AU: Boxing Match 'Verse (which needs a better name)

[mustbetruth]

Holmes is bristling with post-case satisfaction. Oh, yes, he located the person responsible for the crime and now he's on his way to the Yard, and there's something in that worth some pride, but for Holmes, all that matters is the mystery. And the fact that it's been resolved. The pieces fell neatly into place and he left Watson and Lestrade with

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[armydoctor]

Watson swallowed, taking in Lestrade's little speech with a strange sense of fatalism. Was that... a confirmation that he knew? That he knew what he and Holmes had been up to, and that he didn't care? Watson couldn't think of a single reason why they ought to be that lucky, but he was hardly about to question it too closely. He only hoped he was interpreting it correctly.

"It's... very kind of you to say so, Inspector." He looked down at the cigar in his fingers, realising that he was neglecting it entirely. He raised it to his lips and puffed upon it as he returned, feeling awkward, to the sofa. He still wasn't sure it wouldn't be wise to flee for the Continent as soon as Lestrade had left -- but if they had an ally in him, that was worth a good deal. Watson had always liked Lestrade, and he hated the idea that they would now be working against each other, for very personal stakes. "For my own part, I've only ever tried to do what little good in the world I can achieve. It's gratifying to hear I'm accomplishing that."

He risked a glance in Holmes's direction, not sure what he expected to see.

[theyarder]

He's still reeling with the knowledge that Holmes and Watson are apparently involved. Not today, maybe not ever, but he is just a little curious as to how it all works out. Are they in love? Is it just sex? He shifts in his chair again and puffs on his cigar; no, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to talk about this with them, not in so many words.

Holmes's words make him sit a little straighter, and it's hard not to let the fact that Holmes said he admired him go to his head a little. Realistically, Lestrade figures Holmes doesn't mean it beyond gratitude for him not arresting them, but it's not so wrong that he wants to believe just a little bit that he means it?

"You are, Dr. Watson, and I'm happy to say so." He smiles at Watson, a strange thing to do somehow in the heavy atmosphere of the room. It's so heavy it's almost oppressive, and Lestrade thinks maybe a joke -- a meaningful joke -- might be in order. "I'd appreciate it if the two of you didn't mention this to any of the boys. They aren't too fond of Holmes, some of them, and I've a reputation to maintain. It'll be our secret."

Lestrade doesn't think either one of them would take this conversation beyond that door over there, and Lestrade won't either. It's a strange feeling, having something like this on the two of them. He'd rather not know anything at all.

[mustbetruth]

"Of course," Holmes says easily, a lightness spreading through him that's a welcome relief after the leaden feeling. "I wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation. I won't breathe a word. Your secret is safe with me." He almost feels like laughing, and certainly he's smiling, though he can't be sure that he won't have to go and vomit sometime soon.

Sensing Watson's gaze on him, he looks at him, his smile softening from the near-delirious thing it was. He can't be sure what he sees there, and while he's eager to talk about this with him, he's also dreading it. Holmes feels guilty for getting Watson caught, possibly almost getting him arrested; what's worse is he couldn't even be sure that Watson truly wanted this. Oh, he agreed, but he was slowly opening himself up to it. Will he now deny Holmes and move out?

He looks away again. It's not a good day when looking at Lestrade brings him comfort, and looking at Watson makes him ill.

[armydoctor]

"I shan't say a word, if you won't," Watson promised. It would have taken a very good deal of convincing to elicit him to say anything, in fact, or even acknowledge this conversation had ever happened. "I'd hate to have anyone's reputation's ruined."

He said it lightly, though he was aware of the double meaning in it, and it gave him a terrible sinking feeling. He wasn't sure how to interpret the smile Holmes gave him -- reassuring? conciliatory? secretive and conspiratorial? -- but it filled him with a bizarre sense of fatalism. He certainly hoped he wasn't expected to carry on where they had left off as soon as Lestrade left. He didn't think he was up for that.

He took a long sip of brandy, wondering at the wisdom of it, but Watson could hardly do anything else, and he wasn't sure he wasn't just about to faint.

[theyarder]

Well. You don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know when you should make your exit, and Lestrade thinks it's time to make his exit. He can't begin to interpret the looks his two friends are exchanging, doesn't want to interpret them. He can tell that maybe things won't be so good between them when he leaves, and damn him, he actually feels guilty.

