New Fic: A Study in Doubles 13/?
Title: A Study in Doubles
Author: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 4K this part. 83k+ 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 Thirteen
*
“Welcome to the semi-final day here in Toronto where World Number One, Jim Moriarty takes on the number four seed, Roger Federer, and the World Number Two, Rafael Nadal will battled it out against the number three seed, Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty and Federer are due out at any moment, but first, just a quick word about Nadal and Holmes. Moriarty, Federer and Nadal all arrived earlier to the club, but Holmes was only spotted for the first time a few minutes ago. He’s now out on the practice courts with his doubles and practice partner, John Watson, but why so late? Is this some sort of game plan? Is he trying to avoid everyone else? Or could it be linked with his doubles? Tim?”
“Well, he was playing until rather late last night and that was his second match of the day. After a day like that I’m not surprised if he decided that a quiet, restful morning was the way to go. Holmes is a very cerebral player. He probably spent the morning working on his tactics and game plan. With the extra games he’s been playing he doesn’t need as much practice as the others, so it would make sense to use the time to make sure he’s in the right frame of mind.”
“Could it be that he’s physically tired after his matches as well?”
“That’s probably part of it too, but he’s a very physically fit player who knows what he’s capable of, he’ll be able to judge what he can and can’t manage.”
“This isn’t going to be an easy match for him, is it?”
“Not by a long shot, and he knows it too. Semi-finals are never easy and Nadal at any stage for anyone, in any competition will be a challenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if Holmes keeps his warm-up brief and perfunctory. No point in over straining himself.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, we’ve just received the pictures of Moriarty and Federer who are about to make their way out, and here they come now, onto the court to the applause of the crowd.”
*
Moriarty beat Federer.
Pressing his lips together, John pulled his gaze away from the screen where the two players were now shaking hands over the net, and reached for his mobile.
6-4 6-7 6-3 he typed out carefully but as quickly as he could. Moriarty. Good luck. See you on the other side.
Slipping his mobile into his pocket he took a deep breath and looked back at the television screen where Moriarty was now gushing to the off-court interviewer. Smug git. For a while it had been a close match. The second set in particular had been tight and in the end settled on the tie-break in Federer’s favour, but the Swiss had been unable to press home his newly found advantage and somehow Moriarty had gotten the all-important break in the third. It was a shame really. Moriarty deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Still, there was always the final though.
But first, Nadal.
The Spaniard had been playing very well throughout the tournament. He was fast, powerful and on form again. Somehow he had the feeling that whatever was going to happen in the upcoming match, it would not be able to be described as fun in stretch of the imagination.
*
“So up next is Holmes verses Nadal. Now, Nadal has got to be the favourite here.”
“Oh without a doubt and both the players will know that going into this match.”
“The stats themselves say it all. In the past three years they have met eight times with Nadal having won six of them. Their last meeting was in Paris earlier this year, where in what many considered a surprising result, Holmes beat Nadal in the semi-final, only to then lose dramatically to Moriarty in the final.”
“It was definitely a surprise result for Holmes in the semi-final, astonishing even, but it was clear to anyone watching that Nadal was far from his best. His ability on clay is unmatched in the present game. Four French Open titles, with many having tipped him to have added a fifth this year. He stormed through Monte Carlo and Madrid, beating Holmes in the first, Moriarty in the second, both comprehensively. Rome was the surprise result, losing to Moriarty there, and it’s almost as if he hasn’t quite recovered. Certainly it looks like he’s picked up some sort of injury. Semi-final at Roland Garros, quarter finals at Queens-”
“Which Holmes won of course.”
“He did, although they didn’t meet. Quarter final at Wimbledon, losing in another shock result to Sebastian Moran, but Nadal seems to have put all of that behind him now and is playing, in the singles at least, as well as we’ve seen him play this year.”
“The players are on court now, warming up. Let’s talk about Holmes. Obviously the majority of what’s been said about him here has been centred on his doubles. He and John Watson are of course through to the final of the doubles here tomorrow, a tremendous result for a wild card pairing who had never competed together before this tournament, but surely all the additional games could only have a detrimental effect on Holmes’ singles play.”
“It does seem to be an odd course to take, playing both the singles and the doubles, but I suspect they never thought they would be as successful as they have been. They keep playing and they keep winning, but after watching Holmes struggle against Moran last night it is clear that the matches are having a detrimental effect on his play. If nothing else his energy levels have dropped. He needs to be at his peak today if he’s to beat Nadal and I just don’t think that he is.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, the players are now back at their seats, their warm-ups complete. Nadal won the toss and will be serving first. He’s in what can only be described as pink and white, while Holmes is in white and black. The crowd claps as the umpire calls time and it’s Rafael Nadal to open the serving.”
*
“Thirty - All.”
