Hide and Seek - Fic
Title: Hide and Seek
Author: Sonicthecat7
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Implied Mary/Watson, Implied Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: I own nothing, of course.
Spoilers/Warnings: None/None
Notes: Trying something a tiny, little bit different. Might be a bit... angsty. Maybe. Slightly wavering from what actually happened in the film.
Summary: When a person looks into your eyes, they see a calm blue, quite light, hardened through experience, but bright and full.
You hide it well.
Not one other man or woman we have ever encountered understands. They see a man, tall and proud of his noble qualities, with handsome features and a gentleman's touch. A flare of a decent sized facial hair tugged above your upper lip, complementing your expressions greatly, they see the limp next. Distinguished, yet light and graceless. You do not try to cover it up, and you only get embarrassed by it when it holds you back from helping me on a case.
Clothes always neat and cut tidy, your cane rests easily against your enclosed palm. Fingers gripping tightly, a rough hold against smooth material, you lean heavily on the useless gadget when needed, and swipe it in dignified twirls and slashes when the fight corresponds the desire. Any living man who has ever witnessed you in combat will know that you can use anything at hand to defeat an enemy, and you are not afraid to take as much pain as you can necessarily punish others with.
The bag you carry at times immediately tells of your true profession. A medical man, a carer of the physical world. As much about healing the complaints of those around you as can be possible for a human. Treating wounds is a habit of yours when on a case. Never letting my scratches get infected, you treat me in kind, and attend to any near-fatal injuries directly and at the spot of time they occur.
With a terrible temper that can explode into conflicts of the physical nature, you are as stubborn as you are apologetic. Even when it is my fault our arguments start, you will always mutter that one word that I can only whisper back when we are alone, deep within the confines of our home. Not one to be afraid of humiliation or humility, you can forgive as easily as you can let cries of 'sorry' escape into the public eye.
Lazy to the bone, you sleep at random points during the day, and complain when me or the landlady slap you awake. You cannot function without a correct fill of tea in less than an hour of entering the world of reality. Hair short, jaw line taut and sharp, with rather comfortable height to weight proportions and strong muscles hidden under shirts and jackets. Any living soul, man or woman, father or mother, the old or the young, can understand each and every one of these aspects and traits about you, if they spend a considerable time in your presence.
When a person looks into your eyes, they see a calm blue, quite light, hardened through experience, but bright and full. Remarkable eyelashes bathe them in a healthy shield from dust and dirt, and people see tiny flashes of emotion flicker through them quietly.
It is because you hide it so well that they do not see further; the true feelings that delve deep into your irises, that are enough to swallow a man up if he is not careful to pull himself free in time.
Every single person you encounter sees a doctor with a good attitude and a happy exterior.
Yet all I can see, when I let myself stare into your eyes long enough, is a well-bred sorrow, burning low and just out of sight of the woken world, burrowed and clawing away into your depths. And I understand that it is my fault this misery has befallen you.
You met a wonderful woman many months ago. I refused to meet her, neglected to deny any misgivings when stating what I could deduce out of her life when you finally managed to force me into the same room as her, and I constantly dragged you away from her so we could do cases together. I treated her like she was a mutilated being that did not deserve the honour of your hand, while I accepted that I was giving you the treatment not even worthy of a stray beast.
All the while, you did not complain; once.
Then she disappeared, leaving a note of reason that was stated for my eyes only. You handed it to me with rage, walked from the room without a second glance, and I knew that you did not know what she had written or why it had been addressed to me and not you.
You still do not know what those scribbles on that piece of parchment said. I do not mention it, even after it has been weeks since her passing to another part of this country. The words are etched into my mind, confiscating a place in my thoughts and memory. They hurt, quite considerably, and they still cause me pain now, each time I look into your eyes and see that they hold the undeniable truth.
I am leaving because of you, Mr. Holmes. How is one ever to compete with a man whose heart has already taken claim of another man so greatly, that there cannot be a key to unlock this hold? You cherish my John so beautifully, yet I seem to be the only living person who understands the problem.
If you continue to lay claim without showing the oblivious John that you are doing so, it will be his demise. You will kill him, and I cannot watch that happen before my eyes. Stake your claim truly, Mr. Holmes, or you will lose him of your own accord.
The paper is in ashes, blowing freely somewhere in the streets of London. I do not care as to what has come of those pieces of black. All that matters is that I can see her words reflected back at me each time I stare into your gaze.
Taking my mind from it becomes painlessly hard; violins can not mask soundless thoughts, a drug can not melt away worries and concern, cases can not harbour lovely distractions that seek my mind away from memories and images of rememberance. It is truly unharmful, though my mental capacity suffers incredibly. I note that your mind despises these unbecoming snippets of thought, also.
Yet I cannot do anything to stop the washes of sadness that mask so simply into innocent glee and joy that is fake. Always directed at me, always there.
Always waiting, because you are too much of a gentleman to do anything yourself.
Though afraid to admit it, I understand in defeated hoplessness two true facts.
You hide it well.
I do not.