Sherlock Holmes - An Understanding
Title An Understanding
Author Kiwi
Fandom Sherlock Holmes 09
Rating PG-13
Characters, Pairing Holmes/Watson
Summary Sherlock Holmes is incapable of love, and Watson is okay with this.
Warnings none.
Disclaimer This is a work of fiction, and is in no way affiliated with the Sherlock Holmes franchise.
A/N School is draining me of my ability to write fic on a frequent basis, fml. I'm sorry this is so short.
Sherlock Holmes is incapable of love. He's capable of affection, gratitude, trust -- all the components of a loving relationship, but he cannot present them as one cohesive feeling. Therefore, as Holmes brushes his lips against mine, a strong hand cupping the back of my head, I know he does not love me.
He is fascinated by me. I am his constant companion, his compliment and conscience. I have picked on area of study to focus on, which intrigues him greatly ("How a man can be satisfied by one subject for all of his life is beyond me") and I can engage his eclectic interests. He is astonished by my loyalty -- and quite frankly, so am I. Holmes is fascinated by my demeanor -- and also by a rather sensitive spot on my neck, which he has taken to investigating with a practiced tongue.
Holmes entrusts me with his life, as one would an inseparable partner. He has told me terrible secrets and divulged precious information about the intricacies of his -- our -- work. We trust each other not to let the other slip into madness: I'm not to let him dip one too many times into the needle case and he is not to let me throw all the money away on a single roll. It is this kind of trust that propels us through the dubious world of detective work, and the kind of trust that allows him to slip his fingers beneath my waistband and stroke determinedly at my arousal.
And yet, he still does not love me.
He cannot love me because that would require surrender. It would mean giving a part of life to be locked away, and he simply cannot do that. He has no selfish reasoning, narcissistic motives, or callous responses, he is plainly devoted. Holmes is ready at a moment's notice to throw everything he has, everything he is, at a problem to be solved. He cannot leave a part of himself with me, for that feeling and purpose I give him is what propels him.
Therefore, I am not Holmes' lover, but his infatuation, his muse, his addiction. And if his arms should be wrapped around me as they are now, it satisfies me to know they at least are not being pierced with his needle.
Sherlock Holmes does not love me, and I could not ask for more.
-
comments?
Author Kiwi
Fandom Sherlock Holmes 09
Rating PG-13
Characters, Pairing Holmes/Watson
Summary Sherlock Holmes is incapable of love, and Watson is okay with this.
Warnings none.
Disclaimer This is a work of fiction, and is in no way affiliated with the Sherlock Holmes franchise.
A/N School is draining me of my ability to write fic on a frequent basis, fml. I'm sorry this is so short.
Sherlock Holmes is incapable of love. He's capable of affection, gratitude, trust -- all the components of a loving relationship, but he cannot present them as one cohesive feeling. Therefore, as Holmes brushes his lips against mine, a strong hand cupping the back of my head, I know he does not love me.
He is fascinated by me. I am his constant companion, his compliment and conscience. I have picked on area of study to focus on, which intrigues him greatly ("How a man can be satisfied by one subject for all of his life is beyond me") and I can engage his eclectic interests. He is astonished by my loyalty -- and quite frankly, so am I. Holmes is fascinated by my demeanor -- and also by a rather sensitive spot on my neck, which he has taken to investigating with a practiced tongue.
Holmes entrusts me with his life, as one would an inseparable partner. He has told me terrible secrets and divulged precious information about the intricacies of his -- our -- work. We trust each other not to let the other slip into madness: I'm not to let him dip one too many times into the needle case and he is not to let me throw all the money away on a single roll. It is this kind of trust that propels us through the dubious world of detective work, and the kind of trust that allows him to slip his fingers beneath my waistband and stroke determinedly at my arousal.
And yet, he still does not love me.
He cannot love me because that would require surrender. It would mean giving a part of life to be locked away, and he simply cannot do that. He has no selfish reasoning, narcissistic motives, or callous responses, he is plainly devoted. Holmes is ready at a moment's notice to throw everything he has, everything he is, at a problem to be solved. He cannot leave a part of himself with me, for that feeling and purpose I give him is what propels him.
Therefore, I am not Holmes' lover, but his infatuation, his muse, his addiction. And if his arms should be wrapped around me as they are now, it satisfies me to know they at least are not being pierced with his needle.
Sherlock Holmes does not love me, and I could not ask for more.
-
comments?