Fic for fabelschwester: A Christmas Indulgence
Title: A Christmas Indulgence
Author: deepforestowl
Recipient: fabelschwester
Rating: G
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes indulges in his Christmas present to himself
A Christmas Indulgence
"Holmes! Must you? It's Christmas!"
Holmes gave Watson a somewhat aggrieved look but put down the two bottles of chemicals he had been about to mix. "Tell me Watson, why this fascination with a day the Papacy chose seemingly at random, but actually to counterbalance pagan rites, as the birth of Christ?"
Watson sighed exasperatedly. They had this discussion every year and every year Holmes humored Watson at least for a few days, but not without making Watson work for it. Frankly, Watson was tired. His shoulder and leg throbbed in pain and all he really wanted to do was settle himself in front of the fire with a brandy and drowse in the warmth. Winter in London was never easy for him, but this Winter seemed to be worse than usual.
In a rare show of easy surrender, Holmes put his bottles down with a hard knock against the table. "Oh very well Watson. No experiments that give off noxious fumes this week."
Watson felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, "Thank you Old Man" he said with a look of gratitude. Holmes merely grunted as Watson settled himself in front of the fire, and Holmes started to put away his experiment.
The truth was, he was worried about Watson. This Winter had been colder and wetter than previous Winters by a good 43% so far and it was showing on his dear friend. Holmes knew that Watson didn't understand that Holmes watched Watson more carefully than he watched the world around him. Holmes had a game of letting his eyes show his adoration of Watson when Watson and anyone else that was with them, wasn't looking. So far, his personal best was 37 times in one day, 5 years, 175 days, 17 hours, and 57 minutes ago.
He watched Watson as he slowly slipped into a nap by the fire. The pain lines around his eyes and the clench of his jaw easing just a little bit, but sadly, still present. Watson shivered slightly before the heat of the fire. Gathering up his beloved gray blanket, Holmes gently tucked it around Watson. He stirred a little but was soothed by Holmes' presence and a murmured reassurance on Holmes' part.
If Holmes was being honest with himself, he was being incredibly selfish. Holmes thought of this as his Christmas present to himself. He was sure that Watson didn't realize it but at least once every Christmas, Holmes did this: tuck the gray blanket around his friend, pull out his violin and play soft and comforting favorites, and indulge in watching his dearest beloved with all the love in his heart written plainly on his face while the sweet man himself slept on the divan by the fire. Some years, it was easier than others to get Watson to sleep on the divan for a few hours round about Christmastide.
Last year had been particularly difficult. The Winter weather that year had been incredibly mild and Watson wanted nothing more than to be up and out and about whether it was Christmas shopping or tending the sick and wounded or off on a case with Holmes. Finally, Holmes had resorted to a bit of unethical medicinal use just to get Watson to slow down and take a damned nap. Watson would have easily been able to detect a single adulterated food or drink item so Holmes had altered Watson's entire meal. Watson still didn't know that Holmes had resorted to drugging him so that Holmes could treat himself to a Christmas present and if Holmes had any say in the matter, Watson would never know. Besides being somewhat embarrassing, Holmes shuddered to think what that Scottish pride and ire would do to him.
As Holmes pulled out his violin and started playing, he thought about the past year. He'd badly shocked Watson with his return from the grave. Though their reunion was now just a bit over a year ago, Watson was different. He was still more than likely to check on Holmes before Watson himself went up to bed and he was also more likely to agree to a case even if he was feeling unwell. Holmes had found that out the hard way when Watson had been coming down with a rather nasty cold and had insisted he was fine. Halfway through the case, Watson had collapsed. It had given Holmes quite a fright. From then on, Holmes was careful to downplay cases in an effort to reassure Watson that he wasn't missing anything and that Holmes was in no danger if Watson was feeling unwell. It was a little lie that they both knew of and both agreed to it. Watson had changed in other ways too. There was more gray in his hair for one and he moved more stiffly than in years previously, not including the inclement weather. Loss had aged him. It wasn't fair that Holmes felt as fit as a fiddle and ready as always to spring into action while his dearest was dragged down by something as insignificant as aging and as unknowable as grief.
Holmes noticed that his playing has slipped into something a bit more melancholy, he quickly segued into "Silent Night". Watson settled himself a bit more by the fire and lapsed back into soft snores. Holmes smiled gently and continued his playing. Of late, he wondered if Watson didn't return his affections on some level. Very uncharacteristically, Holmes was unsure. It did happen from time to time and honestly, it vexed Holmes to no end to be so undecided about anything, let alone this. He had just gotten Watson back and if he lost Watson now in a gamble of emotion, Holmes wasn't sure what he would do. Maybe disappear again, this time permanently.
What if Watson's light touches and proximity were more than just needing to be reassured of Holmes' continued good health? Watson hadn't given any indication of that kind of affection before Holmes had died, why would he give it now? A low whiskey rumble, interrupted Holmes' train of thought.
"You are over thinking Holmes and it shows in your playing. You were slipping into Dvorak." Holmes' eyes snapped open and he glared at Watson. Holmes quickly played a few notes of Watson's musical nemesis. "Holmes, petulance does not become you." Their eyes met. Watson smiled and there were laugh lines at the corner of his mouth indicating his good humor. Snorting, Holmes switched back to Christmas carols, most notably "Good King Wenceslas". His eyes softening into gentleness, Watson settled back in the chaise lounge, but remained awake, watching Holmes play. "Merry Christmas my dear Holmes, Merry Christmas indeed." Smiling, Holmes segued into the sprightly "Here We Come A Wassailing". Even the great detective had to have fun sometime. As Holmes played and Watson watched peaceably by the fire, anyone looking in would have sworn the two were partners in every way, and they would have been right.