Sherlock was, John had to admit, playing well. He was holding his ground, keeping his serve and challenging on Nadal’s, but he wasn’t playing at his best. It was true that very few players play at their very best for any considerable amount of time, but what made a winner, a champion, a legend, was to have an average the same as most other players’ best and a best that could be utilised when it was most needed. He knew that from his own experiences. He had played at his average best during the opening two sets at Wimbledon had had been thoroughly outclassed by a much better player. But then he had found his best, his peak for the rest of that match. No, actually, he had played past his peak in the second half of that match, especially in that last set. He had played a game he would never be able to play again, at a level he would never again reach. That was why he hadn’t wanted to continue with the singles. He knew a one-off when he saw it and that had been a one match in a lifetime experience. He wasn’t really a top ten player, despite what his current ranking said, and once he returned to singles the rest of the world would know that too, but that wasn’t to be helped. If returning to singles and making a fool of himself out there was what he needed to do in order to make this relationship work, then that was what he was going to do.
Forehand from Sherlock, Nadal backhand, another forehand, Nadal… but the ball was just called long.
“Thirty - Forty.”
Come on, Sherlock! He was so close, so close to getting that all important first break.
“Deuce.”
And then, of course, Nadal pulls out a serve like that to re-stamp his authority on the game and keep himself in it. Sherlock looked, well, not happy would certainly be one way of describing it, although unlike certain players he tended to not show a huge amount of emotion, good or bad.
Another brilliant serve from Nadal, which Sherlock managed to return on the stretch, but couldn’t recover quickly enough to get to Nadal’s perfectly placed backhand.
“Advantage, Nadal.”
Precision and power were the staples of Nadal’s game and he knew how to wield them in perfect harmony and to great effect.
Good serve, good return, forehand crosscourt from Nadal, down the line from Sherlock, backhand Nadal, forehand Sherlock, drop shot from Nadal which Sherlock read well, but left himself too open with Nadal smashing the return into the far corner.
“Game, Nadal.”
Bollocks.
“Nadal leads, three games to four.”
That had been close but not close enough. Three good points on the trot from Nadal and another opportunity for Sherlock went begging. This could be, John realised, a long match.
*
“Still rather evenly matched, at least score wise, with neither player playing at their best. Nadal is six games to five up with Holmes of course now having to serve to stay in the set. After that we’ll be going into a tie-break. But first Holmes serves and Nadal’s return bounces wide.”
“Fifteen - Love.”
“Do you think the tie-break will benefit Holmes more or Nadal, Tim?”
“Well, a lot of the time a tie-break doesn’t benefit either player since it’s a test of nerves as well as skill, but in this case, possibly Holmes. He’s been hunting for that break but just not managing to find it.”
“Holmes serves, good return Nadal, Holmes whips it back crosscourt, Nadal forehand, Holmes again crosscourt, Nadal forehand, change of direction from Holmes, Nadal on the stretch, Holmes backhand, but it’s called long. Holmes is challenging the call.”
“It was definitely a close one. Did it just clip the line, I don’t think it did. And it looks like the call was the right one. Just a hair’s-breadth in it but the ball was out.”
“Fifteen - All. Mr Holmes has one challenge remaining.”
“Holmes unhappy with his play there, muttering to himself as he returns to the baseline for his next serve.”
“He certainly can’t afford to give away points like that.”
“Holmes serves but it clips the net and bounces out. He pulls the second ball out of his pocket and moves to retake his place at the baseline. This time his second serve is in, to Nadal’s backhand, Holmes backhand, Nadal forehand, Holmes with the drop shot, Nadal gets to it, Holmes, but Nadal with the volley and somehow it lands in.”
“Fifteen - Thirty.”
“Lovely rally there, but what a shot from Nadal. He certain knows how to make shots like that count.”
“He was on the back foot for most of that rally, but pulling off the seemingly impossible is what he’s known for.”
“Holmes with his next serve, which is just long. He recomposes himself. His second serve is good, Nadal, Holmes, Nadal and Holmes could now be in trouble as that ball flies past him to bounce in and suddenly, as if from nowhere, Nadal has set point.”
“Fifteen - Forty.”
“Incredible. Just a moment ago we were talking about the tie-break, or at least the possibility of one, and now look at it.”
“Two set points for Nadal and Holmes will know he’s going to have to hang in there if he has any chance of salvaging the set.”
“Holmes has been pushing at Nadal’s serve all match, but now Nadal has seen his opportunity and he’s not going to let it pass that easily.”
“Holmes steadies himself for the serve, and it’s good. Nadal returns, Holmes, and the perfect shot there from Holmes, deep, fast and in the corner, exactly what he would have wanted and he manages to save the first of the two set points.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“Can he do it again?”
“That was a classic Holmes strike that last one. Perfectly calculated and executed to perfection. That’s exactly why he’s where he is.”
“Head down, Holmes tests the two balls he’s just received, knocks one away, collects another on his racket and now apparently satisfied, slips it into his pocket. Now he’s ready, settles himself, serves, but the ball smacks into the net. Holmes scowls but pulls out the second ball, bounces it, pauses, bounces it again and now he’s ready. He serves. Nadal belts it back but Holmes with the forehand, Nadal returns, Holmes with the slice, Nadal gets it, Holmes backhand, Nadal down the line, Holmes, Nadal, Holmes but it bounces long and can you believe it? From nowhere Nadal wins the game and the set and Holmes can only stare at the spot where his last ball was called out.”
