Fic: Untitled (Holmes/Watson)
An untitled fic that I quickly did for my friend naturalee
Rating: G
Mindless fluff, yay.
It has always been curious to me that my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, should go into bouts of anti-social behaviour, during which he would lock himself away in his study. I always wondered what events transpired behind those closed wooden doors. I used to lie awake during the night, unable to find sleep for the pure, unadulterated silence. I would admit - I had long since grown used to Holmes' erratic behaviour, and had become fond of the sounds I was used to hearing during the night. On these nights though, our rooms echoed with silence, and it unsettled me.
I went through the motions as I usually did the following morning. I shaved and went to breakfast, masterfully prepared, as always, by our kindly landlady. As per usual on days like these, Holmes did not join me for breakfast. I sat in silence, sipping my tea, and found that I yearned for his company. I sighed, knowing that he would be like this for days, perhaps weeks, and the thought depressed me more than I'd readily admit.
I had not been called in as of yet that morning, so any hope of losing myself in my work was lost. I stared into my teacup for along moment, deciding on a task with which I could possibly use to occupy myself. Somehow, I found myself drawn to the door of Holmes' study. I gazed at the closed door, again struck with an insatiable curiosity. Just to humour myself, I pressed my ear to the door, only hoping to receive some sound of life from within. Unfortunately, that hope was held in vain. My keen listening ear was met with only that deafening silence.
I knew it wouldn't do any good to try and speak with him. We'd known each other long enough for me to be hopelessly aware of that. Still, I heard my own voice before I even knew that I was speaking.
"Holmes?" The softest query, barely louder than a whisper. After a moment I became certain that he could not have possibly heard me. I was prepared to walk away and immerse myself completely in one of my numerous books. However, in the same instant, a very curious thing happened: the door slowly creaked open.
"Watson." Holmes' voice was slightly hoarse - he breathed my name rather than said it. HI sdark, glazed eyes met mine, and immediately I sensed that something was amiss. "Thank God you've come. I've had the most... fascinating experience." There were dark bags beneath his eyes, the remnants of some sleepless night. I couldn't help but wonder what he had been doing; I hadn't heard him moving about the night before. Even that might have served as a small comfort.
Holmes stepped back, allowing me to enter the sacred realm of his study. I raked mye yes over our surroundings as Holmes quickly shut the door behind us. The air inside the room was horribly stale. My eyes took a long moment to adjust to the dim light. The curtains were drawn, cutting off any sunlight that tried to filter in.
"Holmes, what are you-"
"Shh!" He cut me off then, a finger pressed hard to his lips. "Don't speak, my friend."
Frowning, I nodded, deciding to go along with whatever Holmes was doing. I was curious as to what he got up to in this room, and I wasn't too keen on being kicked out. Not until my curiosity was satisfied, at any rate.
Holmes crossed the room and sunk down into one of the padded green arm chairs. I stood, waiting for him to say something. I could feel his eyes on me, but still I did not move, half afraid that he would suddenly tire of my presence and order me to leave.
"My dear Watson." He spoke, his voice still very soft, but I heard him.
I stepped over to the chair, looking down at him. His eyes followed me. "Holmes, why must you insisted on locking yourself away in your room like this?" I inquired.
"Our room," he interjected.
"Our room, then," I agreed.
He was silent again, and if he had not been looking directly at me I might have thought he had fallen asleep. He spoke after a moment, still as soft as before. "I feel so alone."
"How can you expect otherwise when you box yourself up like this?" I demanded, and the rising of my voice surprised even me.
"I'm not alone in here," he said to me, "I have my mind, and that is all I need. I certainly don't need you, Watson!" he yelled at me. At some point his hand became fisted in my shirt. I calmly reached up, gently taking his hand away.
"Perhaps you don't," I replied, taking in with suppressed astonishment as his entire form began to quiver and shake. He gripped at his hair, and I slowly knelt before him, taking both his trembling hands in mine. "Regardless, you have me, and you are not alone."
Slowly, he began to still, and he raised his head, "Thank you."
I released him and moved to the window, drawing back the curtains so that light streamed into the room. Holmes flinched, although he did not protest to my actions. I knew that this would not be the last of his withdrawals into his own mind, but at least for now, it was over. And I didn't feel so alone.
