Hence The Cocaine (2/?)
Title: Hence The Cocaine (2/?)
Authors: ember_top_hat20 and kendra_fey
Rating: M (For eventual drug use/reference)
Summary: With Watson completely out of the house and the wedding day drawing nearer, Holmes resumes the only activity that can mildly keep his mind from the world around him: cocaine.
A.N.: Sorry for the long wait. I lost the file these were in, and have just recovered them! This started as an angsty idea for a role-play, but panned out to a story, which I, personally, am quite proud of. A few more chapters to come, I think. ember_top_hat20 did the first paragraph, and then me, and so on and so forth. Enjoy!
Night had fallen in London and at the new Watson household, the clock stroked 8 sharp. Mary sat in front of the fireplace, reading one of her detective novels, Poe to be exact. With a smile, she glanced down at her wedding ring and then up to her soon to be husband who sat beside her. "I still think it's rather strange how your friend gave us this ring after that dinner." she proclaimed, smiling as she always did.
He looked over his newspaper and gave her a quick smile. He was trying his best to bury the feeling that he had forgotten something important, realizing it was probably just a reaction to the sudden change of an important relationship. “Yes, dear, he isn’t very clear on his reasons to do anything.” He wanted to add that the dinner wouldn’t have been such a misfire if she hadn’t thrown her drink in his face and left, but he bit his tongue. “Just don’t think of him when you look down upon your finger. Think of our union.” And then it hit him. Fingers. The skeleton of a human hand remained at the Baker Street lodgings. “I’m so sorry, love, but I must return to Holmes’. I’ve just realized something important I have forgotten.”
Mary pouted as she looked up at Watson. "Must you leave now?" she asked in a sweet tone, her pale hand taking a hold of his. "Can't you fetch it tomorrow? Besides, perhaps Mr. Holmes is asleep by now and in bed."
“I’m afraid it’s very important.” It wasn’t, but he wanted to get everything out of that house as soon as possible. He threw his coat on and grabbed his cane, forgetting his hat entirely. There was something else pulling him towards Baker Street. It couldn’t just be the skeleton. There must have been something else.
Half past eight was far too early for the detective to retire and he found no solace in the melancholy tunes he played on his violin. If Holmes hadn't had so much pride in him, he would have called himself pathetic, but even to his own self, he couldn't admit the feelings of loss and abandonment. The needle lay on the table, along with a small bottle, just enough, but then again, he could always easily administer another dosage. Holmes slowly rolled up his sleeve, used the needle to extract the right amount from the bottle and pushed the needle in to the vein, all too visible through his pale skin. A shaky hand placed the needle back on the table and the room felt lighter, moving as if under a small hypnotic earthquake.
Watson burst through the street entrance, rushing past Mrs. Hudson and her serving tray, giving a quick nod. Running up the stairs, ignoring the incredible pain in his leg, until he reached the door on the right. “Holmes?” Opening the door with no question, he saw his friend sitting in an armchair facing the fireplace. “Oh thank goodness. I was worried that-“ but his thoughts were cut short by the sight of a needle and a small bottle nearby, too near for his tastes. He knew what Holmes was up to. Hiding his true feelings again. And since it was cocaine, this meant he was distraught.
The footsteps, the same old shoes going up the stairs and too hurriedly for the limping leg. He was sure it was another delusion before the door opened and a voice called out his name. Eyes glazed over, Holmes looked up to meet Watson's gaze and he gave a blank smile. "My dear friend," he spoke slowly, "miss me already and not yet at the altar?" His eyes moved to the needle on the table and he took both it and the small bottle to withdraw and prepare a second dose.
“Why are you doing this to yourself? You know how I feel about your constant disregard for your own safety!”
Holmes met Watson's eyes again and frowned in earnest confusion. "Is that why you came here? To warn me about how I can't look after myself?" once he extracted another dose and put away the small bottle, Holmes moved to administer a second dose. "I am not a child."
Without thinking, Watson grabbed the needle from Holmes’ sweaty grip. “You are. You are a little boy, Holmes. And if you insist on continuing this way, I shall have to stay and baby-sit you every night.”
"Is that a promise?" Holmes said with a laugh saying it as a joke, but as his smile slipped and his blank eyes searched Watson's expression, it became apparent it was no joke at all. "It leaves my mind rested, mildly." he quickly said so as to hide his fallen expression from a moment ago.