“Game and set, Nadal, seven games to five. Nadal leads one set to love.”
“Well that was unexpected, but somehow not surprising.”
“Holmes finally turns to stalk back to his seat, tossing his racket down beside his chair and grabbing a towel. He doesn’t look too happy, does he, Tim?”
“No, he doesn’t, but that’s not surprising. He’s been pushing so hard during the match, chipping away at Nadal’s service game that of course he’s disappointed. It was unfortunate, but he made a few errors in that game and Nadal punished him for it. That’s what happens.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to come back from this?”
“I think it will depend on how he starts the next set. How he comes back out here will determine the course of the next set. If he starts badly then it could all be over very quickly. If he starts on top form he could salvage something and we’ll have a fight on our hands.”
“We will just have to wait and see then.”
*
Inevitable. That’s what it had been. Sherlock losing that set had been inevitable really. Twice Sherlock had had the opportunity to break Nadal’s service game, twice he hadn’t been able to, twice Nadal had powered his way back to hold on. Once was an opportunity wasted, twice was a problem, and with a player like Nadal you don’t get a third chance.
And Sherlock knew it too.
Nadal had stepped up his level in the last two games. He’d moved up a gear and Sherlock hadn’t quite been able to match him.
“He’s going to lose, isn’t he?” he said, aiming the comment to where Greg was sat beside him.
“Not my place to say,” Greg said, “but if I were a betting man I would point out that he’d only had the slightest hope in hell of winning in the first place.”
But hope was still hope.
“He knows it too though, doesn’t he?” John stared down at where Sherlock was sipping from his bottle of water and ignoring everything else around him. What was going through his mind now? Tactics? Doubts? Replays of points won and points lost? Was he sorting through all the information he had gathered on Nadal over the years, searching for the gap or weakness in the Spaniard’s game?
“He’s Sherlock Holmes,” Greg said bluntly. “He’s a bloody know-it-all. He would have been able to reel off all the stats, the probabilities, the variables and the most likely outcomes with barely a second thought. So yeah, I’d say he knew exactly what he was up against and what his chances now are.”
“Does that make it better or worse, do you think, for him?” he asked. “You know, if he loses. Will knowing beforehand make it easier?”
“Is losing ever easy? Nah, don’t answer that. But knowing and actually doing are two completely different things. But one thing I do know, he’s not an easy loser.”
“Rant and rage against the dying of the light?”
“Something like that. Ranting certainly, but more sulking than raging usually. On the bright side though, he’ll still have the doubles. That’s something and it might be enough to distract him.”
“He wanted both,” he pointed out as Sherlock pulled a new racket from his bag.
“No,” Greg said much to his surprise, “he said he wanted both. What he really wanted was something else entirely, and that he’s still got.”
Him, John realised. Sherlock had wanted him, wanted them as a couple, and he had done what he could to ensure that, to the detriment of his singles play. Maybe then, he hoped as time was called for the second set to commence, maybe, just maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.
*
“And there’s the break Nadal has been driving for. Holmes came out here and stood his ground in the opening games of this set, but not even he can with stand the might of Rafael Nadal once he’s on a roll.”
“Excellent play there from Nadal, inspired in fact. He’s been pushing Holmes from side to side, making him play the hard shots, keeping him constantly off balance before nailing him with hard, fast shots that even Holmes at his best would struggle to respond to.”
“Holmes is clearly not at his best out there today.”
“Not by a long shot. He’s played well and had flashes of brilliant, but that final sharpness he’s so known for doesn’t seem to be there. Some of his shots have been a bit weak, his serves are just a little slower than usual and he’s just not quite as good as we know he can be.”
“Is that the doubles then?”
“Most probably. Two events in a tournament like this is tough and he threw himself into the doubles with everything he’s got and I’m just not sure that he’s got anything left to give.”
“Well it’s four-two to Nadal here in the second set with Nadal one set to love up and it’s the Spaniard’s turn once more to serve.”
*
Rising to his feet, John clapped along with the rest of the crowd as the two players made their way to the net to shake hands.
7-5, 6-3. Nadal was through to the final to face Moriarty and Sherlock was grabbing his belongings and leaving the court as quickly as he could. He looked exhausted, but other than that his expression was unreadable.
“Well,” Greg said as he breathed out, “at least that’s over with. You wanna drink while we wait for him?”
He shook his head. “I should probably go and see if he’s alright.”
“Don’t be surprised if he wants to be left alone and don’t take it personally if he tells you to sod off.”
“Let me guess,” he said, “Trevor used to take it personally.”
“Not just Trevor, mate,” Greg said, “practically everyone. Mainly because he has a wonderful way of making it personal.”
“I’m not just anyone,” he said.
“Yeah, so I gather,” Greg said. “Go then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sherlock was in the shower when he found him. Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms and decided to wait. In the end it wasn’t that long and a couple of minutes after the water switched off Sherlock emerged, his curls flat against his head and a towel slung low around his hips. Their gaze met and Sherlock didn’t seem surprised to see him. In fact he didn’t seem much of anything at all as he crossed over to his clothing - angry, disappointed, upset, frustrated, annoyed. That was… worrying.
