New Fic: A Study in Doubles 8/?
Title: A Study in Doubles
Author: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 7K this part. 52k+ so far and growing.
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes created by ACD, Sherlock owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Summary: Sequel to A Study in Winning. Because winning Wimbledon is one thing, maintaining a relationship is something else entirely.
Warnings: Graphic sex, swearing, French.
Spoilers: Some for S2; mainly throwaway lines and some character appearances. No spoilers for S2 episode plots.
*
A Study in Doubles
Part Eight
*
He dreamt about Wimbledon. He dreamt about balls bouncing on grass, of rackets breaking in his hand, of crowds watching in eerie silence just waiting for him to crack, to screw up, to lose. He dreamt that he crashed out in the first round, that his shoulder tore in white hot pain, that balls flew towards him faster and faster until there were too many to see, too many to hit, too many to miss him as they ploughed into his body. He dreamt about Harry, drunk, about Moriarty, laughing, and Sherlock. Sherlock he watched walk away, always away, always too far, too fast and he couldn’t seem to stop him, couldn’t….
“John!”
He bolted upright at the cry of his name, at the sensation of his heart hammering against his ribs, to the feeling of a fist banging against his chest. For a moment there was blindness and panic, his breaths being sucking in fast and noisily as he was met by darkness and confusion.
He was at Wimbledon, he was blind, he was alone… no, he was in Toronto, in bed and he wasn’t alone. Never alone. Sherlock was there, still there, lying beside him, sprawled out, taking up more of the bed than he should, the fist that had been knocking against him slipping to his lap but staying there.
Christ. Just a dream. Just a dream. He sucked in another breath, held it, breathed it out and then slumped back down. Just a dream.
“Il y a longtemps que je t’aime."
And now Sherlock was talking to him.
“Jamais je ne t’oublierai."
In French. Sherlock was talking to him in French.
“Maman, jamais je ne t’oublierai.”
“I don’t…” he started to mumble, his mouth strangely dry. “I don’t know… Sherlock.” He turned his head, only for the truth to finally dawn on him. Sherlock was speaking, but he wasn’t speaking to him. In fact he wasn’t speaking to anyone, because despite everything it appeared that Sherlock was still asleep.
“Ne me quitte pas.”
Sprawled on his front, Sherlock’s face was half pressed into the pillow, turned in his direction as he mumbled the words, the arm now in John’s lap twitching as he moved restlessly.
“Tu m'as promis. Ne me quitte pas."
The words were definitely French, but that was about as much as he could catch. He had no chance of being able to understand it, but it wasn’t hard to determine that Sherlock’s dream wasn’t good.
“Je m’en fous, Mycroft! Tu aurais dû me le dire!" The tone sounded angry. “Salaud! Tu aurais dû me le dire. Tu aurais dû me le dire."
The words at the end seemed to repeat until they faded away and Sherlock’s body gradually stilled.
Bad dream. Just a bad dream.
God, they were a pair, weren’t they.
Shifting to his side, John caught the hand that had been against him, holding it, covering it with his own hand. Sherlock felt warm next him, the heat seeping through the sheets. Was he warmer than normal? There wasn’t enough light to make out more than just the vague outline, so he couldn’t tell if Sherlock’s skin was flushed or if his face was tense. What was he dreaming about? He was sure he had heard Sherlock called his name, but now that his own dream had faded and reality had reasserted itself he wasn’t so sure.
Sherlock’s breathing levelled out and within a minute he was back to his normal sleeping state.
John watched for a moment before shifting once more onto his back. His mind still felt fuzzy from sleep and the pull of unconsciousness was strong. This all meant something, he was certain, but this was no time to be dwelling on it. Giving in, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, his hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s as he found himself drifting off once more.
*
They talked tactics over breakfast. Well, Sherlock did most of the talking, he listened and made suggestions where he saw fit.
He didn’t mention the bad dreams.
By Sherlock’s calculations they had a reasonable chance of winning the match. Not excellent, but not dire or helpless either. Reasonable he could more than cope with. It meant that they shouldn’t get their arses kicked too badly but neither would Sherlock be too surprised if they lost. Disappointed, maybe, surprised no. That, at least, was a start.
“You’re setting yourself up to lose again,” Sherlock said cutting through his thoughts. “Stop it. It’s annoying and unproductive. To win you first have to believe you can win.”
He folded his hands carefully in front of him. “And of course you go into every match believing that you can win.”
“Of course,” Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the only way to play.”
It was a lie, John knew, but it was a good one. They both knew there were day and matches where even Sherlock wasn’t certain that he could win. Matches against Moriarty sprung to mind for one, but in one way Sherlock was absolutely right, to win you first had to believe you could. He had learnt that lesson at Wimbledon and he would put money on the fact that the matches that Sherlock lost were the ones where doubt had crept in.
Oh crap.
Damn. Shit. Bollocks. His comments about Moran last night wouldn’t have helped Sherlock’s mind set. Maybe that had been the reason for the bad dreams. Christ, maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. Sherlock didn’t need him to help throw in more doubts about the outcome of the match.
“You’re going to beat Moran you know,” he said leaning forward slightly.
Sherlock looked at him with a growing frown. “Of course I’m going to beat Moran,” he said as if it had painfully obvious thing to say. Maybe it had been, he rarely had a clue as to what went through Sherlock’s head, but it made him feel just that little bit better anyway.
“Good,” he said leaning back again and offering a quick smile and nod. “That’s good. I just thought it was something you would appreciate hearing.”
There was no thank you, no acknowledgement, just the calculative pale blue stare above well-defined cheekbones.
“So,” John said giving a small cough. “What was it you were saying about Mertinak’s serve?”
*
The car arrived for them exactly on time and they spent much of the journey in silence, looking of out their respective windows. They had gone through the match plan - twice - so there was little else to say.
They were to open the play on Court One, because despite being two apparently top names - although it was definitely strange to think of himself as a top name, Sherlock yes, him, really no - and it being the semi-finals, Federer verses Berdych and Moriarty verses Djokovic were always going to be bigger matches. God, he hoped Djokovic would be able to wipe the smug smile off Moriarty’s face, but somehow he doubted that would happen. Although, admittedly, Djokovic had managed to take a set off Moriarty at Wimbledon, but he couldn’t see Moriarty allowing that to happen a second time.
The stadium was the quietest he had seen this year, but then again the crowds of fans were still outside and with fewer matches to be played there were fewer players, coaches and entourages inside as well. For once they didn’t really need Sherlock’s bodyguards to ensure they got from one place to another quickly and safely, although they were useful none the less and in truth he had kind of gotten used to them.
Used to having bodyguards? John Watson, what is your life, he thought.
They took their warm up in the gym slowly - they had plenty of time - and he was careful to make sure he stretched fully but didn’t over stretch his shoulder. The last thing he needed was for his shoulder or back to go during the match. Not if they wanted to win. He would have to be on his best playing performance to make sure he didn’t let down either himself or Sherlock, because Christ he knew who the weak link was in their playing partnership and it wasn’t the third in the world for men’s singles.
Oh god, he better not screw this up. Sherlock seemed so desperate to win that he couldn’t bear to be the one to let him down. God knows what that would do to their doubles partnership. God knows that that would do to them as a couple.
Christ, why was it so bloody complicated?
“Hello, boys.”
And why did Jim damn-him-to-hell Moriarty always have to appear when he was least wanted, looking cool and collected, swanning in as if he owned the place, with that casual walk and knowing smirk.
Neither of them returned the greeting, just watched as Moriarty casually sauntered past, keeping their pace on the treadmills until he was finally out of sight. If only it were that easy to get him out of mind as well.
“Sherlock, forget about him,” he said, leaning over towards his partner who was now more noticeably tense than he had been minutes earlier. “Just put him out of your mind and focus on our match. He doesn’t matter.”
“Of course he doesn’t matter,” Sherlock replied sharply but his shoulders didn’t drop.
Shit, John thought as he accepted defeat and returned to his running, whatever game Moriarty was playing, he appeared to be playing it very well.
*
“Welcome to day four and the Men’s Singles quarter-final day here at the Rexall Centre in Toronto. Four great matches for you back to back, starting soon on Centre Court with World Number One, Jim Moriarty taking on fifth seed, Novak Djokovic, in what should be a brilliant and dynamic match.
“Later we will also be bringing you ball by ball commentary from Nadal verses Kohlschreiber, Federer verses Berdych, and Holmes verses Moran. Not only that but we will also be bringing you all the action from the doubles semi-finals where later the Bryan brothers will be taking on Mahesh Bhupathi and Max Mirnyi on Centre Court. But kicking us off first on Court One in a matter of minutes is the rather surprising line up of Cermak and Mertinak verses Holmes and Watson. Tim?”
“Surprising is definitely the word here. Neither pairing were expected to get this far. Both have knocked out some top seeds along the way and both pairs have played some excellent tennis to do so.”