Watson had just about given up on Holmes. No matter how much he tried, there was no solution to their problems. Give in and let him keep his habits or make him change. Make him tell his true feelings, or let him hide. Go with Mary and lead a normal life, or stay and keep the one he wants. “There is no way for me to cure of this disease, is there?”
"Disease?" Holmes said, leaning back in his armchair as his eyes met the ceiling. "A disease, yes...An affliction of the heart, wouldn't you say so dotor?" the detective's bony fingertips lightly tapped at his chest, his eyes still focused on the ceiling as it gave birth to strange shapes under lady cocaine.
Something was different about Holmes. It wasn’t just the cocaine, he had seen that before. No, this was different. There was something strange going on in his eyes. “Affliction of the heart? What are you getting at Holmes?”
"Yes." Holmes nodded to himself, tapping his fingertips against his chest again. His eyes dazed, he looked up towards the ceiling again. "Elevated heart rate, dialated pupils, unsteady hands, increased tempature. This disease has been plaguing me for a while with all the symptoms above doctor." the detective seemed to be rambling, but his words never stumbled or seemed to be incoherent
Watson had heard Holmes' self analysis and was trying to figure out a diagnosis to go along with the signs and symptoms, but he needed a bit more information. although, this did strike him as a thoroughly random conversation. "Alright. And when do you notice these symptoms happen to occur?
Holmes' eyes went from the ceiling to the doctor and a shaky smile formed on the pale lips. "But old boy," he said, "can't you see they're occuring now?" the detive's gaze went back up to the ceiling and he muttered something about strange shapes in the wallpaper
"Ah. So it's the cocaine then. You see, even you are beginning to understand that this is a destructive material." Watson began to walk over to Holmes' side to move the needle and vial as far away from the detective as possible, possibly even hide the damned items.
"No, no, no, no..." Holmes said shaking his head, "Cocaine, my dear Watson, is there to prevent the symptoms." he said crptically, his hand now on Watson's wrist. "So put down the needle and bottle."
There was so much confusion. Watson wasn't sure where to start, but he knew that he could feel his temperature rising. As he moved to place the items down, his hands shook with unsteadiness. He also knew that with Holmes' touch to his wrist, there was no doubt his pulse was beginning to race. "Holmes, what in god's name has gotten into you?"
Holmes gently pulled up Watson's shirt and suit jacket, pressing two fingers right where he could feel the pulse in the doctor's pale wrist. "Curious." he whispered, "Your pulse is elevated as well doctor and though I can't tell precisely from the skin on your wrist, I'd say the same for your temparature." Holmes squinted as he pulled Watson somewhat closer. "My vision's a bit hazy now, so I can't see your eyes right, but the other symptoms are simmilar to my own."
He hoped, no, prayed, that Holmes wasn't edging at what Watson suspected. "S-so?" He didn't mean to stutter. There was the feeling of something being caught in his throat, like his trapped feelings trying to escape. It didn't help that because of Holmes' curiosity of their afflictions, the proximity of their faces were too close for comfort.
"Affliction of the heart, old boy?" Holmes whispered, his free hand going to Watson's chest and lightly tapping his fingertips right where his heart stood. "John?" the doctor's name seemed to slip easily passed the detective's lips which it usually wasn't so and a curious smile played at the corners of his mouth.
There were only 2 things John Watson could have done in his current situation. Lean in, and take advantage of the current situation, or pull backwards, remembering that he had someone to love back at a different home. Suddenly, a third option opened up, to remain in his current position, and let his companion decide. "Holmes," was all he could let his voice mutter, without giving in to the first choice.
The detective made a quick deduction in his head of the situation at hand. Watson was a few inches away, unmoving which either meant he was uncertain or taunting. Either way, if Holmes proceeded with one simple option, it wouldn't matter either way. "I'll take that as a yes." he whispered and pulled Watson closer by his shirt to press his lips to the doctor's.
At first, Watson fell into the kiss, moving from a standing position, to kneeling down by the chair in which Holmes still sat in. He could feel all of his worries and doubts flood out of him, and remembered how much he missed kissing these lips. Holmes' lips. He was, without a doubt, still in love with him, and never wanted to pull away. But then he remembered. "Holmes, I really can't- This can't happen." He pulled away slowly, wishing there could be more time spent licking the detective's soft lips, but he knew the reality of the situation. However he was sure Homes didn't so he clued him in with one simple name. "Mary."