“I’m fine,” Sherlock said as he started pulling out his clothing. “You don’t need to ask or stand around looking at me as if I’m a wild animal you don’t know how is going to react. I lost yes, but I’m not about to break or scream or do something stupid. You don’t need to be so concerned.”
Right, okay, not quite what he had been expecting. He ignored the bit about him not supposed to be concerned and decided to tackle other parts first.
“So you’re fine about losing then?”
“Evidentially. We played, he was better, I lost.” He tugged his polo shirt sharply over his head and continued dressing.
“And you’re alright with that?”
He wasn’t surprised by the faint growl he got in response. “Stop being so repetitive, John,” Sherlock said firmly. “It’s boring. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” He punctuated the last word with a firm tug on his bag zip as he searching for his trousers. “I am, however, tired and hungry, so if you want to do something useful, tell Lestrade not to get that second drink and make sure the car is ready. We leave in ten minutes.”
Okay then, that he could do.
He found Greg in the player’s lounge.
“Get dismissed already?” Greg said.
“Something like that,” John admitted. “Turns out he’s fine. All fine. Oh, and don’t get another drink, he wants to leave in ten. Well, five now.”
“Yeah, sounds like he’s bloody perfect,” Greg said downing the last of his drink. “Best get on with it then.”
*
If Sherlock was fine then John was a monkey’s uncle.
It wasn’t even the quietness - okay, it was at least partly the quietness, but a quiet Sherlock he could cope with, a quiet Sherlock usually meant a concentrating Sherlock, a busy Sherlock, a focused Sherlock, the quietness around this Sherlock was just somehow different and a different that didn’t settle well with him. So it was partly the quietness, but mostly it was everything.
It was the silent journey back. It was the way Sherlock had left the organising of dinner to him with no preference as to what they had. It was the way he had perched on the sofa with his notebook and his laptop, flicking through YouTube videos, old interviews and match reports, but his pen had hardly moved. It was the way he had eaten without complaint but barely said a word. It was the way the laptop and the sofa had been abandoned for the violin and the window, but more staring had occurred than playing and more time had ticked past until the point of ridiculousness had come and gone and John decided it was beyond time that he broke through the quiet.
“Look,” he said standing his ground, watching his partner, “it’s alright if you’re not fine. There’s nothing wrong with being, you know, not fine.”
Sherlock was a lot of things, but regardless of what he claimed, at that moment he was decidedly not fine.
There was no verbal response, just the swivelling of eyes in the glass reflection and then the return to blank staring out of the window. Apparently it wasn’t even worth a barbed reply. That was… a bit not good.
“If you don’t want to talk,” he tried again, “then that’s fine. Sorry, it’s that word again. Just… if there’s something you want, something I can give you, something you might need, then please don’t, please don’t push me away.”
The eyes narrowed slightly. “What could I possibly need?”
Words, which meant it was a start at least, even if they were less than encouraging.
“I dunno,” he said with a slight shrug. “A hug perhaps? A cuddle? That usually makes me feel better.”
Sherlock frowned. “Why?”
“Uh, because sometimes physical contact is enough, knowing that someone else is there, that they care.”
There was no response.
“Okay. How about a massage then,” he continued. “I’ll give you one if you want. Shoulders, head, neck, legs, something more intimate if that’s what you want. Or maybe a hot bath. A shower? An early night?” He was running out of ideas and it was a bit like talking to a brick wall.
There was a sigh. “If it’s sex you’re after,” Sherlock said turning away.
“What? No. No,” he said firmly shaking his head. “That’s not… I’m not-” He took a deep breath. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you. So if there is anything you want, or need, or… no, sod it. Sod it. You have no idea what you want so I’m just going to do it anyway and you can just lump it.”
Not giving Sherlock the time to respond, or his brain the time to remind him of why this might be a bad idea, he walked over to his lover and simply pulled him down into a hug. It was awkward, it was surprisingly bony and without active movement from Sherlock somewhat more challenging than it had looked, but it happened and he was just about to let go again when Sherlock’s arms tentatively moved upwards and encircled him. Then it was as if the tension bled out of Sherlock’s body, pooling at their feet, their bodies drawing closer.
“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” John found himself saying as he held on.
“John.”
“No, it’s okay.” He stroked a hand over Sherlock’s hair. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”
Sherlock’s mouth closed and a moment later so did his eyes and pressing his face into John’s shoulder, he tightened his arms and held on.
*
End Part Thirteen
Author's Note:
Hello all loyal and patient readers. Sorry it took so long. Stuff that was supposed to happen at the end of this part refused to happen and I have never struggled with any story as much as I did with the second half of this part. But it's done now.
Right, what next. As you might have gathered, the story is nearly at the end now. There is one, possibly two parts to go. As to when they will happen, I don't know. Soon though (fingers crossed), but not next week, partly because I'm moving house on Saturday. I have at least started the next part so I am writing again, but I am now out of the rhythm, so it'll take longer.
Anyway, thank you for sticking with it and if I don't get round to responding to comments, it's because I'm neck high in packing boxes.