Author: deepforestowl
Recipient: fabelschwester
Rating: G
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes indulges in his Christmas present to himself
A Christmas Indulgence
"Holmes! Must you? It's Christmas!"
Holmes gave Watson a somewhat aggrieved look but put down the two bottles of chemicals he had been about to mix. "Tell me Watson, why this fascination with a day the Papacy chose seemingly at random, but actually to counterbalance pagan rites, as the birth of Christ?"
Watson sighed exasperatedly. They had this discussion every year and every year Holmes humored Watson at least for a few days, but not without making Watson work for it. Frankly, Watson was tired. His shoulder and leg throbbed in pain and all he really wanted to do was settle himself in front of the fire with a brandy and drowse in the warmth. Winter in London was never easy for him, but this Winter seemed to be worse than usual.
In a rare show of easy surrender, Holmes put his bottles down with a hard knock against the table. "Oh very well Watson. No experiments that give off noxious fumes this week."
Watson felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, "Thank you Old Man" he said with a look of gratitude. Holmes merely grunted as Watson settled himself in front of the fire, and Holmes started to put away his experiment.
The truth was, he was worried about Watson. This Winter had been colder and wetter than previous Winters by a good 43% so far and it was showing on his dear friend. Holmes knew that Watson didn't understand that Holmes watched Watson more carefully than he watched the world around him. Holmes had a game of letting his eyes show his adoration of Watson when Watson and anyone else that was with them, wasn't looking. So far, his personal best was 37 times in one day, 5 years, 175 days, 17 hours, and 57 minutes ago.
He watched Watson as he slowly slipped into a nap by the fire. The pain lines around his eyes and the clench of his jaw easing just a little bit, but sadly, still present. Watson shivered slightly before the heat of the fire. Gathering up his beloved gray blanket, Holmes gently tucked it around Watson. He stirred a little but was soothed by Holmes' presence and a murmured reassurance on Holmes' part.
If Holmes was being honest with himself, he was being incredibly selfish. Holmes thought of this as his Christmas present to himself. He was sure that Watson didn't realize it but at least once every Christmas, Holmes did this: tuck the gray blanket around his friend, pull out his violin and play soft and comforting favorites, and indulge in watching his dearest beloved with all the love in his heart written plainly on his face while the sweet man himself slept on the divan by the fire. Some years, it was easier than others to get Watson to sleep on the divan for a few hours round about Christmastide.
Last year had been particularly difficult. The Winter weather that year had been incredibly mild and Watson wanted nothing more than to be up and out and about whether it was Christmas shopping or tending the sick and wounded or off on a case with Holmes. Finally, Holmes had resorted to a bit of unethical medicinal use just to get Watson to slow down and take a damned nap. Watson would have easily been able to detect a single adulterated food or drink item so Holmes had altered Watson's entire meal. Watson still didn't know that Holmes had resorted to drugging him so that Holmes could treat himself to a Christmas present and if Holmes had any say in the matter, Watson would never know. Besides being somewhat embarrassing, Holmes shuddered to think what that Scottish pride and ire would do to him.
As Holmes pulled out his violin and started playing, he thought about the past year. He'd badly shocked Watson with his return from the grave. Though their reunion was now just a bit over a year ago, Watson was different. He was still more than likely to check on Holmes before Watson himself went up to bed and he was also more likely to agree to a case even if he was feeling unwell. Holmes had found that out the hard way when Watson had been coming down with a rather nasty cold and had insisted he was fine. Halfway through the case, Watson had collapsed. It had given Holmes quite a fright. From then on, Holmes was careful to downplay cases in an effort to reassure Watson that he wasn't missing anything and that Holmes was in no danger if Watson was feeling unwell. It was a little lie that they both knew of and both agreed to it. Watson had changed in other ways too. There was more gray in his hair for one and he moved more stiffly than in years previously, not including the inclement weather. Loss had aged him. It wasn't fair that Holmes felt as fit as a fiddle and ready as always to spring into action while his dearest was dragged down by something as insignificant as aging and as unknowable as grief.
Holmes noticed that his playing has slipped into something a bit more melancholy, he quickly segued into "Silent Night". Watson settled himself a bit more by the fire and lapsed back into soft snores. Holmes smiled gently and continued his playing. Of late, he wondered if Watson didn't return his affections on some level. Very uncharacteristically, Holmes was unsure. It did happen from time to time and honestly, it vexed Holmes to no end to be so undecided about anything, let alone this. He had just gotten Watson back and if he lost Watson now in a gamble of emotion, Holmes wasn't sure what he would do. Maybe disappear again, this time permanently.
What if Watson's light touches and proximity were more than just needing to be reassured of Holmes' continued good health? Watson hadn't given any indication of that kind of affection before Holmes had died, why would he give it now? A low whiskey rumble, interrupted Holmes' train of thought.
"You are over thinking Holmes and it shows in your playing. You were slipping into Dvorak." Holmes' eyes snapped open and he glared at Watson. Holmes quickly played a few notes of Watson's musical nemesis. "Holmes, petulance does not become you." Their eyes met. Watson smiled and there were laugh lines at the corner of his mouth indicating his good humor. Snorting, Holmes switched back to Christmas carols, most notably "Good King Wenceslas". His eyes softening into gentleness, Watson settled back in the chaise lounge, but remained awake, watching Holmes play. "Merry Christmas my dear Holmes, Merry Christmas indeed." Smiling, Holmes segued into the sprightly "Here We Come A Wassailing". Even the great detective had to have fun sometime. As Holmes played and Watson watched peaceably by the fire, anyone looking in would have sworn the two were partners in every way, and they would have been right.