Holmes didn't let his expression fall, rather he let it turn blank again as he let go off Watson's shirt and wrist. "Ah yes, the impatient fiancee." he remarked quietly, and his eyes moved past Watson's face and to the needle and cocaine, before reaching out to take them. "Best not keep the dear lady waiting then."
This was becoming aggravating. It was too much to process in his head, so he decided to work it out aloud while pacing furiously around the room. "Damn it, Holmes! I'm not going to leave just so you can inch yourself closer to death with every injection. But Mary is waiting for me at home, my fiancee is waiting. But the second I step out of this building, you'll do what you always do in this condition. I just wish I could stay here."
"If you wish to stay here, you would have!!" Holmes suddenly shouted without reserve, something the detective never did in front of his companion and he quickly withdrew a shaky breath as he looked away. "Good night Watson." he whispered, thinking that was the end of their conversation and he pushed the needle in to the bottle to exctract another dose.
There was no more that he could do. There was no way he could fight anymore. All he could do was grab the needle and bottle violently from the man, and throw them across the room, not caring where they landed or if they were to break, which they did. Glaring at Holmes' shocked reaction, he stared at the deep brown eyes, growing more, what seemed to be, angry, and decided to do what he thought needed to be done. Watson fell to his knees, significantly hurting his wounded leg, grabbed Holmes by the collar and furiously kissed him, pushing the thought of some other person from his head.
A muffled sound came from the detective in surprise as the doctor pressed their lips together, but his body relaxed within moments and a sigh of satisfation left his lips as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Watson's neck to pull him as close as he could against himself.
Just as soon as Holmes deepened the kiss, Watson's hidden plan would fully form. He pulled away the second Holmes pulled him in, and spoke the words he'd been meaning to say for years. "Holmes, it's true, I love you. I have, I do now, i always will. But I can't continue on like this. You either tell me your true feelings now, or I'm gone forever. It's simply enough."
Holmes observed Watson's expression and intently listened to his tone, trying again to put his logical mind to work, but whether it was the lingering effects of the cocaine or simply the doctor's words, he wasn't sure. "Watson..." he started, but then stopped and shook his head. "John...I..." again he went silent, but as he plaed his hand against Watson's warm cheek, he grew somewhat bolder. "John...I love you..."
So much happening in such a small amount of time gave Watson a rush of blood to his brain, and made him collapse against Holmes' chest, feeling his eyes fill up with sadness, glee, and too many emotions to hold in. "Holmes, I'm truly sorry."
"What for dear boy?" Holmes whispered, running his hand along Watson's cheek and through his hair with great affection. He wished it would be so every evening...Them, together, by the warm fireplace, one against the other in their own little world. Their little home.
"No matter how much I want it to be true, I can't stay here. Baker street can no longer be my home, and I can no longer be in love with you." There was no more stopped up emotions between them. He could say whatever he needed to right now. "Mary is willing to be my wife, and this is a chance for me to lead a normal life. I have to be a doctor with my own practice. A family man. It's how life is supposed to be."
Holmes silently listened, his eyes drifting seamlesly from one object in the house to another. All the words sunk in to his brain - a normal life, family, wife - and he ouldn't help but feel the vile sratching on the inside of his throat. "Then, doctor," Holmes said formally, removing his hand from Watson's hair, "I suggest you leave me to retire..."
Watson looked up at the man pleadingly. "Please, just tell me what you want. What you truly think I should do. And I will. I will carry out what ever decision you deem best." Laying his head back down, stroking his thumb against Holmes thigh where his arms rest, crossed under his head. he didn't believe there were any place more comforting than here.
"You trust my judgment so much, dear friend?" Holmes asked quietly, slowly moving his hand across the doctor's cheek again and lightly caressing the skin with his fingertips. "...Then stay with me." he whispered, "If you trust me to make a decision for you, then stay with me doctor."
Watson let out a sigh of relief. He was afraid the detective would push him away one final time. now, one question remained in his mind. "And Mary? What am I to do about her? We're engaged..."
Holmes shrugged, rubbing Watson's shoulder with less shaky fingers. "Call it off." he said simply, as if it were plainly obvious, "Those things tend to happen, it isn't unlikely."
"I'm afraid. What if someone suspects something. I have no doubt in that Mary knows how much I care for you."