Thanks. :)
Author: jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 4K this part. 83k+ 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 Thirteen
*
“Welcome to the semi-final day here in Toronto where World Number One, Jim Moriarty takes on the number four seed, Roger Federer, and the World Number Two, Rafael Nadal will battled it out against the number three seed, Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty and Federer are due out at any moment, but first, just a quick word about Nadal and Holmes. Moriarty, Federer and Nadal all arrived earlier to the club, but Holmes was only spotted for the first time a few minutes ago. He’s now out on the practice courts with his doubles and practice partner, John Watson, but why so late? Is this some sort of game plan? Is he trying to avoid everyone else? Or could it be linked with his doubles? Tim?”
“Well, he was playing until rather late last night and that was his second match of the day. After a day like that I’m not surprised if he decided that a quiet, restful morning was the way to go. Holmes is a very cerebral player. He probably spent the morning working on his tactics and game plan. With the extra games he’s been playing he doesn’t need as much practice as the others, so it would make sense to use the time to make sure he’s in the right frame of mind.”
“Could it be that he’s physically tired after his matches as well?”
“That’s probably part of it too, but he’s a very physically fit player who knows what he’s capable of, he’ll be able to judge what he can and can’t manage.”
“This isn’t going to be an easy match for him, is it?”
“Not by a long shot, and he knows it too. Semi-finals are never easy and Nadal at any stage for anyone, in any competition will be a challenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if Holmes keeps his warm-up brief and perfunctory. No point in over straining himself.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, we’ve just received the pictures of Moriarty and Federer who are about to make their way out, and here they come now, onto the court to the applause of the crowd.”
*
Moriarty beat Federer.
Pressing his lips together, John pulled his gaze away from the screen where the two players were now shaking hands over the net, and reached for his mobile.
6-4 6-7 6-3 he typed out carefully but as quickly as he could. Moriarty. Good luck. See you on the other side.
Slipping his mobile into his pocket he took a deep breath and looked back at the television screen where Moriarty was now gushing to the off-court interviewer. Smug git. For a while it had been a close match. The second set in particular had been tight and in the end settled on the tie-break in Federer’s favour, but the Swiss had been unable to press home his newly found advantage and somehow Moriarty had gotten the all-important break in the third. It was a shame really. Moriarty deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Still, there was always the final though.
But first, Nadal.
The Spaniard had been playing very well throughout the tournament. He was fast, powerful and on form again. Somehow he had the feeling that whatever was going to happen in the upcoming match, it would not be able to be described as fun in stretch of the imagination.
*
“So up next is Holmes verses Nadal. Now, Nadal has got to be the favourite here.”
“Oh without a doubt and both the players will know that going into this match.”
“The stats themselves say it all. In the past three years they have met eight times with Nadal having won six of them. Their last meeting was in Paris earlier this year, where in what many considered a surprising result, Holmes beat Nadal in the semi-final, only to then lose dramatically to Moriarty in the final.”
“It was definitely a surprise result for Holmes in the semi-final, astonishing even, but it was clear to anyone watching that Nadal was far from his best. His ability on clay is unmatched in the present game. Four French Open titles, with many having tipped him to have added a fifth this year. He stormed through Monte Carlo and Madrid, beating Holmes in the first, Moriarty in the second, both comprehensively. Rome was the surprise result, losing to Moriarty there, and it’s almost as if he hasn’t quite recovered. Certainly it looks like he’s picked up some sort of injury. Semi-final at Roland Garros, quarter finals at Queens-”
“Which Holmes won of course.”
“He did, although they didn’t meet. Quarter final at Wimbledon, losing in another shock result to Sebastian Moran, but Nadal seems to have put all of that behind him now and is playing, in the singles at least, as well as we’ve seen him play this year.”
“The players are on court now, warming up. Let’s talk about Holmes. Obviously the majority of what’s been said about him here has been centred on his doubles. He and John Watson are of course through to the final of the doubles here tomorrow, a tremendous result for a wild card pairing who had never competed together before this tournament, but surely all the additional games could only have a detrimental effect on Holmes’ singles play.”
“It does seem to be an odd course to take, playing both the singles and the doubles, but I suspect they never thought they would be as successful as they have been. They keep playing and they keep winning, but after watching Holmes struggle against Moran last night it is clear that the matches are having a detrimental effect on his play. If nothing else his energy levels have dropped. He needs to be at his peak today if he’s to beat Nadal and I just don’t think that he is.”
“Thanks, Tim. Well, the players are now back at their seats, their warm-ups complete. Nadal won the toss and will be serving first. He’s in what can only be described as pink and white, while Holmes is in white and black. The crowd claps as the umpire calls time and it’s Rafael Nadal to open the serving.”
*
“Thirty - All.”