“6-3, 7-6 for Cermak and Mertinak against the number one seeded pair of Nestor and Zimonjić in the last round. A good result for them?”
“An excellent result for them. Nestor and Zimonjic are never an easy pair to beat and before the competition they were the favourites with the Bryan Brothers coming in a close second. To go out to Cermak and Mertinak is surprisingly, but we can’t take anything away from Cermak and Mertinak’s performances. They showed that they can play world class doubles together.”
“And then there’s Holmes and Watson.”
“Well, what to say about them?”
“What to say indeed. Their progress has been surprising, but should it have been?”
“It’s all looking a bit obvious now, isn’t it? Two top singles players team up together for doubles, complement each other perfectly in terms of playing style and temperament, slot well together and find a tight and winning formula.”
“Put like that their results do seem almost inevitable.”
“Except this is tennis and it’s not nearly as simple as that. What they’ve managed to do, especially in such a short time, is astonishing. To come into a competition like this having never played together before and win and then keep on winning is amazing.”
“Especially as neither of them have been particularly noted in the past for their doubles play.”
“Exactly. Holmes hasn’t played doubles regularly since he parted ways with Victor Trevor, three or so years ago, and even then their partnership was a bit hit and miss. There was on match in particularly, Valencia I think, where Holmes broke a racket in frustration and they were barely speaking by the time the match finished.”
“Not one of Holmes’ finest moments.”
“No, and from the final result, probably not one he wants to remember any time soon. Watson of course played some mixed doubles after his injury, but nothing like this. In fact, it’s easy to forget that just two months ago, Watson was languishing at a hundred and thirtieth in the world, scraping through qualifiers and going out in first rounds.”
“Now look at him. Wimbledon Champion, semi-finals of the doubles and playing some inspiring tennis.”
“He’s like a new man out there and with that amount of confidence, who knows how far they can go?”
“So do you think they’ll beat Cermak and Mertinak?”
“I think it’s not without possibility, but I wouldn’t like to call it. Both pairs are on top form, playing at their best. I think it will be a very tight game.”
“What do you think the deciding factor will be?”
“Hard to say, but it could well be Holmes himself. It may simply come down to the fitness of Watson and how tired Holmes is, how much competing in both the doubles and the singles has taken it out of him. That and how much he wants to win. He has a tough singles match later against Moran, that might affect his game plan.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, the players are due out in a few minutes time, but first over to Andrew who is court side. Andrew.”
*
Foot on the bench, he slowly and carefully tied his laces, checked them, tugged the end and then tied the bow again. Switching feet, he repeated his actions until he was satisfied with the tightness and the tension.
He put his feet down together on the floor and straightened up. Bloody hell, he was nervous. Come on, Watson, he chided himself, pull yourself together. It is only a match. Just another tennis match. You’ve played hundreds in your life and even as a doubles match this is your fourth this week. You know what to expect. You know what you’re about to face and you’re going to go out there and fight to win because that is what you do, that’s what Sherlock reminded you to do at Wimbledon. Fight and then even if you lose you can hold your head high and say that you tried your damned hardest and there was nothing else you could do, nothing else you could give, nothing else within you that would have made a difference.
For god’s sake, don’t let Sherlock down.
Swinging his arms in a wide arch, he glanced across at where Sherlock was finalising his preparations. Having run through their tactics and game plan once more they had lapsed back into silence and they had gone through their final pre-match preparations. Glancing across at where Sherlock had risen from the bench to check his kit bag yet again, he was reminded that once again he had no idea what was going through Sherlock’s head. What was he thinking? Was he nervous? Anxious? Itching to get out there? Was he running through playing styles of their opponents or was he thinking about Moriarty and whatever game was being played there? Was he focused on this match or were his thoughts distracted elsewhere?
“It’s time, gentlemen.”
He turned and nodded to the steward who was now standing in the open doorway.
It was time.
Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out, blowing out his cheeks in the process. It was time. Turning, he reached down to tug his kit bag up onto one shoulder and his racket bag onto the other. It was time and he was ready.
Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his head to find Sherlock facing him likewise with bags on shoulders, back straight, expression neutral but with a hint of determination around the eyes.
It was time.
*
“The players are now warming up on the court. Cermak and Mertinak are in white shirts and dark shorts, while Holmes is in navy and white and Watson in mid blue and white. So far all four players are taking their final preparations easy, knocking balls over the net, testing racket strings and footwork. There are still a number of empty seats in the stands, but there is a sense of anticipation in the air that this could only be a close and tightly contested match.
*
They had won the toss so Sherlock was going to open the serving.
“Remember the game plan.”
Back at their seats, waiting for the final call, he looked across at Sherlock. He had a white head band on this time, thick and tightly pressed over his curls rather than under them. It made his face look almost more severe, definitely more determined, but that might have also been due to the clench of his jaw, the tightening around his eyes.
“I remember,” he said softly just as time was called. His fingers twitched wanting to lean over and press a comforting hand to Sherlock’s arm, but he couldn’t, could he? “Just,” he said quickly, “remember the first match. You don’t have to do this alone.”
There was a pause as Sherlock looked at him and then they were on their feet and the game was on.
*
“And it’s Holmes to open the serving here and get this first match started. Silence across the stadium as we wait… and it’s a good serve. Cermak returns and Watson with the volley.”
“Fifteen - Love.”
“Good solid start from Holmes and Watson there. Well placed, deep serve and an excellent put away by Watson.”
“Holmes lines up to serve again. Mertinak backhand, Holmes crosscourt, Mertinak, but it’s high and Holmes very rightly leaves it.”
“Out!”
“Thirty - Love.”
“Well left by Holmes. Good decision.”
“Holmes collects the balls for his next serve, briefly stopping to say something to Watson before making his way to the baseline. He readies himself and serves. Cermak backhand, Watson volley, Cermak forehand, Holmes crosscourt, Cermak backhand, Holmes running, forehand, Cermak and Watson at the net with the volley down the centre to take the point.”
“Forty - Love.”
“Nine shots, making it the longest rally of the match so far, but then again we have only just started, with Holmes and Watson just one point away from taking this opening game and getting those all-important first points on the board. Holmes with the serve. Mertinak, Holmes down the line, Cermak, Watson with the volley, Mertinak gets it, Watson, Cermak and it bounces in.”
“Forty - Fifteen.”
“Lovely shot there from Cermak, down the centre, between Holmes and Watson and Cermak and Mertinak get their first points of the match.”
“Nicely taken by Cermak, placing it too long for Watson and too far for Holmes to reach.”
“Holmes lines himself up once more. Serves out wide, Cermak returns but it goes long.”
“Out!”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead, one game to love.”
*
“Out!”
“Game Cermak and Mertinak. Three games all.”
It was definitely a tight match.
Pushing his cap back, John ran the sweat band on his wrist over his face before turning to receive the balls to serve with. All square so far and no sign of a break through. He could feel the beginning of a dull ache in his shoulder but that was nothing. He and most of the players out there competed through far more pain or discomfort. That was normal.
His serve. Right.
Reaching the baseline, he watched as Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him, gave him a brief nod and then settled into his bent over position by the net. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew it out and stilled as he envisioned where he wanted the ball to go.
Don’t screw it up, Watson. Calm, collected, true.
He tossed the ball into the air.
*
“Serve Watson, Mertinak backhand, Holmes with the volley, Mertinak pushing deep, Watson backhand, Mertinak crosscourt, Watson driving it back, Mertinak… and a lovely volley from Holmes at the end to kill the ball and take the point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead four games to three.”
“Good positioning by Holmes for that last volley. If you watch you can see him almost bouncing across inch by inch while in the crouched position, judging exactly where Mertinak was going to try and place that last ball.”
“Holmes and Watson hold the game but still no break through in this incredibly tight set and now it’s Mertinak to serve.”
*
“Game, Cermak and Mertinak. Six games all.”
“And now we’re into a tie-break. Six games all and very little between the two pairs so far.”
“It’s an incredibly close match with both pairs rising to the challenges thrown at them. This tie-break really could go either way.”
“It’s Holmes who is going to open the serving in this tie-break, serving from the deuce court. He’ll serve just the once and then the serve will rotate between the players as it has been with each player after that serving twice each. The winner of the set will be the first pair to reach seven points with two clear points with play continuing past seven points until one pair is two points ahead.”
“It’s not nearly as complicated as it sounds.”
“No, it’s not, but here’s Holmes with the serve. Cermak forehand, Watson volley, Mertinak crosscourt, Holmes forehand, Mertinak, Holmes down the line, Cermak and the ball goes long.”
“One - Love.”
“Good play there from Holmes, forcing Cermak into that error and now it’s Cermak’s turn to serve. The serve’s good, returned by Holmes, Mertinak with the volley, Watson deep, Cermak forehand, Watson and Mertinak with the volley to take the point.”
“One - All.”