"No one will suspect." Holmes said and got up to help Watson to his feet. "Now sit down dear boy, you must be in pain." when he made the doctor sit down in the other armchair, he knelt down in front of him, one hand on his knee to gently rub it. "Just convince her that you're still not ready and she best not wait around for you to make up your mind."
"Very well. As much as I would love to stay for the night, however, I must head back to my home, for Mary is waiting. I shouldn't tell her tonight. Over tomorrow's breakfast, I presume, should be the opportune moment." Watson leaned down to where Holmes was kneeling and grasped each side of his head. He lightly pressed a kiss to the top of his partners head, then to his lips, and rose up to his feet with a grunt. "Goodbye for now, love."
Holmes was quick to stand up, trying to hide his giddyness that he was sure would equal a blushing school girl's. He cleared his throat and tried to act formal, his hands behind his back. "May I inquire for a proper good night's kiss old boy?" he said, trying not to grin, but the glint in his eyes was obvious.
"Perhaps." Watson decided to tease. He was allowed to, with all the pushing and pulling he had had to endure over the past few years. "Perhaps if you promise to close your eyes."
The detective couldn't help, but let his curiosity show in the curve of his brow. Close his eyes? Wasn't that the usual mechanic reaction to a kiss? None the less, Holmes shrugged and nodded. "I solemnly swear." he said and closed his eyes.
Watson slowly walked over to Holmes, admiring the man's face with deep gratitude for the events of this blissful night. Dropping his cane and coat to the floor, he moved close enough to Holmes so that his breath could be felt upon his lips, close enough for a light brush. Close enough so Holmes could not only hear, but feel his chosen quote from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night: "Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou."
Holmes could swear he felt a strange heat run across his pale sunken cheeks, not only at the words spoken just an inch away from his lips, but also at the sound of the cane and coat dropping on the floor. For a moment, he wondered if the doctor truly intended to give him just a kiss, but he shook those thoughts away. "The bard, my dear boy?" he whispered with a small smile
"Indeed" Watson pressed a chaste kiss to Holmes' forehead, then his nose, then his lips, wishing he didn't have to leave. He quickly stepped out of the room before Holmes could open his eyes, hoping to leave the night in it's perfect air of romance.
Authors: ember_top_hat20 and kendra_fey
Rating: M (For eventual drug use/reference)
Summary: With Watson completely out of the house and the wedding day drawing nearer, Holmes resumes the only activity that can mildly keep his mind from the world around him: cocaine.
A.N.: Sorry for the long wait. I lost the file these were in, and have just recovered them! This started as an angsty idea for a role-play, but panned out to a story, which I, personally, am quite proud of. A few more chapters to come, I think. ember_top_hat20 did the first paragraph, and then me, and so on and so forth. Enjoy!
Night had fallen in London and at the new Watson household, the clock stroked 8 sharp. Mary sat in front of the fireplace, reading one of her detective novels, Poe to be exact. With a smile, she glanced down at her wedding ring and then up to her soon to be husband who sat beside her. "I still think it's rather strange how your friend gave us this ring after that dinner." she proclaimed, smiling as she always did.
He looked over his newspaper and gave her a quick smile. He was trying his best to bury the feeling that he had forgotten something important, realizing it was probably just a reaction to the sudden change of an important relationship. “Yes, dear, he isn’t very clear on his reasons to do anything.” He wanted to add that the dinner wouldn’t have been such a misfire if she hadn’t thrown her drink in his face and left, but he bit his tongue. “Just don’t think of him when you look down upon your finger. Think of our union.” And then it hit him. Fingers. The skeleton of a human hand remained at the Baker Street lodgings. “I’m so sorry, love, but I must return to Holmes’. I’ve just realized something important I have forgotten.”
Mary pouted as she looked up at Watson. "Must you leave now?" she asked in a sweet tone, her pale hand taking a hold of his. "Can't you fetch it tomorrow? Besides, perhaps Mr. Holmes is asleep by now and in bed."
“I’m afraid it’s very important.” It wasn’t, but he wanted to get everything out of that house as soon as possible. He threw his coat on and grabbed his cane, forgetting his hat entirely. There was something else pulling him towards Baker Street. It couldn’t just be the skeleton. There must have been something else.