If he could take back this night, he would. Also now he knows that he should always ask first before he makes a visit.

"Well, now that that's settled, I think I'll be on my way." He gets to his feet, waving at them not to stand, and makes his way to the door. "Thanks for the drink and the cigar. I'll be seeing you soon enough, I expect."

[mustbetruth]

"Good evening, Inspector," he says, giving a nod, though the last thing he wants now is for Lestrade to leave. He doesn't have a good feeling at all about what will come when Lestrade walks out the door, and he very nervously avoids looking at Watson.

He should be happy. They weren't arrested! And maybe Lestrade is on their side; maybe he'll still be friends with them, even after all this. That's priceless; Holmes doesn't have many friends left that know about him, and now a police inspector he's shared a handful of pleasant conversations with, and much more insults, is walking out the door and keeping Holmes's secret.

He isn't happy, though. He's bracing himself for whatever it is Watson has to say, for Watson to end things.

[armydoctor]

"It was nice seeing you, Inspector."

When Lestrade had left, Watson stood, putting out his cigar and putting his glass down. He went to the window, and drew aside the curtain to watch Lestrade leave. He couldn't seem to bring himself to look at Holmes, wasn't even sure what he was thinking, or what he would do. He made a long sigh.

"What exactly," he said, his voice flat and somewhat cool, "do we do now? Do we trust him not to say anything? Or do we assume he's only gone to get reinforcements? Shall I start packing my bags immediately?" His voice was full of biting irony, restrained anger. "Will you obtain tickets to the Continent or should I?"

Watson turned away from the window, and leaned back against the windowsill, looking at Holmes almost uneasily.

[mustbetruth]

This isn't how it should be. They should be celebrating. They could maybe even laugh the tension off, but slowly his body seems to be filling with lead again and his stomach tightens uncomfortably. He can't stand to see Watson like that and the tone of his voice sends shivers down Holmes's back. Standing, he crosses to their door and firmly locks it. The lead starts trickling down to his knees.

"He hasn't gone to get reinforcements," he says quietly, still toying with the lock between his fingers. "He wasn't lying. He won't tell anyone. You may pack if you wish. A trip to the Continent wouldn't be amiss."

Holmes doesn't know what to say to make any of this better. He's afraid, well and truly afraid, and a little weary. Must every relationship he finds be stomped on? Is his punishment not merely recurrent black moods, but loneliness and isolation? He sighs and presses his forehead against the door, avoiding Watson's gaze.

[armydoctor]

Watson pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to focus, trying to think what to say, what to do. He turned away again, because looking at Holmes hurt, far too much. He looked at the wall, following the patterns in the wallpaper with his eyes.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he said in a low voice. "I had half convinced myself that we were somehow immune, that this sort of thing could never happen to us. But I am obviously a fool, and now a police inspector knows that you and I are sodomites." Watson shut his eyes, screwing them tight. "And we have nothing but his word keeping us from complete ruin. Am I supposed to just cheerily accept that my reputation and liberty rest entirely in Lestrade's hands?"

He was feeling a bit hysterical; he ran his fingers through his hair, in absolute agony.

[mustbetruth]

Holmes had convinced himself that this time would be different, that much is true. The relationship wouldn't crumble, he wouldn't be torn away from Watson, and he would still maintain his dignity. He didn't dare dream that they wouldn't be caught; he's far too bitter to believe that. Maybe he should have been more upfront about his past with Watson.

Knowing he ought to move away from the door, he returns to the sofa, shifting so he can rest his head against the back and stare up at the ceiling.

"When I was caught before," he starts, hating himself, hating that he has to tell this story, and he very nearly needs to start over, but he rallies, "at least I was in the favorable position of being with my captor's son. Ruining my reputation would have been mutually assured destruction. This isn't the case with Lestrade, but I think at least Mycroft would have an easier time making any accusations made by a police inspector disappear."

He draws in a slow breath and lets it out again, closing his eyes.

[armydoctor]

Silent a moment, running his fingers up and down the bridge of his nose, trying to absorb this information. "You've been caught like this before," he said, as a statement and not a question. He turned his head to look at Holmes again. "And yet you'll still risk going through this sort of mess again? This is not the sort of life I wanted to lead, Holmes. I never wanted to have to hide half my life from the world because it was illegal."