“Good placement from Mertinak there. He saw the gap that had opened up between Holmes and Watson and place the ball into the centre of it.”
“Cermak lines up for his next serve… and serves, Watson backhand down the line but it just bounces wide.”
“One - Two.”
“Now it’s Watson’s turn to serve. He shares a quick word with Holmes and then makes his way to the baseline, ball in hand. Steadies himself, serves, returned down the line, Holmes volley, Mertinak, but it’s into the net.”
“Two - All.”
“Holmes and Watson look satisfied with that and Watson collects the balls for his second serve in this tie-break. He serves but it’s called long. Watson wipes his face and settles himself again, waits and serves. Cermak returns, Watson forehand, Cermak forehand, Watson whips it wide, Cermak, Holmes at the net, Mertinak reaches but it’s an easy finish for Holmes.”
“Three - Two.”
“Good reflexes from Mertinak, even better ones from Holmes.”
“It’s now Mertinak’s turn to serve.”
*
Come on Watson. Concentrate! A tie-break is about nerves. Hold it. You’ve got to hold it now. Remember the game plan. Down the line and in… and volley.
Yes!
“Four - Three.”
They hadn’t been expecting that one, had they? And now they were a point up with Sherlock to serve. Come on! They were so close now. So close.
*
“Holmes and Watson take the all-important lead with Holmes now to serve. The Frenchman is at the baseline and readying himself for the serve. It’s good. Cermak returns, Watson with the volley, well read by Mertinak, Holmes backhand, Mertinak driving it back, Holmes, Cermak and a lovely take by Watson to take him and Holmes to just two points away from claiming the set.”
“Five - Three.”
“Lovely rally there, both pairs hunting for that weak spot until that change of direction from Holmes gave Watson the space to knock home the winner. Excellent teamwork from them.”
“Holmes to serve for the chance of set point. Holmes, serves down the line, Mertinak returns, Holmes, Cermak and an excellent shot from Cermak, powering the ball back past Holmes, not giving him the chance to respond.”
“Five - Four.”
“Right at that crucial moment, Cermak kept his head and it was a lovely return to break back and possibly rescue the set, and now it’s Cermak’s turn to serve.”
“If Holmes and Watson don’t win this set then they’re going to look back at that point and think about what might have been.”
“Cermak to serve. Holmes backhand, Mertinak volley, Holmes on the bounce, Mertinak with the smash, which Holmes had no chance of getting to.”
“Five - All.”
“Holmes tips his head back to look at the sky as the crowd clap that last point. He read the ball well but even with his speed there was no way of reaching it.”
“And we’re back to all square in this tie-break for the first set. For a moment it looked like Holmes and Watson were likely to clinch it, but Cermak and Mertinak have pulled it back and we’re still with Cermak on the serve. He lines himself up, serves. Watson drives it back, Mertinak at the net and Watson, a lovely backhand from Watson there, hard, fast with the exact needed angle for it to go flying past Mertinak and between the tram lines to take the point.”
“Six - Five.”
“Just listen to the crowd. They know what happened there.”
“What happened is that with that excellent shot, Holmes and Watson are once more just the next point away from taking this set and the serve is with Watson. Catching a towel he wipes himself down before tossing it back and motioning for a ball. It’s not quite the final of Wimbledon, but what must be going through his mind at the moment?
“A brief exchanged between the players and then Holmes takes up his position by the net and waits. Watson with the ball on the baseline, steadies himself, bounces the ball once, twice, pauses, then serves. Mertinak forehand return, Watson forehand, Mertinak drives it back deep, Watson forehand again, Mertinak returns, Watson again, Mertinak powers it back, Watson stands firm, Mertinak down the line, Holmes backhand, Mertinak, but it’s into the net and Holmes and Watson take the point and the set.”
“Game and set, Holmes Watson, seven games to six, seven points to five on the tie break. Holmes and Watson lead, one set to love.”
*
Oh god, somehow they had done it. They had finally, bloody well done it.
Tipping his head back, John sucked in a deep breath as he briefly closed his eyes in relief. They had won the tie-break and taken the set.
They had won the tie-break and taken the set.
God yes.
Shaking his head slightly he smiled to himself and made his way to their seats, plonking himself down next to where Sherlock was unscrewing the lid on a bottle of water.
“Ahhh,” he said breathing out, “that’s one down at least. Just one to go.”
Sherlock didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on something in front of him, his expression rather more grim than he might have expected considering they were now winning.
“Sherlock?”
“Hard and fast,” Sherlock said, eyes still focused ahead as he emphasised first the ‘d’ on hard and then the ‘t’ on fast. “They’re going to go back out there and hit us hard and fast with everything they have.”
Oh, right.
“They know our weaknesses now and they have nothing to lose.”
There was always something.
“So what’s the plan then?”
“Same as before, but we have to be firm, sure, precise.”
It sounded as if it was going to hurt.
“Together then,” he offered instead.
There was a brief flash of a frown on Sherlock’s face, then he was turning to look at him, their gaze meeting.
“Always.”
*
“…Holmes thuds it back, Mertinak returns, Watson volley, Cermak returns, Watson plucks it up, Cermak forehand, Holmes twisting, Mertinak… Holmes, but it’s called long and what a rally.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“What a set this is turning into.”
“Cermak and Mertinak lead here five games to four but we’re on Holmes’ serve in what until now has been a level scoring set.”
“It might not stay that way for much longer.”
“Indeed. Cermak and Mertinak are now only the next point away from breaking Holmes and Watson and clinching this set.”
“They’ve been threatening the break all set, but until now Holmes and Watson have somehow managed to hold on, at times by what feels like the skin of their teeth.”
“Holmes in particular is looking grim as he catches the ball for his next serve. He’s had a good game so far, as has Watson, but somehow Cermak and Mertinak have found the weaknesses and have taken to bashing at them with all of their might.”
“It was always going to be simply a matter of time.”
“Holmes lines himself up to serve… but it goes wide. Taking a deep breath he steadies himself, bounces the ball once and then serves. Back hand return, Watson volley, Mertinak forehand, Watson with another volley, Cermak… and a lovely shot there from Cermak, leaving Holmes with no chance of returning at all.”
“Game and set, Cermak Mertinak, six games to four. One set all.”
“And we’re going to three sets.”
*
It was with wearier arms and heavier legs that John made his way back to their seats. That had been… brutal. There was no other word he could think of to describe it. Hard and fast Sherlock had said it would be. Hard and fast it most certainly had been. So hard and fast that he could feel it in his arms, his shoulders, his back, down his legs to his ankles, feet and toes.
“Drink, John.”
Hmmm? He looked across to find Sherlock looking critically at him, his own half empty bottle of water in his hands. Drink? Of yes, of course.
They drank in silence each staring off in front of them.
“They’re going after you.”
John tried not to sigh at the words. “Yeah, noticed thanks,” he said in return.
“You’re getting tired.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Your shoulder….”
“Is fine. I’ve played through much worse. You should worry more about yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
Great, they were both fine. Good.
They lapsed back into silence.
“So what do we do?” John asked finally, knowing that the seconds that made up their break were ticking past. He glanced across as Sherlock stripped the sweat bands from his wrists and exchanged them for fresh ones.
“We do what we set out to do,” Sherlock said. “We stand firm and win.”
Stand firm and win. It sounded so easy.
“Time.”
He took a last sip of his drink and then got to his feet. Stand firm and win. If that was what Sherlock wanted then that would be what they did.
*
“Thirty - All.”
“Lovely play there from Cermak. They’re really piling on the pressure here.”
“Holmes goes across to confer with Watson again.”
“They’re doing a lot more conferring than they had been.”
“Watson listens, nods and Holmes jogs back to the net as Watson gathers the balls to serve with. He steadies himself, bounces the ball, pauses, bounces the ball again, serves, but it clips the net and goes long.”
“Watson’s bouncing the ball more often now, something he did during later rounds at Wimbledon.”
“Maybe the stress is getting to him. He serves again. Cermak, Watson forehand down the line, Cermak, Holmes at the net, oh good hands there from Holmes.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Good position taken up by Mertinak at the net. Most players would have volleyed that crosscourt, trying to find the biggest part of the court. Holmes did well there, squeezing it past Mertinak into the corner.”
“Perfectly placed.”
“Right in the corner.”
“Watson to serve. Mertinak returns down the line, Watson looping forehand crosscourt, Cermak crosscourt back, Watson forehand, Mertinak returns, Watson forehand, Mertinak again, Watson down the centre, Cermak backhand, Watson crosscourt, Cermak backhand again, Watson down the centre, Mertinak returns, Watson down the line, Mertinak backhand, Watson crosscourt and Cermak with the body shot volley right at Holmes who had no chance.”
“Deuce.”
“Excellent play by Cermak. After all those baseline hits, to then come into the net for the volley. Well timed, perfectly played.”