Sherlock was, John had to admit, playing well. He was holding his ground, keeping his serve and challenging on Nadal’s, but he wasn’t playing at his best. It was true that very few players play at their very best for any considerable amount of time, but what made a winner, a champion, a legend, was to have an average the same as most other players’ best and a best that could be utilised when it was most needed. He knew that from his own experiences. He had played at his average best during the opening two sets at Wimbledon had had been thoroughly outclassed by a much better player. But then he had found his best, his peak for the rest of that match. No, actually, he had played past his peak in the second half of that match, especially in that last set. He had played a game he would never be able to play again, at a level he would never again reach. That was why he hadn’t wanted to continue with the singles. He knew a one-off when he saw it and that had been a one match in a lifetime experience. He wasn’t really a top ten player, despite what his current ranking said, and once he returned to singles the rest of the world would know that too, but that wasn’t to be helped. If returning to singles and making a fool of himself out there was what he needed to do in order to make this relationship work, then that was what he was going to do.
Forehand from Sherlock, Nadal backhand, another forehand, Nadal… but the ball was just called long.
“Thirty - Forty.”
Come on, Sherlock! He was so close, so close to getting that all important first break.
“Deuce.”
And then, of course, Nadal pulls out a serve like that to re-stamp his authority on the game and keep himself in it. Sherlock looked, well, not happy would certainly be one way of describing it, although unlike certain players he tended to not show a huge amount of emotion, good or bad.
Another brilliant serve from Nadal, which Sherlock managed to return on the stretch, but couldn’t recover quickly enough to get to Nadal’s perfectly placed backhand.
“Advantage, Nadal.”
Precision and power were the staples of Nadal’s game and he knew how to wield them in perfect harmony and to great effect.
Good serve, good return, forehand crosscourt from Nadal, down the line from Sherlock, backhand Nadal, forehand Sherlock, drop shot from Nadal which Sherlock read well, but left himself too open with Nadal smashing the return into the far corner.
“Game, Nadal.”
Bollocks.
“Nadal leads, three games to four.”
That had been close but not close enough. Three good points on the trot from Nadal and another opportunity for Sherlock went begging. This could be, John realised, a long match.
*
“Still rather evenly matched, at least score wise, with neither player playing at their best. Nadal is six games to five up with Holmes of course now having to serve to stay in the set. After that we’ll be going into a tie-break. But first Holmes serves and Nadal’s return bounces wide.”
“Fifteen - Love.”
“Do you think the tie-break will benefit Holmes more or Nadal, Tim?”
“Well, a lot of the time a tie-break doesn’t benefit either player since it’s a test of nerves as well as skill, but in this case, possibly Holmes. He’s been hunting for that break but just not managing to find it.”
“Holmes serves, good return Nadal, Holmes whips it back crosscourt, Nadal forehand, Holmes again crosscourt, Nadal forehand, change of direction from Holmes, Nadal on the stretch, Holmes backhand, but it’s called long. Holmes is challenging the call.”
“It was definitely a close one. Did it just clip the line, I don’t think it did. And it looks like the call was the right one. Just a hair’s-breadth in it but the ball was out.”
“Fifteen - All. Mr Holmes has one challenge remaining.”
“Holmes unhappy with his play there, muttering to himself as he returns to the baseline for his next serve.”
“He certainly can’t afford to give away points like that.”
“Holmes serves but it clips the net and bounces out. He pulls the second ball out of his pocket and moves to retake his place at the baseline. This time his second serve is in, to Nadal’s backhand, Holmes backhand, Nadal forehand, Holmes with the drop shot, Nadal gets to it, Holmes, but Nadal with the volley and somehow it lands in.”
“Fifteen - Thirty.”
“Lovely rally there, but what a shot from Nadal. He certain knows how to make shots like that count.”
“He was on the back foot for most of that rally, but pulling off the seemingly impossible is what he’s known for.”
“Holmes with his next serve, which is just long. He recomposes himself. His second serve is good, Nadal, Holmes, Nadal and Holmes could now be in trouble as that ball flies past him to bounce in and suddenly, as if from nowhere, Nadal has set point.”
“Fifteen - Forty.”
“Incredible. Just a moment ago we were talking about the tie-break, or at least the possibility of one, and now look at it.”
“Two set points for Nadal and Holmes will know he’s going to have to hang in there if he has any chance of salvaging the set.”
“Holmes has been pushing at Nadal’s serve all match, but now Nadal has seen his opportunity and he’s not going to let it pass that easily.”
“Holmes steadies himself for the serve, and it’s good. Nadal returns, Holmes, and the perfect shot there from Holmes, deep, fast and in the corner, exactly what he would have wanted and he manages to save the first of the two set points.”
“Thirty - Forty.”
“Can he do it again?”
“That was a classic Holmes strike that last one. Perfectly calculated and executed to perfection. That’s exactly why he’s where he is.”
“Head down, Holmes tests the two balls he’s just received, knocks one away, collects another on his racket and now apparently satisfied, slips it into his pocket. Now he’s ready, settles himself, serves, but the ball smacks into the net. Holmes scowls but pulls out the second ball, bounces it, pauses, bounces it again and now he’s ready. He serves. Nadal belts it back but Holmes with the forehand, Nadal returns, Holmes with the slice, Nadal gets it, Holmes backhand, Nadal down the line, Holmes, Nadal, Holmes but it bounces long and can you believe it? From nowhere Nadal wins the game and the set and Holmes can only stare at the spot where his last ball was called out.”