Half past eight was far too early for the detective to retire and he found no solace in the melancholy tunes he played on his violin. If Holmes hadn't had so much pride in him, he would have called himself pathetic, but even to his own self, he couldn't admit the feelings of loss and abandonment. The needle lay on the table, along with a small bottle, just enough, but then again, he could always easily administer another dosage. Holmes slowly rolled up his sleeve, used the needle to extract the right amount from the bottle and pushed the needle in to the vein, all too visible through his pale skin. A shaky hand placed the needle back on the table and the room felt lighter, moving as if under a small hypnotic earthquake.
Watson burst through the street entrance, rushing past Mrs. Hudson and her serving tray, giving a quick nod. Running up the stairs, ignoring the incredible pain in his leg, until he reached the door on the right. “Holmes?” Opening the door with no question, he saw his friend sitting in an armchair facing the fireplace. “Oh thank goodness. I was worried that-“ but his thoughts were cut short by the sight of a needle and a small bottle nearby, too near for his tastes. He knew what Holmes was up to. Hiding his true feelings again. And since it was cocaine, this meant he was distraught.
The footsteps, the same old shoes going up the stairs and too hurriedly for the limping leg. He was sure it was another delusion before the door opened and a voice called out his name. Eyes glazed over, Holmes looked up to meet Watson's gaze and he gave a blank smile. "My dear friend," he spoke slowly, "miss me already and not yet at the altar?" His eyes moved to the needle on the table and he took both it and the small bottle to withdraw and prepare a second dose.
“Why are you doing this to yourself? You know how I feel about your constant disregard for your own safety!”
Holmes met Watson's eyes again and frowned in earnest confusion. "Is that why you came here? To warn me about how I can't look after myself?" once he extracted another dose and put away the small bottle, Holmes moved to administer a second dose. "I am not a child."
Without thinking, Watson grabbed the needle from Holmes’ sweaty grip. “You are. You are a little boy, Holmes. And if you insist on continuing this way, I shall have to stay and baby-sit you every night.”
"Is that a promise?" Holmes said with a laugh saying it as a joke, but as his smile slipped and his blank eyes searched Watson's expression, it became apparent it was no joke at all. "It leaves my mind rested, mildly." he quickly said so as to hide his fallen expression from a moment ago.
Watson had just about given up on Holmes. No matter how much he tried, there was no solution to their problems. Give in and let him keep his habits or make him change. Make him tell his true feelings, or let him hide. Go with Mary and lead a normal life, or stay and keep the one he wants. “There is no way for me to cure of this disease, is there?”
"Disease?" Holmes said, leaning back in his armchair as his eyes met the ceiling. "A disease, yes...An affliction of the heart, wouldn't you say so dotor?" the detective's bony fingertips lightly tapped at his chest, his eyes still focused on the ceiling as it gave birth to strange shapes under lady cocaine.
Something was different about Holmes. It wasn’t just the cocaine, he had seen that before. No, this was different. There was something strange going on in his eyes. “Affliction of the heart? What are you getting at Holmes?”
"Yes." Holmes nodded to himself, tapping his fingertips against his chest again. His eyes dazed, he looked up towards the ceiling again. "Elevated heart rate, dialated pupils, unsteady hands, increased tempature. This disease has been plaguing me for a while with all the symptoms above doctor." the detective seemed to be rambling, but his words never stumbled or seemed to be incoherent
Watson had heard Holmes' self analysis and was trying to figure out a diagnosis to go along with the signs and symptoms, but he needed a bit more information. although, this did strike him as a thoroughly random conversation. "Alright. And when do you notice these symptoms happen to occur?
Holmes' eyes went from the ceiling to the doctor and a shaky smile formed on the pale lips. "But old boy," he said, "can't you see they're occuring now?" the detive's gaze went back up to the ceiling and he muttered something about strange shapes in the wallpaper
"Ah. So it's the cocaine then. You see, even you are beginning to understand that this is a destructive material." Watson began to walk over to Holmes' side to move the needle and vial as far away from the detective as possible, possibly even hide the damned items.
"No, no, no, no..." Holmes said shaking his head, "Cocaine, my dear Watson, is there to prevent the symptoms." he said crptically, his hand now on Watson's wrist. "So put down the needle and bottle."
There was so much confusion. Watson wasn't sure where to start, but he knew that he could feel his temperature rising. As he moved to place the items down, his hands shook with unsteadiness. He also knew that with Holmes' touch to his wrist, there was no doubt his pulse was beginning to race. "Holmes, what in god's name has gotten into you?"