“It means we’re into a deciding point here. No advantage played remember. Whoever wins the next point wins the game and the receiver gets to choose who is going to take the return. Looks like it’s going to be Cermak.”
“Not hugely surprising.”
“No. Watson wipes his face again and then starts to bounce the ball.”
“Whoever wins the next point wins the game.”
“Watson serves, Cermak returns. Watson down the centre, Cermak backhand, Watson centre forehand, Mertinak forehand, Watson forehand, Mertinak returns, Watson down the line, Mertinak forehand, Watson… oh, what a short! John Watson shows that he belongs out here, crosscourt forehand sneaking it between both Holmes and Cermak, across the court in a very tight angle, landing perfectly to go off the side for the point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Two games all.”
“Huge shot, huge point there from Watson.”
“That’s got to be a confidence boost.”
“Oh absolutely. Cermak and Mertinak have been hammering at Watson for some time now, probably having decided that he’s the weak spot, but he’s holding his ground and that shot has just reminded everyone just how good he is.”
“The shot of a Wimbledon Champion.”
“The shot of a player confident enough to risk it knowing that getting it wrong could cost them the game and possibly the set and match as well.”
*
“Good shot.”
He looked up as Sherlock appeared next to him, a rogue lock of hair escaping from his headband.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thought so myself too.”
“How’s the back?”
“Still hanging in there.” Wait, he recognised that look. “Why, do you have a new plan?”
“I’ve certainly had enough of being on the back foot. What do you say to taking more risks and going for it?”
Riskier shots meant a greater chance of making an error.
“We might lose,” he pointed out.
“We might win.”
That was true.
“And if it all goes wrong?” Will you sulk and throw a tantrum, he thought but didn’t ask.
“It won’t.”
“It might.”
“No,” Sherlock said firmly, his features set, “it won’t.”
*
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Excellent shot there from Holmes, really pushing the ball deep and fast, just keeping it in play.”
“On the line, in fact. Could have so easily have been an inch longer.”
“Holmes and Watson are really going for it now, really pushing for that break.”
“Cermak serves. Watson whips it back, Cermak deep, Watson, Mertinak volley, Holmes dives, gets it back but Mertinak buries it for the point.”
“Game, Cermak Mertinak. Cermak and Mertinak lead three games to two.”
“Holmes really threw himself around to get that one back. Unlucky then that his efforts didn’t get them the point, but it was well controlled by Mertinak.”
“Holmes is certainly playing with all the passion and intensity he brings to his singles matches. You wouldn’t think that he played a singles match yesterday and has another one this evening. He seems almost desperate to win this.”
“He’s certainly not sitting back and taking this one lying down and now we’re back to his serve.”
*
Right, there was risky and there was risky, and at the moment there was also Sherlock Holmes.
“Forty - Fifteen.”
Shit. Rubbing his sweat bands across his face, he turned to find his partner.
“Same again,” Sherlock said as he reached him.
Same again? Not if it involved literally flinging yourself across the court.
“Look,” he said, “just take it easy, alright. Injuring yourself is not going to help anyone, least of all you.”
Of course Sherlock just looked as if he was mad, but in the time they had that was all he could say. Unfortunately they had a match to be getting on with.
Back at the net he crouched and waited. The ball flew over his shoulder and he straightened quickly for the volley, forehand back, Sherlock forehand, returned, he volleyed, returned, volleyed, lobed, the ball soaring over his head and he turned in time to see Sherlock’s smash, awkward, twisting, but somehow perfect.
“Game, Holmes Watson. Three games all.”
*
“…Holmes down the line, Cermak backhand, Holmes, volley from Mertinak, Watson gets it, Cermak and a lovely take there from Watson for the point.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“Just listen to the crowd. They’re being treated to a truly memorable game of doubles. It’s been unbelievably close all match, but now Holmes and Watson are just one point away from going a break up. Can they do it?”
“Mertinak to serve… but it’s called long.”
“Maybe the pressure is finally getting to him. He knows how important this point is.”
“Mertinak serves, Watson returns, Mertinak forehand, Holmes powers it back, Mertinak, Holmes, Cermak with the volley, Watson just reaches it, Cermak and oh, somehow, somehow Holmes gets his racket to it, finds the gap and sneaks the ball into the far corner to take a truly important point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead four games to three.”
“And there’s the break.”
“If you look at the replay you can see just how much of the court Holmes has to cross in order make that one.”
“He wanted that point.”
“Absolutely and they’ve gotten their reward. Holmes and Watson go a break up and now it’s Watson’s turn to serve.”
*
Don’t screw it up. For god sake, don’t screw it up, Watson. Sherlock may never forgive you if you screw this up. Hell, you won’t forgive yourself if you screw it up. Just throw the ball up, hit it and we’ll work from there.
*
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes and Watson lead, five games to three.”
“Somehow Holmes and Watson hold on after being truly battered by Cermak and Mertinak.”
“Good shot there at the end by Watson to keep the game. Those over the head shots are never easy and could go anywhere.”
“So Holmes and Watson survive another round and it’s Cermak’s turn to serve.”
*
“Game Cermak Mertinak. Holmes Watson lead five games to four.”
It was nearly over. It was nearly over. Please let it be nearly over.
The pain in his shoulder had gone from niggling to outright demanding. God, now he remembered why he had packed it all in.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said as Sherlock stopped next to him. He was sure they had had this conversation before and it was not one he really wanted to repeat.
“Your shoulder…”
“Will survive,” he interrupted. “Well, provided I don’t try anything too enthusiastic. Any chance of getting through this last game without either of us resorting to acrobatics?”
Sherlock didn’t respond, but his rather clenched jaw expression said it all. Right, so not going to be an easy game then. He just hoped they survived it in once piece.
*
“Forty - Fifteen.”
“Cermak a little unlucky there with that shot but it takes Holmes and Watson to match point, just one point away from clinching this game and with it the set and match. Holmes with the next serve. He lines himself up, serves, but the ball hits the net. He bounces the next ball, composes himself and serves. Cermak returns, Watson volley, Mertinak, Watson, Mertinak, Holmes with the forehand, but it clips the net and flies wide.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“You can read the frustration in Holmes’ face there. That so could have been it, but now they have to try again.”
“Holmes walks back to collect some more balls, tossing one away as he tests them. It is still match point here to Holmes and Watson. Holmes lines himself up, serves, but the ball slams into the net. He wipes angrily at his face but pulls out the second ball. Bounces it. Pauses. Bounces it again. Serves. Mertinak returns, Holmes long forehand, Mertinak, Holmes, Cermak backhand, Holmes, Mertinak, Watson volley, Cermak and it’s into the net. Cermak’s return goes into the net and the match is over!”
“Game, set, match, Holmes and Watson - 7-6, 4-6, 6-4.”
“Against the odds, Holmes and Watson, the new partnership, have done it. They’re through to the final of the men’s doubles and just look at the expressions on their faces. Holmes, who has played here as if desperate for the win, has dropped his racket and is standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted back staring up at the sky. Watson at the net has the expression of someone clearly surprised by the outcome, tired, maybe even a little dazed. He shakes his head slightly, a smile on his face before he moves to shake hands over the net. Holmes doesn’t move for a moment, still looking at the sky, but he does now as Watson calls to him. His head snaps back down before he stoops to retrieve his racket and walks over to give a brisk handshake to the equally tired Cermak and Mertinak. Three sets of tight, fast, excellent tennis sees Holmes and Watson taking the victory and the spot in the final. Tim.”
“An incredibly close game by two pairs who were playing at their best. Holmes and Watson’s talent against Cermak and Mertinak’s doubles experience. Today it went to Holmes and Watson, and especially Holmes who played with a desperation we don’t often see from him, but it could have so easily have gone the other way. A couple of different outcomes on long balls and it could have been the other pair celebrating.”
“Holmes and Watson’s toughest challenge so far?”
“Absolutely, without doubt. That was one long, hard slog of a match. Over two and a half hours of tennis in the end. At that level that’s tough on anyone.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, Holmes and Watson are the victors here on Court One, but they’re not the only ones who have been playing. Let’s go to Andrew who is on Centre Court. Andrew.”
*
End Part of Eight
Author's Note:
Right, first things first, the French hasn't yet been checked for this part. That's entirely my fault. By the time I remembered there was French in this part it was far too late to ask anyone. It will get properly done at some point soon, but I didn't think it worth delaying the chapter for a couple of French phrases.
This is the chapter that sort of exploded. This and next week's chapter were technically all supposed to be one chapter, but then tennis took over and this was a good place to stop. So, it looks like this story is going to go on for longer than I had initially thought, at least one chapter longer if not more. Then again, I had initially thought this story would be wrapping up about now, so what do I know?
Yes, technically there should be a chapter next week, pending the usual (time, writing, time, etc) and the less usual (birthday, jubilee, sunshine). So, hopefully I will see you next week, another year older but not so much wiser. Until then.