He sighed again, and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. He rubbed his face; he felt so tired, suddenly. "I like Lestrade," he said, in a lower voice. "I really don't fancy the idea of having to watch him closely for signs of betrayal or blackmail for the rest of our lives."

[mustbetruth]

Holmes lifts his head, looking at Watson now, something like anger stirring up inside him. It's easy for Watson to accuse Holmes of being -- what? Loose in his morals? Foolish? Watson likes women, is a respectable sort of fellow, and could easily settle down with someone legally. He's had this discussion with Mycroft. He listened to Holmes, but sometimes Holmes wonders if Mycroft thinks Holmes is foolish for not giving this up. It isn't foolish to want to be happy, and Holmes couldn't be happy with a wife.

"Yes, I'll risk going through this again because the alternative is a life spent alone. I don't want to have to hide half my life from the world either, but I'd rather that than condemn myself to nothing, or worse, to a wife I would not and could not love."

His anger is quickly mixing with hurt. He'd thought he wouldn't get involved in a relationship again; he'd thought he would just have to live alone, until Watson came along. Watson was worth it, but apparently Watson does not think Holmes is worth it. He can't say any of that though, not with Watson sitting over there apparently ready to bolt. He gets up again, crossing angrily to the other side of the room, his arms wrapped around him.

"If you are unwilling to risk yourself further, then I'll pack my things and be gone," he mutters, drawing back the curtains and looking out onto the street.

[armydoctor]

Watson lifted his head, suddenly alarmed. On the one hand, that was possibly the simplest solution to this situation, but at the same time... he couldn't imagine not seeing Holmes anymore, either. That was not a price he was willing to pay. Holmes was far too central to his life to just... let him go, because Watson was afraid.

He hadn't any idea if this... this relationship between them was worth the risk, but how could they possibly go back to how they had been, either?

"I didn't say that," he protested, rather softly. "Look -- please, don't be rash. I just... I haven't any notion of what to do, I'm sorry. This is a new experience and one I would have liked to have gone without."

[mustbetruth]

Holmes turns away from the window, letting the curtain fall shut behind him, and he takes Watson in, feeling more than a little relieved. He's being unfair, but it's difficult not to relive the last two discoveries and subsequent ends of his relationships. A part of Holmes didn't expect Watson to ask him back at all, and had been braced for him to leave.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, the tension easing out of his shoulders. "This isn't new to me, and unfortunately what happened in the past is I lost my lovers, and that was that." Slowly, he returns to the sofa and sits, this time facing Watson.

"We are lucky in that I do believe we can trust Lestrade, if only for now. He's the sort of man -- well, I think he would warn us, should he decide to turn us in. He'd have to tell us to our faces. That at least will allow us time to prepare," he says gently. He can't be entirely sure he's right, but that's how he's come to understand Lestrade.

[armydoctor]

"And if things come to that?" Watson murmured, looking down again. "What do we do? Flee the country with what we can carry?"

The idea depressed him. He liked England, he had no desire to find himself forced out in a desperate attempt to protect his reputation and his liberty. He found himself in a rather strange situation now. He wasn't sure he could carry on with this hanging over their heads, but removing Holmes from his life was utterly out of the question. There was no solution, and the idea that Holmes had known the dangers better than he, that he had lost lovers in the past because of exactly this, and had risked things again for Watson... well, that was more than a little flattering. And there was no one forcing them apart either, as presumably had been the case with this last lover of his.

"My French is rather poor," Watson said. He lifted his face from his hands, looking at Holmes, his expression pained and more than a little lost.

[mustbetruth]

"That may be the most convenient solution," he says slowly, though he doesn't really want to leave London either. Watson's expression pains him -- it's a little too familiar, and it's certainly nothing he ever wanted to see on Watson's face. He has no idea if his affection would be wanted now, or if it would taste bitter, or empty, in the wake of their conversation. He longs to hold Watson's hand, or at least to close the gap between them.

"Mycroft may be able to arrange something for us. There's no way to know specifics until the incident occurs, and hopefully it never will, but he may be in a position to manipulate the situation to allow us to stay in London. If he can't..." He trails off. "We needn't stay in France. We could travel, all over. And I could help you with your French," he adds, with a tentative smile.