"I find you agreeable too, Holmes."
He chuckled, sliding his hand along the back of my neck and across my shoulders. He was warm and inviting, and so I thought nothing of it at the time. As cold and reserved as Holmes could be, he could also be just as equally tender and affectionate. True these moments were sparse, even a bit eccentric in their appearance, but I made to savor each and every opportunity I got on those rare occasions where Sherlock Holmes would openly display his heart. It was with some surprise, then, when he pulled me closer then I've ever felt before.
"What are you doing?"
He didn't say anything. He held me close so that our legs tangled together and our hearts beat against the other's chests. I hesitantly held him round the waist as his lips pressed against my forehead, feeling warm and comforting to my skin. It was in that moment that I realized what he was trying to tell me. He did not say anything nor did he look away from me when I met his gaze. My heart pounded, my cheeks hurt from smiling as my soul melted within his glorious eyes, and then I kissed him.
There was no reluctancy as he accepted my tongue. Despite being on the verge of collapse, Holmes and I had managed to wake ourselves up enough to realize what we were doing and what we were promising to one another.
He had murmured soft words into my ear as I rubbed slow circles into his back, my face buried in the crook of his neck and his hands gently threading through my hair. I was about to kiss him again when I suddenly found myself alone on the bed.
I looked up frantically, fearing I had done something wrong or offensive, when Holmes waved away my concern and regained his position on the mattress. But instead of joining me where we were moments ago, he had sat rigidly at the edge with his hands tucked beneath his legs and his foot tapping rapidly. Almost like a child.
"Holmes."
He didn't look at me. I started to doubt myself then, which began to make me apprehensive.
"I'f you'd like me to return to my own room, Holmes, I'll be gone in an instant."
My friend did not reply though I did notice his face beginning to blanch. I can't say I detected regret, but instead, had found something more akin to fear. I then lost all nervousness and soon became wrapped with concern. I swung my legs over the edge, scooting close to Holmes and placing a friendly hand to his shoulder.
"Have you never done this before?" I asked in a low tone.
He bit his lip and shook his head, no.
I nodded, squeezing his shoulder in understanding. "It's alright, Holmes. Don't think anything of it. We're both as about articulate as a corpse right now anyway."
He smiled weakly at my condolence but was quick to take hold of my wrist when I stood to leave.
"Incoherency is not my game, Watson. I'm fully aware of what we're doing."
"Shall we... hold off, then? Till morning so at least I can think clearly again?"
"I would be decidedly miserable, Watson, if you were to leave me tonight. Please stay with me."
I stared down at him for some moments, not quite knowing what to make of the request, before I quietly took my place next to him. He gave me a most grateful smile and leaned his head gently against my shoulder.
I put a hand to the curve of his stomach and splayed my fingers against him. "Do you want this?" I asked in a hushed whisper.
He placed a hand over mine and said that he did. Keeping our hands where they were, I swiveled my head just enough so that our mouths were now properly positioned to be taken. I parted his lips with mine and gently nipped his bottom lip. My hand found its way to his back as our kiss deepened, he grip on my shoulders growing tight. I could feel myself awakening despite the lack of energy and soon began to lose myself in the sensations Holmes was making me feel. His hand had traveled down my back and rested over my hip, his thumb toying with the seam of my waistcoat.
I began to pull us down but Holmes resisted, pulling me back by twisting his body to a new angle and preventing my movement. With my mind half clouded by blinding desire, I had not thought twice when my hand fell to his knee and slowly started rubbing against his thigh. I could feel him tensing at the touch but I had assumed it was due to the same reasons I had been. Still, he did not protest as my hand went higher, my fingers sliding between his leg and the mattress. He whimpered slightly when my thumb brushed against his groin, but I could not help myself.
You can imagine the shock I received, then, when finally I had cupped him and thus felt a deliberate punch to the jaw.
I was dizzy and lightheaded, thrown on my back due to the excess force and quite a bit dazed. I was about to curse at Holmes for hitting me unaccountably, when my vision cleared enough for me to catch something truly breathtaking.
Holmes was on the ground, his back to the floor as he hid away his weeping face behind shaking hands. I forgot my pain and was beside him in an instant.
"Oh God, Holmes, I'm sorry! I did not mean to push you, I-I--"
He gasped for air, his arms trembling and his stomach convulsing frighteningly. It looked as though he wanted to speak, but was unable due to his sobs.
I jumped up and raced for the decanter of brandy in the sitting room, grabbing a glass and hurriedly reentering Holmes' bedroom. He gulped down the drink in two massive sips and wiped his mouth against his sleeve, squeezing out the last of the tears in his eyes. I sat back numbly as he collected himself.
"I'm sorry, Watson," he croaked. "It was nothing of your doing, I just..." He could not continue.
I looked at him in a way I've never seen before in all my years of knowing him. His breathing was haggard, his eyes red and his body crumpled upon itself. I wished very much to embrace him, and yet I wanted to do nothing that may frighten my dear friend.
I pulled the blanket from his bed and draped it along his shoulders, finally seating myself a good two feet away from him. He leaned his forehead against raised knees as I watched the glass tremble in his hold.
"Has something happened?" I asked quietly after some moments.
He threw his head back and wiped a hand laboriously down his cheek. "The biggest something of my life."
I tilted my head, trying desperately to name the emotions I saw flickering over his features, but I could not.
"Do you want to tell me?" I offered.
His gaze slid down to meet mine, his eyes swollen from crying. "If you want me to tell you, Watson, then I shall tell you everything."