Author: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 7K this part. 52k+ so far and growing.
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes created by ACD, Sherlock owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Summary: Sequel to A Study in Winning. Because winning Wimbledon is one thing, maintaining a relationship is something else entirely.
Warnings: Graphic sex, swearing, French.
Spoilers: Some for S2; mainly throwaway lines and some character appearances. No spoilers for S2 episode plots.
*
A Study in Doubles
Part Eight
*
He dreamt about Wimbledon. He dreamt about balls bouncing on grass, of rackets breaking in his hand, of crowds watching in eerie silence just waiting for him to crack, to screw up, to lose. He dreamt that he crashed out in the first round, that his shoulder tore in white hot pain, that balls flew towards him faster and faster until there were too many to see, too many to hit, too many to miss him as they ploughed into his body. He dreamt about Harry, drunk, about Moriarty, laughing, and Sherlock. Sherlock he watched walk away, always away, always too far, too fast and he couldn’t seem to stop him, couldn’t….
“John!”
He bolted upright at the cry of his name, at the sensation of his heart hammering against his ribs, to the feeling of a fist banging against his chest. For a moment there was blindness and panic, his breaths being sucking in fast and noisily as he was met by darkness and confusion.
He was at Wimbledon, he was blind, he was alone… no, he was in Toronto, in bed and he wasn’t alone. Never alone. Sherlock was there, still there, lying beside him, sprawled out, taking up more of the bed than he should, the fist that had been knocking against him slipping to his lap but staying there.
Christ. Just a dream. Just a dream. He sucked in another breath, held it, breathed it out and then slumped back down. Just a dream.
“Il y a longtemps que je t’aime."
And now Sherlock was talking to him.
“Jamais je ne t’oublierai."
In French. Sherlock was talking to him in French.
“Maman, jamais je ne t’oublierai.”
“I don’t…” he started to mumble, his mouth strangely dry. “I don’t know… Sherlock.” He turned his head, only for the truth to finally dawn on him. Sherlock was speaking, but he wasn’t speaking to him. In fact he wasn’t speaking to anyone, because despite everything it appeared that Sherlock was still asleep.
“Ne me quitte pas.”
Sprawled on his front, Sherlock’s face was half pressed into the pillow, turned in his direction as he mumbled the words, the arm now in John’s lap twitching as he moved restlessly.
“Tu m'as promis. Ne me quitte pas."
The words were definitely French, but that was about as much as he could catch. He had no chance of being able to understand it, but it wasn’t hard to determine that Sherlock’s dream wasn’t good.
“Je m’en fous, Mycroft! Tu aurais dû me le dire!" The tone sounded angry. “Salaud! Tu aurais dû me le dire. Tu aurais dû me le dire."
The words at the end seemed to repeat until they faded away and Sherlock’s body gradually stilled.
Bad dream. Just a bad dream.
God, they were a pair, weren’t they.
Shifting to his side, John caught the hand that had been against him, holding it, covering it with his own hand. Sherlock felt warm next him, the heat seeping through the sheets. Was he warmer than normal? There wasn’t enough light to make out more than just the vague outline, so he couldn’t tell if Sherlock’s skin was flushed or if his face was tense. What was he dreaming about? He was sure he had heard Sherlock called his name, but now that his own dream had faded and reality had reasserted itself he wasn’t so sure.
Sherlock’s breathing levelled out and within a minute he was back to his normal sleeping state.
John watched for a moment before shifting once more onto his back. His mind still felt fuzzy from sleep and the pull of unconsciousness was strong. This all meant something, he was certain, but this was no time to be dwelling on it. Giving in, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, his hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s as he found himself drifting off once more.
*
They talked tactics over breakfast. Well, Sherlock did most of the talking, he listened and made suggestions where he saw fit.
He didn’t mention the bad dreams.
By Sherlock’s calculations they had a reasonable chance of winning the match. Not excellent, but not dire or helpless either. Reasonable he could more than cope with. It meant that they shouldn’t get their arses kicked too badly but neither would Sherlock be too surprised if they lost. Disappointed, maybe, surprised no. That, at least, was a start.
“You’re setting yourself up to lose again,” Sherlock said cutting through his thoughts. “Stop it. It’s annoying and unproductive. To win you first have to believe you can win.”
He folded his hands carefully in front of him. “And of course you go into every match believing that you can win.”
“Of course,” Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the only way to play.”
It was a lie, John knew, but it was a good one. They both knew there were day and matches where even Sherlock wasn’t certain that he could win. Matches against Moriarty sprung to mind for one, but in one way Sherlock was absolutely right, to win you first had to believe you could. He had learnt that lesson at Wimbledon and he would put money on the fact that the matches that Sherlock lost were the ones where doubt had crept in.
Oh crap.
Damn. Shit. Bollocks. His comments about Moran last night wouldn’t have helped Sherlock’s mind set. Maybe that had been the reason for the bad dreams. Christ, maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. Sherlock didn’t need him to help throw in more doubts about the outcome of the match.
“You’re going to beat Moran you know,” he said leaning forward slightly.
Sherlock looked at him with a growing frown. “Of course I’m going to beat Moran,” he said as if it had painfully obvious thing to say. Maybe it had been, he rarely had a clue as to what went through Sherlock’s head, but it made him feel just that little bit better anyway.
“Good,” he said leaning back again and offering a quick smile and nod. “That’s good. I just thought it was something you would appreciate hearing.”
There was no thank you, no acknowledgement, just the calculative pale blue stare above well-defined cheekbones.
“So,” John said giving a small cough. “What was it you were saying about Mertinak’s serve?”
*
The car arrived for them exactly on time and they spent much of the journey in silence, looking of out their respective windows. They had gone through the match plan - twice - so there was little else to say.
They were to open the play on Court One, because despite being two apparently top names - although it was definitely strange to think of himself as a top name, Sherlock yes, him, really no - and it being the semi-finals, Federer verses Berdych and Moriarty verses Djokovic were always going to be bigger matches. God, he hoped Djokovic would be able to wipe the smug smile off Moriarty’s face, but somehow he doubted that would happen. Although, admittedly, Djokovic had managed to take a set off Moriarty at Wimbledon, but he couldn’t see Moriarty allowing that to happen a second time.
The stadium was the quietest he had seen this year, but then again the crowds of fans were still outside and with fewer matches to be played there were fewer players, coaches and entourages inside as well. For once they didn’t really need Sherlock’s bodyguards to ensure they got from one place to another quickly and safely, although they were useful none the less and in truth he had kind of gotten used to them.
Used to having bodyguards? John Watson, what is your life, he thought.
They took their warm up in the gym slowly - they had plenty of time - and he was careful to make sure he stretched fully but didn’t over stretch his shoulder. The last thing he needed was for his shoulder or back to go during the match. Not if they wanted to win. He would have to be on his best playing performance to make sure he didn’t let down either himself or Sherlock, because Christ he knew who the weak link was in their playing partnership and it wasn’t the third in the world for men’s singles.
Oh god, he better not screw this up. Sherlock seemed so desperate to win that he couldn’t bear to be the one to let him down. God knows what that would do to their doubles partnership. God knows that that would do to them as a couple.
Christ, why was it so bloody complicated?
“Hello, boys.”
And why did Jim damn-him-to-hell Moriarty always have to appear when he was least wanted, looking cool and collected, swanning in as if he owned the place, with that casual walk and knowing smirk.
Neither of them returned the greeting, just watched as Moriarty casually sauntered past, keeping their pace on the treadmills until he was finally out of sight. If only it were that easy to get him out of mind as well.
“Sherlock, forget about him,” he said, leaning over towards his partner who was now more noticeably tense than he had been minutes earlier. “Just put him out of your mind and focus on our match. He doesn’t matter.”
“Of course he doesn’t matter,” Sherlock replied sharply but his shoulders didn’t drop.
Shit, John thought as he accepted defeat and returned to his running, whatever game Moriarty was playing, he appeared to be playing it very well.
*
“Welcome to day four and the Men’s Singles quarter-final day here at the Rexall Centre in Toronto. Four great matches for you back to back, starting soon on Centre Court with World Number One, Jim Moriarty taking on fifth seed, Novak Djokovic, in what should be a brilliant and dynamic match.
“Later we will also be bringing you ball by ball commentary from Nadal verses Kohlschreiber, Federer verses Berdych, and Holmes verses Moran. Not only that but we will also be bringing you all the action from the doubles semi-finals where later the Bryan brothers will be taking on Mahesh Bhupathi and Max Mirnyi on Centre Court. But kicking us off first on Court One in a matter of minutes is the rather surprising line up of Cermak and Mertinak verses Holmes and Watson. Tim?”
“Surprising is definitely the word here. Neither pairing were expected to get this far. Both have knocked out some top seeds along the way and both pairs have played some excellent tennis to do so.”