Holmes gently pulled up Watson's shirt and suit jacket, pressing two fingers right where he could feel the pulse in the doctor's pale wrist. "Curious." he whispered, "Your pulse is elevated as well doctor and though I can't tell precisely from the skin on your wrist, I'd say the same for your temparature." Holmes squinted as he pulled Watson somewhat closer. "My vision's a bit hazy now, so I can't see your eyes right, but the other symptoms are simmilar to my own."
He hoped, no, prayed, that Holmes wasn't edging at what Watson suspected. "S-so?" He didn't mean to stutter. There was the feeling of something being caught in his throat, like his trapped feelings trying to escape. It didn't help that because of Holmes' curiosity of their afflictions, the proximity of their faces were too close for comfort.
"Affliction of the heart, old boy?" Holmes whispered, his free hand going to Watson's chest and lightly tapping his fingertips right where his heart stood. "John?" the doctor's name seemed to slip easily passed the detective's lips which it usually wasn't so and a curious smile played at the corners of his mouth.
There were only 2 things John Watson could have done in his current situation. Lean in, and take advantage of the current situation, or pull backwards, remembering that he had someone to love back at a different home. Suddenly, a third option opened up, to remain in his current position, and let his companion decide. "Holmes," was all he could let his voice mutter, without giving in to the first choice.
The detective made a quick deduction in his head of the situation at hand. Watson was a few inches away, unmoving which either meant he was uncertain or taunting. Either way, if Holmes proceeded with one simple option, it wouldn't matter either way. "I'll take that as a yes." he whispered and pulled Watson closer by his shirt to press his lips to the doctor's.
At first, Watson fell into the kiss, moving from a standing position, to kneeling down by the chair in which Holmes still sat in. He could feel all of his worries and doubts flood out of him, and remembered how much he missed kissing these lips. Holmes' lips. He was, without a doubt, still in love with him, and never wanted to pull away. But then he remembered. "Holmes, I really can't- This can't happen." He pulled away slowly, wishing there could be more time spent licking the detective's soft lips, but he knew the reality of the situation. However he was sure Homes didn't so he clued him in with one simple name. "Mary."
Holmes didn't let his expression fall, rather he let it turn blank again as he let go off Watson's shirt and wrist. "Ah yes, the impatient fiancee." he remarked quietly, and his eyes moved past Watson's face and to the needle and cocaine, before reaching out to take them. "Best not keep the dear lady waiting then."
This was becoming aggravating. It was too much to process in his head, so he decided to work it out aloud while pacing furiously around the room. "Damn it, Holmes! I'm not going to leave just so you can inch yourself closer to death with every injection. But Mary is waiting for me at home, my fiancee is waiting. But the second I step out of this building, you'll do what you always do in this condition. I just wish I could stay here."
"If you wish to stay here, you would have!!" Holmes suddenly shouted without reserve, something the detective never did in front of his companion and he quickly withdrew a shaky breath as he looked away. "Good night Watson." he whispered, thinking that was the end of their conversation and he pushed the needle in to the bottle to exctract another dose.
There was no more that he could do. There was no way he could fight anymore. All he could do was grab the needle and bottle violently from the man, and throw them across the room, not caring where they landed or if they were to break, which they did. Glaring at Holmes' shocked reaction, he stared at the deep brown eyes, growing more, what seemed to be, angry, and decided to do what he thought needed to be done. Watson fell to his knees, significantly hurting his wounded leg, grabbed Holmes by the collar and furiously kissed him, pushing the thought of some other person from his head.
A muffled sound came from the detective in surprise as the doctor pressed their lips together, but his body relaxed within moments and a sigh of satisfation left his lips as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Watson's neck to pull him as close as he could against himself.
Just as soon as Holmes deepened the kiss, Watson's hidden plan would fully form. He pulled away the second Holmes pulled him in, and spoke the words he'd been meaning to say for years. "Holmes, it's true, I love you. I have, I do now, i always will. But I can't continue on like this. You either tell me your true feelings now, or I'm gone forever. It's simply enough."
Holmes observed Watson's expression and intently listened to his tone, trying again to put his logical mind to work, but whether it was the lingering effects of the cocaine or simply the doctor's words, he wasn't sure. "Watson..." he started, but then stopped and shook his head. "John...I..." again he went silent, but as he plaed his hand against Watson's warm cheek, he grew somewhat bolder. "John...I love you..."