I reached out a hand and touched his toe, his sock rough to my touch. "Please, Holmes, tell me everything."
What he told me was not beautiful, it was not incisive nor was it anywhere near expected. He sagged against the bedpost and sniffed, closing his eyes with a sigh.
You will forgive me, of course, for leaving out the numerous pauses and sniffs within this recollection.
Holmes began: "I had a cousin, back when I was a boy, with whom I greatly admired. His name was Sandifer, and though I was only eight, I was well-minded enough to applaud his grand sense of intellect and the ways in which he spoke. I don't know what it was about him, but he was one of the few men I truly honored in my life. Perhaps that is why..." A pause. "Watson, you know what kind of man I am? You know that I do not admire what the world would have me admire nor do I think that society would have me think? Well, Sandifer was quite the quintessential youth in contrast to myself, as he was both extraordinarily proper as well as handsome; though if you asked me now what he looked like I'd be unable to tell you. I can't remember his face anymore. Anyway, this cousin; this god of my youth, he was as I said typical.
My mother and father were out with Mycroft at the time, looking for school books or something, leaving just Sandifer and myself at home by ourselves.
"Sandifer said to me, 'Sherlock, I know that you're hiding something.'
" 'I hide nothing,' I'd said in reply.
" 'It's horrid for a boy to lie to his elders.'
"We were in my room at the time. I had been sitting on the floor puzzling over a dead cricket I found beneath my bed. Thinking that that had been the reason for my beloved cousin's accusations, I lifted the insect off the floor and held it out to him.
"He glanced at it but said nothing of the matter. Instead, he closed the door behind him and removed his waistcoat. 'Do you know what love means, Sherlock?'
" 'Yes,'
" 'Do you? I don't think you do. Because I know you love me, but you do so in a way that is vile and disgusting.'
"I didn't know what he meant by that, and so all I could to was hang my head in shame. If I could not articulate what he was saying, I thought, then it was not worth it for him to waste his intellectual words on me.
"But that, as was the cricket, was unessential. He stepped forward, grasping my arms tightly to the point where it was painful, and tossed me onto my bed. I was paralyzed with fear, mind you, Watson. This was Sandifer, someone I grew up with and someone I looked up to. When I heard he was coming to stay with us, my heart had always leapt at the announcements. Sandifer was someone I trusted.
"And so, as he threw me against my blankets with such a rage I've never seen before, I could hardly breath let alone think. I remember him hissing hateful words with a faint scent of something alien upon his breath. I had begun to cry but that seemed only to provoke him further.
"I remember... sorry, I remember him grabbing my trousers. His hands were cold to my skin, but he didn't seem to care. There were shouts but I can't recall what I'd said. He... Sandifer, Watson, Sandifer had hurt me that day. All I can remember was pain and agony, flashes and images that've taken me years to forget. He was the first and last person to touch me in such a way, so that all hints of intimacy with anyone would instantly conjure Sandifer to my mind."
Holmes had begun to cry again, but he did not allow it to control him. As I sat motionless across from him, feeling a hatred I've never felt before, all I could do was stare in awe as Holmes, my closest friend and my most beloved companion, had detailed to me this most tragic of incidences.
His lips pulled into a frightful grin. "Of course no body knows about this. Sandifer had a spell over me despite what he'd done. As he lay round me, my body paralyzed and my throat sore from crying, he had thrown his arms over me as if in a protective stance. He murmured sweet condolences into my ears, telling me that this was nothing and that my parents and Mycroft were never to know. He told me that this was something special and not to be shared, because that's what love meant. I knew that was a lie, but the way stroked my hair and my stomach, his fingers brushing against my bruised flesh, it felt comforting. He even kissed me."
My hands hurt from how hard I'd been clenching them. I could already feel the broken skin in my palms, but it did not matter as I looked at Holmes with such remorse and sorrow. I tried as best I could to keep the anger from rising in my voice.
"And what happened to Sandifer?"
Holmes shrugged. "I don't know. I never saw him again."
Holmes looked at me with his eyes inexplicably sad and pleading. I took that moment to slowly crawl over and to take him into my arms.
"What I hate most about Sandifer, incredibly, was the inability he forced upon me to give in. Being betrayed by someone whom I loved as much as him... as much as you... I cannot enjoy the loving intimacy of your touch. It pains me like you cannot believe."
I held him tighter as I repositioned ourselves so that I was beneath him against the post. I ran my fingers gently though his hair as he buried his face in my arms.
"We don't have to be like that, Holmes. Holding you is enough for me."
"I want you to touch me, Watson, without my mind retreating to such dark and evil places. I want to share with you my deepest passions, unobstructed by Sandifer. Love does not work without pain, but if I must endure it, I shall. I want us to be something happy together."
"We will, Holmes. I'm going to help you out of this, to push that bastard from your heart forever."
We fell silent after that. My mind was in such complete turmoil that I was too afraid to dwell upon any number of emotions I felt burning like a furnace in my chest. To hold him in my arms, knowing what he'd been through and what we'd now accomplish together, gave me a dreadful feeling of how dangerous love could be. But not this time, not for Holmes. I had promised to hold him, to support him and to fight till the very end to restore his shattered heart. That love had been so very far away for his entire adult life, it was now my turn to save him for once.
So finally, after infinite moments of private solitude, I gently collected him closer and murmured, "Thank you for telling me, Holmes."
"No, Watson, thank you for caring. Thank you so, so very much."