“6-3, 7-6 for Cermak and Mertinak against the number one seeded pair of Nestor and Zimonjić in the last round. A good result for them?”
“An excellent result for them. Nestor and Zimonjic are never an easy pair to beat and before the competition they were the favourites with the Bryan Brothers coming in a close second. To go out to Cermak and Mertinak is surprisingly, but we can’t take anything away from Cermak and Mertinak’s performances. They showed that they can play world class doubles together.”
“And then there’s Holmes and Watson.”
“Well, what to say about them?”
“What to say indeed. Their progress has been surprising, but should it have been?”
“It’s all looking a bit obvious now, isn’t it? Two top singles players team up together for doubles, complement each other perfectly in terms of playing style and temperament, slot well together and find a tight and winning formula.”
“Put like that their results do seem almost inevitable.”
“Except this is tennis and it’s not nearly as simple as that. What they’ve managed to do, especially in such a short time, is astonishing. To come into a competition like this having never played together before and win and then keep on winning is amazing.”
“Especially as neither of them have been particularly noted in the past for their doubles play.”
“Exactly. Holmes hasn’t played doubles regularly since he parted ways with Victor Trevor, three or so years ago, and even then their partnership was a bit hit and miss. There was on match in particularly, Valencia I think, where Holmes broke a racket in frustration and they were barely speaking by the time the match finished.”
“Not one of Holmes’ finest moments.”
“No, and from the final result, probably not one he wants to remember any time soon. Watson of course played some mixed doubles after his injury, but nothing like this. In fact, it’s easy to forget that just two months ago, Watson was languishing at a hundred and thirtieth in the world, scraping through qualifiers and going out in first rounds.”
“Now look at him. Wimbledon Champion, semi-finals of the doubles and playing some inspiring tennis.”
“He’s like a new man out there and with that amount of confidence, who knows how far they can go?”
“So do you think they’ll beat Cermak and Mertinak?”
“I think it’s not without possibility, but I wouldn’t like to call it. Both pairs are on top form, playing at their best. I think it will be a very tight game.”
“What do you think the deciding factor will be?”
“Hard to say, but it could well be Holmes himself. It may simply come down to the fitness of Watson and how tired Holmes is, how much competing in both the doubles and the singles has taken it out of him. That and how much he wants to win. He has a tough singles match later against Moran, that might affect his game plan.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, the players are due out in a few minutes time, but first over to Andrew who is court side. Andrew.”
*
Foot on the bench, he slowly and carefully tied his laces, checked them, tugged the end and then tied the bow again. Switching feet, he repeated his actions until he was satisfied with the tightness and the tension.
He put his feet down together on the floor and straightened up. Bloody hell, he was nervous. Come on, Watson, he chided himself, pull yourself together. It is only a match. Just another tennis match. You’ve played hundreds in your life and even as a doubles match this is your fourth this week. You know what to expect. You know what you’re about to face and you’re going to go out there and fight to win because that is what you do, that’s what Sherlock reminded you to do at Wimbledon. Fight and then even if you lose you can hold your head high and say that you tried your damned hardest and there was nothing else you could do, nothing else you could give, nothing else within you that would have made a difference.
For god’s sake, don’t let Sherlock down.
Swinging his arms in a wide arch, he glanced across at where Sherlock was finalising his preparations. Having run through their tactics and game plan once more they had lapsed back into silence and they had gone through their final pre-match preparations. Glancing across at where Sherlock had risen from the bench to check his kit bag yet again, he was reminded that once again he had no idea what was going through Sherlock’s head. What was he thinking? Was he nervous? Anxious? Itching to get out there? Was he running through playing styles of their opponents or was he thinking about Moriarty and whatever game was being played there? Was he focused on this match or were his thoughts distracted elsewhere?
“It’s time, gentlemen.”
He turned and nodded to the steward who was now standing in the open doorway.
It was time.
Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out, blowing out his cheeks in the process. It was time. Turning, he reached down to tug his kit bag up onto one shoulder and his racket bag onto the other. It was time and he was ready.
Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his head to find Sherlock facing him likewise with bags on shoulders, back straight, expression neutral but with a hint of determination around the eyes.
It was time.
*
“The players are now warming up on the court. Cermak and Mertinak are in white shirts and dark shorts, while Holmes is in navy and white and Watson in mid blue and white. So far all four players are taking their final preparations easy, knocking balls over the net, testing racket strings and footwork. There are still a number of empty seats in the stands, but there is a sense of anticipation in the air that this could only be a close and tightly contested match.
*
They had won the toss so Sherlock was going to open the serving.
“Remember the game plan.”
Back at their seats, waiting for the final call, he looked across at Sherlock. He had a white head band on this time, thick and tightly pressed over his curls rather than under them. It made his face look almost more severe, definitely more determined, but that might have also been due to the clench of his jaw, the tightening around his eyes.
“I remember,” he said softly just as time was called. His fingers twitched wanting to lean over and press a comforting hand to Sherlock’s arm, but he couldn’t, could he? “Just,” he said quickly, “remember the first match. You don’t have to do this alone.”
There was a pause as Sherlock looked at him and then they were on their feet and the game was on.
*
“And it’s Holmes to open the serving here and get this first match started. Silence across the stadium as we wait… and it’s a good serve. Cermak returns and Watson with the volley.”
“Fifteen - Love.”
“Good solid start from Holmes and Watson there. Well placed, deep serve and an excellent put away by Watson.”
“Holmes lines up to serve again. Mertinak backhand, Holmes crosscourt, Mertinak, but it’s high and Holmes very rightly leaves it.”
“Out!”
“Thirty - Love.”
“Well left by Holmes. Good decision.”
“Holmes collects the balls for his next serve, briefly stopping to say something to Watson before making his way to the baseline. He readies himself and serves. Cermak backhand, Watson volley, Cermak forehand, Holmes crosscourt, Cermak backhand, Holmes running, forehand, Cermak and Watson at the net with the volley down the centre to take the point.”
“Forty - Love.”
“Nine shots, making it the longest rally of the match so far, but then again we have only just started, with Holmes and Watson just one point away from taking this opening game and getting those all-important first points on the board. Holmes with the serve. Mertinak, Holmes down the line, Cermak, Watson with the volley, Mertinak gets it, Watson, Cermak and it bounces in.”
“Forty - Fifteen.”
“Lovely shot there from Cermak, down the centre, between Holmes and Watson and Cermak and Mertinak get their first points of the match.”
“Nicely taken by Cermak, placing it too long for Watson and too far for Holmes to reach.”
“Holmes lines himself up once more. Serves out wide, Cermak returns but it goes long.”
“Out!”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead, one game to love.”
*
“Out!”
“Game Cermak and Mertinak. Three games all.”
It was definitely a tight match.
Pushing his cap back, John ran the sweat band on his wrist over his face before turning to receive the balls to serve with. All square so far and no sign of a break through. He could feel the beginning of a dull ache in his shoulder but that was nothing. He and most of the players out there competed through far more pain or discomfort. That was normal.
His serve. Right.
Reaching the baseline, he watched as Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him, gave him a brief nod and then settled into his bent over position by the net. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew it out and stilled as he envisioned where he wanted the ball to go.
Don’t screw it up, Watson. Calm, collected, true.
He tossed the ball into the air.
*
“Serve Watson, Mertinak backhand, Holmes with the volley, Mertinak pushing deep, Watson backhand, Mertinak crosscourt, Watson driving it back, Mertinak… and a lovely volley from Holmes at the end to kill the ball and take the point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead four games to three.”
“Good positioning by Holmes for that last volley. If you watch you can see him almost bouncing across inch by inch while in the crouched position, judging exactly where Mertinak was going to try and place that last ball.”
“Holmes and Watson hold the game but still no break through in this incredibly tight set and now it’s Mertinak to serve.”
*
“Game, Cermak and Mertinak. Six games all.”
“And now we’re into a tie-break. Six games all and very little between the two pairs so far.”
“It’s an incredibly close match with both pairs rising to the challenges thrown at them. This tie-break really could go either way.”
“It’s Holmes who is going to open the serving in this tie-break, serving from the deuce court. He’ll serve just the once and then the serve will rotate between the players as it has been with each player after that serving twice each. The winner of the set will be the first pair to reach seven points with two clear points with play continuing past seven points until one pair is two points ahead.”
“It’s not nearly as complicated as it sounds.”
“No, it’s not, but here’s Holmes with the serve. Cermak forehand, Watson volley, Mertinak crosscourt, Holmes forehand, Mertinak, Holmes down the line, Cermak and the ball goes long.”
“One - Love.”
“Good play there from Holmes, forcing Cermak into that error and now it’s Cermak’s turn to serve. The serve’s good, returned by Holmes, Mertinak with the volley, Watson deep, Cermak forehand, Watson and Mertinak with the volley to take the point.”
“One - All.”
“Good placement from Mertinak there. He saw the gap that had opened up between Holmes and Watson and place the ball into the centre of it.”