Rating: G
Mindless fluff, yay.
It has always been curious to me that my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, should go into bouts of anti-social behaviour, during which he would lock himself away in his study. I always wondered what events transpired behind those closed wooden doors. I used to lie awake during the night, unable to find sleep for the pure, unadulterated silence. I would admit - I had long since grown used to Holmes' erratic behaviour, and had become fond of the sounds I was used to hearing during the night. On these nights though, our rooms echoed with silence, and it unsettled me.
I went through the motions as I usually did the following morning. I shaved and went to breakfast, masterfully prepared, as always, by our kindly landlady. As per usual on days like these, Holmes did not join me for breakfast. I sat in silence, sipping my tea, and found that I yearned for his company. I sighed, knowing that he would be like this for days, perhaps weeks, and the thought depressed me more than I'd readily admit.
I had not been called in as of yet that morning, so any hope of losing myself in my work was lost. I stared into my teacup for along moment, deciding on a task with which I could possibly use to occupy myself. Somehow, I found myself drawn to the door of Holmes' study. I gazed at the closed door, again struck with an insatiable curiosity. Just to humour myself, I pressed my ear to the door, only hoping to receive some sound of life from within. Unfortunately, that hope was held in vain. My keen listening ear was met with only that deafening silence.
I knew it wouldn't do any good to try and speak with him. We'd known each other long enough for me to be hopelessly aware of that. Still, I heard my own voice before I even knew that I was speaking.
"Holmes?" The softest query, barely louder than a whisper. After a moment I became certain that he could not have possibly heard me. I was prepared to walk away and immerse myself completely in one of my numerous books. However, in the same instant, a very curious thing happened: the door slowly creaked open.
"Watson." Holmes' voice was slightly hoarse - he breathed my name rather than said it. HI sdark, glazed eyes met mine, and immediately I sensed that something was amiss. "Thank God you've come. I've had the most... fascinating experience." There were dark bags beneath his eyes, the remnants of some sleepless night. I couldn't help but wonder what he had been doing; I hadn't heard him moving about the night before. Even that might have served as a small comfort.
Holmes stepped back, allowing me to enter the sacred realm of his study. I raked mye yes over our surroundings as Holmes quickly shut the door behind us. The air inside the room was horribly stale. My eyes took a long moment to adjust to the dim light. The curtains were drawn, cutting off any sunlight that tried to filter in.
"Holmes, what are you-"
"Shh!" He cut me off then, a finger pressed hard to his lips. "Don't speak, my friend."
Frowning, I nodded, deciding to go along with whatever Holmes was doing. I was curious as to what he got up to in this room, and I wasn't too keen on being kicked out. Not until my curiosity was satisfied, at any rate.
Holmes crossed the room and sunk down into one of the padded green arm chairs. I stood, waiting for him to say something. I could feel his eyes on me, but still I did not move, half afraid that he would suddenly tire of my presence and order me to leave.
"My dear Watson." He spoke, his voice still very soft, but I heard him.
I stepped over to the chair, looking down at him. His eyes followed me. "Holmes, why must you insisted on locking yourself away in your room like this?" I inquired.
"Our room," he interjected.
"Our room, then," I agreed.
He was silent again, and if he had not been looking directly at me I might have thought he had fallen asleep. He spoke after a moment, still as soft as before. "I feel so alone."
"How can you expect otherwise when you box yourself up like this?" I demanded, and the rising of my voice surprised even me.
"I'm not alone in here," he said to me, "I have my mind, and that is all I need. I certainly don't need you, Watson!" he yelled at me. At some point his hand became fisted in my shirt. I calmly reached up, gently taking his hand away.
"Perhaps you don't," I replied, taking in with suppressed astonishment as his entire form began to quiver and shake. He gripped at his hair, and I slowly knelt before him, taking both his trembling hands in mine. "Regardless, you have me, and you are not alone."
Slowly, he began to still, and he raised his head, "Thank you."
I released him and moved to the window, drawing back the curtains so that light streamed into the room. Holmes flinched, although he did not protest to my actions. I knew that this would not be the last of his withdrawals into his own mind, but at least for now, it was over. And I didn't feel so alone.