Pulse 2/2
Title: Pulse (2/2) (part one here)
Author: riais
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Homes/Watson
Summary: For this prompt : Holmes has a nightmare and thinks Watson is dead, and wakes up and... yeah.
Disclaimer: Do not own
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"What are you going on about, man?" Watson's hands relax their grip on his shoulder but do not let go. He stares hard at the detective, who's face has taken on a deadly pallour and who's eyes have become hollow and despaired. Watson inspects his hands, which have become cold and clammy.
"I don't understand." His eyes search Watson's face, "I was right there and you were dying."
Watson sighs and throws a concerned look at his friend, "Well I'm not now," he says, "You were having a nightmare of sorts, it seems. I could hear you carrying on from the next room over."
Holmes shakes his head, "No," he mumbles, "It was so real. You were dying." His brows crinkle up and he looks away from Watson's face. His eyes search his room as if trying to believe in something he knows isn't true, "I must have passed out," he surmises, "I must be dreaming."
Watson frowns, "Get a hold of yourself," and, reaching towards Holmes' forearm, takes a bit of skin between his thumb and middle finger and pinches hard.
"Ah!" The detective gives a start and a small yell of surprise, "What did you go and do that for?" he asks almost angrily, forgetting himself for the moment.
Watson chuckles, "You aren't dreaming," he says.
"I'm not..." Holmes' voice breaks away, but instead of allowing himself a smile of relief or another positive emotion, he studies his friend's face with the saddest look Watson has ever seen in another man's eyes.
"What is it, old boy?" he asks him, "I'm fine. I'm right here." Holmes leans back into his pillows and continues his silence as he stares at the doctor's face.
"It was...very vivid," he says finally, "to say the least." His mouth forms a small line as he debates with himself whether or not it is best to continue, "I had no help to offer as you died in my arms, not even a helpful word to give," he averts his eyes, refusing to look the doctor in the face, "I was useless to you when you needed me most."
Silence fills the room. Watson does not know how he should respond. Neither of them are exactly best at speaking of feelings.
"There was nothing I could do for the only person I would do absolutely anything for," he says this quietly; it is barely a whisper. Holmes looks at him then, brows drawn tight over his eyes and wrinkling his forehead.
Watson's mouth takes on a halfway grin and he sighs, shaking his head, "You do enough for me," he mutters, reaching for Holmes' face. His thumb presses gently to the space between Holmes' eyebrows and draws a line up the forehead, momentarily smoothing the wrinkles, "I'm here, for now, and that's all that matters. Don't dwell on it too much, friend. Our time comes eventually."
Watson pulls away, but as he goes to stand, he finds his wrist caught in a very strong grip. Holmes looks up at him from beneath his covers,"That really isn't as comforting as I think you meant it to be," he says with a small amount of humor.
Watson chuckles, "The advice is sound though. You really shouldn't dwell."
"I don't dwell."
"You do," he answers, "an awful lot, in fact."
"Hm..."
"Are you going to let go of my wrist or must I pry it from your fingers?"
"Will you..." Holmes clears his throat and glances at the door. His eyes return to the doctor's face, "Will you stay?"
The question takes Watson by surprise, and though he longs to finish his latest narrative tonight, he can't find it in himself to refuse, "If I must," he replies quietly.
"You must." Holmes eyes seem pleading, but he has enough reserve to let it not seep into his voice.
"Then I shall."
Still Holmes does not release his grip on Watson's wrist. But when the good doctor makes himself comfortable: leaning his back against the headboard as he sits next to Holmes, the detective laces his fingers between his.
"Good-night, Watson," Holmes says as he blows out the lamp light
"Good-night, Holmes."
And though Holmes cannot bring himself to fall asleep for fear of a returning nightmare, the detective has the reassurance of the warm hand in his: blood pressure, heart beat, and muscle strength all normal for that of a living man.
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Thanks for reading, everyone. Please let me know what you think. :)