“Cermak lines up for his next serve… and serves, Watson backhand down the line but it just bounces wide.”
“One - Two.”
“Now it’s Watson’s turn to serve. He shares a quick word with Holmes and then makes his way to the baseline, ball in hand. Steadies himself, serves, returned down the line, Holmes volley, Mertinak, but it’s into the net.”
“Two - All.”
“Holmes and Watson look satisfied with that and Watson collects the balls for his second serve in this tie-break. He serves but it’s called long. Watson wipes his face and settles himself again, waits and serves. Cermak returns, Watson forehand, Cermak forehand, Watson whips it wide, Cermak, Holmes at the net, Mertinak reaches but it’s an easy finish for Holmes.”
“Three - Two.”
“Good reflexes from Mertinak, even better ones from Holmes.”
“It’s now Mertinak’s turn to serve.”
*
Come on Watson. Concentrate! A tie-break is about nerves. Hold it. You’ve got to hold it now. Remember the game plan. Down the line and in… and volley.
Yes!
“Four - Three.”
They hadn’t been expecting that one, had they? And now they were a point up with Sherlock to serve. Come on! They were so close now. So close.
*
“Holmes and Watson take the all-important lead with Holmes now to serve. The Frenchman is at the baseline and readying himself for the serve. It’s good. Cermak returns, Watson with the volley, well read by Mertinak, Holmes backhand, Mertinak driving it back, Holmes, Cermak and a lovely take by Watson to take him and Holmes to just two points away from claiming the set.”
“Five - Three.”
“Lovely rally there, both pairs hunting for that weak spot until that change of direction from Holmes gave Watson the space to knock home the winner. Excellent teamwork from them.”
“Holmes to serve for the chance of set point. Holmes, serves down the line, Mertinak returns, Holmes, Cermak and an excellent shot from Cermak, powering the ball back past Holmes, not giving him the chance to respond.”
“Five - Four.”
“Right at that crucial moment, Cermak kept his head and it was a lovely return to break back and possibly rescue the set, and now it’s Cermak’s turn to serve.”
“If Holmes and Watson don’t win this set then they’re going to look back at that point and think about what might have been.”
“Cermak to serve. Holmes backhand, Mertinak volley, Holmes on the bounce, Mertinak with the smash, which Holmes had no chance of getting to.”
“Five - All.”
“Holmes tips his head back to look at the sky as the crowd clap that last point. He read the ball well but even with his speed there was no way of reaching it.”
“And we’re back to all square in this tie-break for the first set. For a moment it looked like Holmes and Watson were likely to clinch it, but Cermak and Mertinak have pulled it back and we’re still with Cermak on the serve. He lines himself up, serves. Watson drives it back, Mertinak at the net and Watson, a lovely backhand from Watson there, hard, fast with the exact needed angle for it to go flying past Mertinak and between the tram lines to take the point.”
“Six - Five.”
“Just listen to the crowd. They know what happened there.”
“What happened is that with that excellent shot, Holmes and Watson are once more just the next point away from taking this set and the serve is with Watson. Catching a towel he wipes himself down before tossing it back and motioning for a ball. It’s not quite the final of Wimbledon, but what must be going through his mind at the moment?
“A brief exchanged between the players and then Holmes takes up his position by the net and waits. Watson with the ball on the baseline, steadies himself, bounces the ball once, twice, pauses, then serves. Mertinak forehand return, Watson forehand, Mertinak drives it back deep, Watson forehand again, Mertinak returns, Watson again, Mertinak powers it back, Watson stands firm, Mertinak down the line, Holmes backhand, Mertinak, but it’s into the net and Holmes and Watson take the point and the set.”
“Game and set, Holmes Watson, seven games to six, seven points to five on the tie break. Holmes and Watson lead, one set to love.”
*
Oh god, somehow they had done it. They had finally, bloody well done it.
Tipping his head back, John sucked in a deep breath as he briefly closed his eyes in relief. They had won the tie-break and taken the set.
They had won the tie-break and taken the set.
God yes.
Shaking his head slightly he smiled to himself and made his way to their seats, plonking himself down next to where Sherlock was unscrewing the lid on a bottle of water.
“Ahhh,” he said breathing out, “that’s one down at least. Just one to go.”
Sherlock didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on something in front of him, his expression rather more grim than he might have expected considering they were now winning.
“Sherlock?”
“Hard and fast,” Sherlock said, eyes still focused ahead as he emphasised first the ‘d’ on hard and then the ‘t’ on fast. “They’re going to go back out there and hit us hard and fast with everything they have.”
Oh, right.
“They know our weaknesses now and they have nothing to lose.”
There was always something.
“So what’s the plan then?”
“Same as before, but we have to be firm, sure, precise.”
It sounded as if it was going to hurt.
“Together then,” he offered instead.
There was a brief flash of a frown on Sherlock’s face, then he was turning to look at him, their gaze meeting.
“Always.”
*
“…Holmes thuds it back, Mertinak returns, Watson volley, Cermak returns, Watson plucks it up, Cermak forehand, Holmes twisting, Mertinak… Holmes, but it’s called long and what a rally.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“What a set this is turning into.”
“Cermak and Mertinak lead here five games to four but we’re on Holmes’ serve in what until now has been a level scoring set.”
“It might not stay that way for much longer.”
“Indeed. Cermak and Mertinak are now only the next point away from breaking Holmes and Watson and clinching this set.”
“They’ve been threatening the break all set, but until now Holmes and Watson have somehow managed to hold on, at times by what feels like the skin of their teeth.”
“Holmes in particular is looking grim as he catches the ball for his next serve. He’s had a good game so far, as has Watson, but somehow Cermak and Mertinak have found the weaknesses and have taken to bashing at them with all of their might.”
“It was always going to be simply a matter of time.”
“Holmes lines himself up to serve… but it goes wide. Taking a deep breath he steadies himself, bounces the ball once and then serves. Back hand return, Watson volley, Mertinak forehand, Watson with another volley, Cermak… and a lovely shot there from Cermak, leaving Holmes with no chance of returning at all.”
“Game and set, Cermak Mertinak, six games to four. One set all.”
“And we’re going to three sets.”
*
It was with wearier arms and heavier legs that John made his way back to their seats. That had been… brutal. There was no other word he could think of to describe it. Hard and fast Sherlock had said it would be. Hard and fast it most certainly had been. So hard and fast that he could feel it in his arms, his shoulders, his back, down his legs to his ankles, feet and toes.
“Drink, John.”
Hmmm? He looked across to find Sherlock looking critically at him, his own half empty bottle of water in his hands. Drink? Of yes, of course.
They drank in silence each staring off in front of them.
“They’re going after you.”
John tried not to sigh at the words. “Yeah, noticed thanks,” he said in return.
“You’re getting tired.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Your shoulder….”
“Is fine. I’ve played through much worse. You should worry more about yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
Great, they were both fine. Good.
They lapsed back into silence.
“So what do we do?” John asked finally, knowing that the seconds that made up their break were ticking past. He glanced across as Sherlock stripped the sweat bands from his wrists and exchanged them for fresh ones.
“We do what we set out to do,” Sherlock said. “We stand firm and win.”
Stand firm and win. It sounded so easy.
“Time.”
He took a last sip of his drink and then got to his feet. Stand firm and win. If that was what Sherlock wanted then that would be what they did.
*
“Thirty - All.”
“Lovely play there from Cermak. They’re really piling on the pressure here.”
“Holmes goes across to confer with Watson again.”
“They’re doing a lot more conferring than they had been.”
“Watson listens, nods and Holmes jogs back to the net as Watson gathers the balls to serve with. He steadies himself, bounces the ball, pauses, bounces the ball again, serves, but it clips the net and goes long.”
“Watson’s bouncing the ball more often now, something he did during later rounds at Wimbledon.”
“Maybe the stress is getting to him. He serves again. Cermak, Watson forehand down the line, Cermak, Holmes at the net, oh good hands there from Holmes.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Good position taken up by Mertinak at the net. Most players would have volleyed that crosscourt, trying to find the biggest part of the court. Holmes did well there, squeezing it past Mertinak into the corner.”
“Perfectly placed.”
“Right in the corner.”
“Watson to serve. Mertinak returns down the line, Watson looping forehand crosscourt, Cermak crosscourt back, Watson forehand, Mertinak returns, Watson forehand, Mertinak again, Watson down the centre, Cermak backhand, Watson crosscourt, Cermak backhand again, Watson down the centre, Mertinak returns, Watson down the line, Mertinak backhand, Watson crosscourt and Cermak with the body shot volley right at Holmes who had no chance.”
“Deuce.”
“Excellent play by Cermak. After all those baseline hits, to then come into the net for the volley. Well timed, perfectly played.”
“It means we’re into a deciding point here. No advantage played remember. Whoever wins the next point wins the game and the receiver gets to choose who is going to take the return. Looks like it’s going to be Cermak.”