So much happening in such a small amount of time gave Watson a rush of blood to his brain, and made him collapse against Holmes' chest, feeling his eyes fill up with sadness, glee, and too many emotions to hold in. "Holmes, I'm truly sorry."
"What for dear boy?" Holmes whispered, running his hand along Watson's cheek and through his hair with great affection. He wished it would be so every evening...Them, together, by the warm fireplace, one against the other in their own little world. Their little home.
"No matter how much I want it to be true, I can't stay here. Baker street can no longer be my home, and I can no longer be in love with you." There was no more stopped up emotions between them. He could say whatever he needed to right now. "Mary is willing to be my wife, and this is a chance for me to lead a normal life. I have to be a doctor with my own practice. A family man. It's how life is supposed to be."
Holmes silently listened, his eyes drifting seamlesly from one object in the house to another. All the words sunk in to his brain - a normal life, family, wife - and he ouldn't help but feel the vile sratching on the inside of his throat. "Then, doctor," Holmes said formally, removing his hand from Watson's hair, "I suggest you leave me to retire..."
Watson looked up at the man pleadingly. "Please, just tell me what you want. What you truly think I should do. And I will. I will carry out what ever decision you deem best." Laying his head back down, stroking his thumb against Holmes thigh where his arms rest, crossed under his head. he didn't believe there were any place more comforting than here.
"You trust my judgment so much, dear friend?" Holmes asked quietly, slowly moving his hand across the doctor's cheek again and lightly caressing the skin with his fingertips. "...Then stay with me." he whispered, "If you trust me to make a decision for you, then stay with me doctor."
Watson let out a sigh of relief. He was afraid the detective would push him away one final time. now, one question remained in his mind. "And Mary? What am I to do about her? We're engaged..."
Holmes shrugged, rubbing Watson's shoulder with less shaky fingers. "Call it off." he said simply, as if it were plainly obvious, "Those things tend to happen, it isn't unlikely."
"I'm afraid. What if someone suspects something. I have no doubt in that Mary knows how much I care for you."
"No one will suspect." Holmes said and got up to help Watson to his feet. "Now sit down dear boy, you must be in pain." when he made the doctor sit down in the other armchair, he knelt down in front of him, one hand on his knee to gently rub it. "Just convince her that you're still not ready and she best not wait around for you to make up your mind."
"Very well. As much as I would love to stay for the night, however, I must head back to my home, for Mary is waiting. I shouldn't tell her tonight. Over tomorrow's breakfast, I presume, should be the opportune moment." Watson leaned down to where Holmes was kneeling and grasped each side of his head. He lightly pressed a kiss to the top of his partners head, then to his lips, and rose up to his feet with a grunt. "Goodbye for now, love."
Holmes was quick to stand up, trying to hide his giddyness that he was sure would equal a blushing school girl's. He cleared his throat and tried to act formal, his hands behind his back. "May I inquire for a proper good night's kiss old boy?" he said, trying not to grin, but the glint in his eyes was obvious.
"Perhaps." Watson decided to tease. He was allowed to, with all the pushing and pulling he had had to endure over the past few years. "Perhaps if you promise to close your eyes."
The detective couldn't help, but let his curiosity show in the curve of his brow. Close his eyes? Wasn't that the usual mechanic reaction to a kiss? None the less, Holmes shrugged and nodded. "I solemnly swear." he said and closed his eyes.
Watson slowly walked over to Holmes, admiring the man's face with deep gratitude for the events of this blissful night. Dropping his cane and coat to the floor, he moved close enough to Holmes so that his breath could be felt upon his lips, close enough for a light brush. Close enough so Holmes could not only hear, but feel his chosen quote from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night: "Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou."
Holmes could swear he felt a strange heat run across his pale sunken cheeks, not only at the words spoken just an inch away from his lips, but also at the sound of the cane and coat dropping on the floor. For a moment, he wondered if the doctor truly intended to give him just a kiss, but he shook those thoughts away. "The bard, my dear boy?" he whispered with a small smile
"Indeed" Watson pressed a chaste kiss to Holmes' forehead, then his nose, then his lips, wishing he didn't have to leave. He quickly stepped out of the room before Holmes could open his eyes, hoping to leave the night in it's perfect air of romance.