“Game and set, Nadal, seven games to five. Nadal leads one set to love.”
“Well that was unexpected, but somehow not surprising.”
“Holmes finally turns to stalk back to his seat, tossing his racket down beside his chair and grabbing a towel. He doesn’t look too happy, does he, Tim?”
“No, he doesn’t, but that’s not surprising. He’s been pushing so hard during the match, chipping away at Nadal’s service game that of course he’s disappointed. It was unfortunate, but he made a few errors in that game and Nadal punished him for it. That’s what happens.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to come back from this?”
“I think it will depend on how he starts the next set. How he comes back out here will determine the course of the next set. If he starts badly then it could all be over very quickly. If he starts on top form he could salvage something and we’ll have a fight on our hands.”
“We will just have to wait and see then.”
*
Inevitable. That’s what it had been. Sherlock losing that set had been inevitable really. Twice Sherlock had had the opportunity to break Nadal’s service game, twice he hadn’t been able to, twice Nadal had powered his way back to hold on. Once was an opportunity wasted, twice was a problem, and with a player like Nadal you don’t get a third chance.
And Sherlock knew it too.
Nadal had stepped up his level in the last two games. He’d moved up a gear and Sherlock hadn’t quite been able to match him.
“He’s going to lose, isn’t he?” he said, aiming the comment to where Greg was sat beside him.
“Not my place to say,” Greg said, “but if I were a betting man I would point out that he’d only had the slightest hope in hell of winning in the first place.”
But hope was still hope.
“He knows it too though, doesn’t he?” John stared down at where Sherlock was sipping from his bottle of water and ignoring everything else around him. What was going through his mind now? Tactics? Doubts? Replays of points won and points lost? Was he sorting through all the information he had gathered on Nadal over the years, searching for the gap or weakness in the Spaniard’s game?
“He’s Sherlock Holmes,” Greg said bluntly. “He’s a bloody know-it-all. He would have been able to reel off all the stats, the probabilities, the variables and the most likely outcomes with barely a second thought. So yeah, I’d say he knew exactly what he was up against and what his chances now are.”
“Does that make it better or worse, do you think, for him?” he asked. “You know, if he loses. Will knowing beforehand make it easier?”
“Is losing ever easy? Nah, don’t answer that. But knowing and actually doing are two completely different things. But one thing I do know, he’s not an easy loser.”
“Rant and rage against the dying of the light?”
“Something like that. Ranting certainly, but more sulking than raging usually. On the bright side though, he’ll still have the doubles. That’s something and it might be enough to distract him.”
“He wanted both,” he pointed out as Sherlock pulled a new racket from his bag.
“No,” Greg said much to his surprise, “he said he wanted both. What he really wanted was something else entirely, and that he’s still got.”
Him, John realised. Sherlock had wanted him, wanted them as a couple, and he had done what he could to ensure that, to the detriment of his singles play. Maybe then, he hoped as time was called for the second set to commence, maybe, just maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.
*
“And there’s the break Nadal has been driving for. Holmes came out here and stood his ground in the opening games of this set, but not even he can with stand the might of Rafael Nadal once he’s on a roll.”
“Excellent play there from Nadal, inspired in fact. He’s been pushing Holmes from side to side, making him play the hard shots, keeping him constantly off balance before nailing him with hard, fast shots that even Holmes at his best would struggle to respond to.”
“Holmes is clearly not at his best out there today.”
“Not by a long shot. He’s played well and had flashes of brilliant, but that final sharpness he’s so known for doesn’t seem to be there. Some of his shots have been a bit weak, his serves are just a little slower than usual and he’s just not quite as good as we know he can be.”
“Is that the doubles then?”
“Most probably. Two events in a tournament like this is tough and he threw himself into the doubles with everything he’s got and I’m just not sure that he’s got anything left to give.”
“Well it’s four-two to Nadal here in the second set with Nadal one set to love up and it’s the Spaniard’s turn once more to serve.”
*
Rising to his feet, John clapped along with the rest of the crowd as the two players made their way to the net to shake hands.
7-5, 6-3. Nadal was through to the final to face Moriarty and Sherlock was grabbing his belongings and leaving the court as quickly as he could. He looked exhausted, but other than that his expression was unreadable.
“Well,” Greg said as he breathed out, “at least that’s over with. You wanna drink while we wait for him?”
He shook his head. “I should probably go and see if he’s alright.”
“Don’t be surprised if he wants to be left alone and don’t take it personally if he tells you to sod off.”
“Let me guess,” he said, “Trevor used to take it personally.”
“Not just Trevor, mate,” Greg said, “practically everyone. Mainly because he has a wonderful way of making it personal.”
“I’m not just anyone,” he said.
“Yeah, so I gather,” Greg said. “Go then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sherlock was in the shower when he found him. Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms and decided to wait. In the end it wasn’t that long and a couple of minutes after the water switched off Sherlock emerged, his curls flat against his head and a towel slung low around his hips. Their gaze met and Sherlock didn’t seem surprised to see him. In fact he didn’t seem much of anything at all as he crossed over to his clothing - angry, disappointed, upset, frustrated, annoyed. That was… worrying.