“Not hugely surprising.”
“No. Watson wipes his face again and then starts to bounce the ball.”
“Whoever wins the next point wins the game.”
“Watson serves, Cermak returns. Watson down the centre, Cermak backhand, Watson centre forehand, Mertinak forehand, Watson forehand, Mertinak returns, Watson down the line, Mertinak forehand, Watson… oh, what a short! John Watson shows that he belongs out here, crosscourt forehand sneaking it between both Holmes and Cermak, across the court in a very tight angle, landing perfectly to go off the side for the point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Two games all.”
“Huge shot, huge point there from Watson.”
“That’s got to be a confidence boost.”
“Oh absolutely. Cermak and Mertinak have been hammering at Watson for some time now, probably having decided that he’s the weak spot, but he’s holding his ground and that shot has just reminded everyone just how good he is.”
“The shot of a Wimbledon Champion.”
“The shot of a player confident enough to risk it knowing that getting it wrong could cost them the game and possibly the set and match as well.”
*
“Good shot.”
He looked up as Sherlock appeared next to him, a rogue lock of hair escaping from his headband.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thought so myself too.”
“How’s the back?”
“Still hanging in there.” Wait, he recognised that look. “Why, do you have a new plan?”
“I’ve certainly had enough of being on the back foot. What do you say to taking more risks and going for it?”
Riskier shots meant a greater chance of making an error.
“We might lose,” he pointed out.
“We might win.”
That was true.
“And if it all goes wrong?” Will you sulk and throw a tantrum, he thought but didn’t ask.
“It won’t.”
“It might.”
“No,” Sherlock said firmly, his features set, “it won’t.”
*
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Excellent shot there from Holmes, really pushing the ball deep and fast, just keeping it in play.”
“On the line, in fact. Could have so easily have been an inch longer.”
“Holmes and Watson are really going for it now, really pushing for that break.”
“Cermak serves. Watson whips it back, Cermak deep, Watson, Mertinak volley, Holmes dives, gets it back but Mertinak buries it for the point.”
“Game, Cermak Mertinak. Cermak and Mertinak lead three games to two.”
“Holmes really threw himself around to get that one back. Unlucky then that his efforts didn’t get them the point, but it was well controlled by Mertinak.”
“Holmes is certainly playing with all the passion and intensity he brings to his singles matches. You wouldn’t think that he played a singles match yesterday and has another one this evening. He seems almost desperate to win this.”
“He’s certainly not sitting back and taking this one lying down and now we’re back to his serve.”
*
Right, there was risky and there was risky, and at the moment there was also Sherlock Holmes.
“Forty - Fifteen.”
Shit. Rubbing his sweat bands across his face, he turned to find his partner.
“Same again,” Sherlock said as he reached him.
Same again? Not if it involved literally flinging yourself across the court.
“Look,” he said, “just take it easy, alright. Injuring yourself is not going to help anyone, least of all you.”
Of course Sherlock just looked as if he was mad, but in the time they had that was all he could say. Unfortunately they had a match to be getting on with.
Back at the net he crouched and waited. The ball flew over his shoulder and he straightened quickly for the volley, forehand back, Sherlock forehand, returned, he volleyed, returned, volleyed, lobed, the ball soaring over his head and he turned in time to see Sherlock’s smash, awkward, twisting, but somehow perfect.
“Game, Holmes Watson. Three games all.”
*
“…Holmes down the line, Cermak backhand, Holmes, volley from Mertinak, Watson gets it, Cermak and a lovely take there from Watson for the point.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“Just listen to the crowd. They’re being treated to a truly memorable game of doubles. It’s been unbelievably close all match, but now Holmes and Watson are just one point away from going a break up. Can they do it?”
“Mertinak to serve… but it’s called long.”
“Maybe the pressure is finally getting to him. He knows how important this point is.”
“Mertinak serves, Watson returns, Mertinak forehand, Holmes powers it back, Mertinak, Holmes, Cermak with the volley, Watson just reaches it, Cermak and oh, somehow, somehow Holmes gets his racket to it, finds the gap and sneaks the ball into the far corner to take a truly important point.”
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes Watson lead four games to three.”
“And there’s the break.”
“If you look at the replay you can see just how much of the court Holmes has to cross in order make that one.”
“He wanted that point.”
“Absolutely and they’ve gotten their reward. Holmes and Watson go a break up and now it’s Watson’s turn to serve.”
*
Don’t screw it up. For god sake, don’t screw it up, Watson. Sherlock may never forgive you if you screw this up. Hell, you won’t forgive yourself if you screw it up. Just throw the ball up, hit it and we’ll work from there.
*
“Game, Holmes Watson. Holmes and Watson lead, five games to three.”
“Somehow Holmes and Watson hold on after being truly battered by Cermak and Mertinak.”
“Good shot there at the end by Watson to keep the game. Those over the head shots are never easy and could go anywhere.”
“So Holmes and Watson survive another round and it’s Cermak’s turn to serve.”
*
“Game Cermak Mertinak. Holmes Watson lead five games to four.”
It was nearly over. It was nearly over. Please let it be nearly over.
The pain in his shoulder had gone from niggling to outright demanding. God, now he remembered why he had packed it all in.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said as Sherlock stopped next to him. He was sure they had had this conversation before and it was not one he really wanted to repeat.
“Your shoulder…”
“Will survive,” he interrupted. “Well, provided I don’t try anything too enthusiastic. Any chance of getting through this last game without either of us resorting to acrobatics?”
Sherlock didn’t respond, but his rather clenched jaw expression said it all. Right, so not going to be an easy game then. He just hoped they survived it in once piece.
*
“Forty - Fifteen.”
“Cermak a little unlucky there with that shot but it takes Holmes and Watson to match point, just one point away from clinching this game and with it the set and match. Holmes with the next serve. He lines himself up, serves, but the ball hits the net. He bounces the next ball, composes himself and serves. Cermak returns, Watson volley, Mertinak, Watson, Mertinak, Holmes with the forehand, but it clips the net and flies wide.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“You can read the frustration in Holmes’ face there. That so could have been it, but now they have to try again.”
“Holmes walks back to collect some more balls, tossing one away as he tests them. It is still match point here to Holmes and Watson. Holmes lines himself up, serves, but the ball slams into the net. He wipes angrily at his face but pulls out the second ball. Bounces it. Pauses. Bounces it again. Serves. Mertinak returns, Holmes long forehand, Mertinak, Holmes, Cermak backhand, Holmes, Mertinak, Watson volley, Cermak and it’s into the net. Cermak’s return goes into the net and the match is over!”
“Game, set, match, Holmes and Watson - 7-6, 4-6, 6-4.”
“Against the odds, Holmes and Watson, the new partnership, have done it. They’re through to the final of the men’s doubles and just look at the expressions on their faces. Holmes, who has played here as if desperate for the win, has dropped his racket and is standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted back staring up at the sky. Watson at the net has the expression of someone clearly surprised by the outcome, tired, maybe even a little dazed. He shakes his head slightly, a smile on his face before he moves to shake hands over the net. Holmes doesn’t move for a moment, still looking at the sky, but he does now as Watson calls to him. His head snaps back down before he stoops to retrieve his racket and walks over to give a brisk handshake to the equally tired Cermak and Mertinak. Three sets of tight, fast, excellent tennis sees Holmes and Watson taking the victory and the spot in the final. Tim.”
“An incredibly close game by two pairs who were playing at their best. Holmes and Watson’s talent against Cermak and Mertinak’s doubles experience. Today it went to Holmes and Watson, and especially Holmes who played with a desperation we don’t often see from him, but it could have so easily have gone the other way. A couple of different outcomes on long balls and it could have been the other pair celebrating.”
“Holmes and Watson’s toughest challenge so far?”
“Absolutely, without doubt. That was one long, hard slog of a match. Over two and a half hours of tennis in the end. At that level that’s tough on anyone.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, Holmes and Watson are the victors here on Court One, but they’re not the only ones who have been playing. Let’s go to Andrew who is on Centre Court. Andrew.”
*
End Part of Eight
Author's Note:
Right, first things first, the French hasn't yet been checked for this part. That's entirely my fault. By the time I remembered there was French in this part it was far too late to ask anyone. It will get properly done at some point soon, but I didn't think it worth delaying the chapter for a couple of French phrases.
This is the chapter that sort of exploded. This and next week's chapter were technically all supposed to be one chapter, but then tennis took over and this was a good place to stop. So, it looks like this story is going to go on for longer than I had initially thought, at least one chapter longer if not more. Then again, I had initially thought this story would be wrapping up about now, so what do I know?
Yes, technically there should be a chapter next week, pending the usual (time, writing, time, etc) and the less usual (birthday, jubilee, sunshine). So, hopefully I will see you next week, another year older but not so much wiser. Until then.