“I’m fine,” Sherlock said as he started pulling out his clothing. “You don’t need to ask or stand around looking at me as if I’m a wild animal you don’t know how is going to react. I lost yes, but I’m not about to break or scream or do something stupid. You don’t need to be so concerned.”
Right, okay, not quite what he had been expecting. He ignored the bit about him not supposed to be concerned and decided to tackle other parts first.
“So you’re fine about losing then?”
“Evidentially. We played, he was better, I lost.” He tugged his polo shirt sharply over his head and continued dressing.
“And you’re alright with that?”
He wasn’t surprised by the faint growl he got in response. “Stop being so repetitive, John,” Sherlock said firmly. “It’s boring. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” He punctuated the last word with a firm tug on his bag zip as he searching for his trousers. “I am, however, tired and hungry, so if you want to do something useful, tell Lestrade not to get that second drink and make sure the car is ready. We leave in ten minutes.”
Okay then, that he could do.
He found Greg in the player’s lounge.
“Get dismissed already?” Greg said.
“Something like that,” John admitted. “Turns out he’s fine. All fine. Oh, and don’t get another drink, he wants to leave in ten. Well, five now.”
“Yeah, sounds like he’s bloody perfect,” Greg said downing the last of his drink. “Best get on with it then.”
*
If Sherlock was fine then John was a monkey’s uncle.
It wasn’t even the quietness - okay, it was at least partly the quietness, but a quiet Sherlock he could cope with, a quiet Sherlock usually meant a concentrating Sherlock, a busy Sherlock, a focused Sherlock, the quietness around this Sherlock was just somehow different and a different that didn’t settle well with him. So it was partly the quietness, but mostly it was everything.
It was the silent journey back. It was the way Sherlock had left the organising of dinner to him with no preference as to what they had. It was the way he had perched on the sofa with his notebook and his laptop, flicking through YouTube videos, old interviews and match reports, but his pen had hardly moved. It was the way he had eaten without complaint but barely said a word. It was the way the laptop and the sofa had been abandoned for the violin and the window, but more staring had occurred than playing and more time had ticked past until the point of ridiculousness had come and gone and John decided it was beyond time that he broke through the quiet.
“Look,” he said standing his ground, watching his partner, “it’s alright if you’re not fine. There’s nothing wrong with being, you know, not fine.”
Sherlock was a lot of things, but regardless of what he claimed, at that moment he was decidedly not fine.
There was no verbal response, just the swivelling of eyes in the glass reflection and then the return to blank staring out of the window. Apparently it wasn’t even worth a barbed reply. That was… a bit not good.
“If you don’t want to talk,” he tried again, “then that’s fine. Sorry, it’s that word again. Just… if there’s something you want, something I can give you, something you might need, then please don’t, please don’t push me away.”
The eyes narrowed slightly. “What could I possibly need?”
Words, which meant it was a start at least, even if they were less than encouraging.
“I dunno,” he said with a slight shrug. “A hug perhaps? A cuddle? That usually makes me feel better.”
Sherlock frowned. “Why?”
“Uh, because sometimes physical contact is enough, knowing that someone else is there, that they care.”
There was no response.
“Okay. How about a massage then,” he continued. “I’ll give you one if you want. Shoulders, head, neck, legs, something more intimate if that’s what you want. Or maybe a hot bath. A shower? An early night?” He was running out of ideas and it was a bit like talking to a brick wall.
There was a sigh. “If it’s sex you’re after,” Sherlock said turning away.
“What? No. No,” he said firmly shaking his head. “That’s not… I’m not-” He took a deep breath. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you. So if there is anything you want, or need, or… no, sod it. Sod it. You have no idea what you want so I’m just going to do it anyway and you can just lump it.”
Not giving Sherlock the time to respond, or his brain the time to remind him of why this might be a bad idea, he walked over to his lover and simply pulled him down into a hug. It was awkward, it was surprisingly bony and without active movement from Sherlock somewhat more challenging than it had looked, but it happened and he was just about to let go again when Sherlock’s arms tentatively moved upwards and encircled him. Then it was as if the tension bled out of Sherlock’s body, pooling at their feet, their bodies drawing closer.
“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” John found himself saying as he held on.
“John.”
“No, it’s okay.” He stroked a hand over Sherlock’s hair. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”
Sherlock’s mouth closed and a moment later so did his eyes and pressing his face into John’s shoulder, he tightened his arms and held on.
*
End Part Thirteen
Author's Note:
Hello all loyal and patient readers. Sorry it took so long. Stuff that was supposed to happen at the end of this part refused to happen and I have never struggled with any story as much as I did with the second half of this part. But it's done now.
Right, what next. As you might have gathered, the story is nearly at the end now. There is one, possibly two parts to go. As to when they will happen, I don't know. Soon though (fingers crossed), but not next week, partly because I'm moving house on Saturday. I have at least started the next part so I am writing again, but I am now out of the rhythm, so it'll take longer.
Anyway, thank you for sticking with it and if I don't get round to responding to comments, it's because I'm neck high in packing boxes.
Thanks. :)