fanfic - human
Author: amaraal
Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Rating: NC - 17
Word count: ~1100
Warnings: Hurt/comfort, sadness.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Scene from the movie: Holmes and Watson in jail, where Watson accuses Holmes not to be human. Holmes is hurt, but he knows: Watson is right.
A/N: Thanks go to justnyxie. You gave me the idea.
************
It hurt. It hurt so much he balled his fists and bit into his own knuckles. Tears welled up in his eyes, he suppressed a sob and felt his face getting wet. Drawn up closely to a bundle on his bed, covered under layers of fabric, among them his old cloak, he shivered. But as much as he tried to prevent it, he cried hot tears of hurt feelings and cursed the clarity of his own thoughts telling him Watson had been right. He wasn’t human. He couldn’t feel like others felt, he couldn’t see how others saw, he couldn’t bring his passions from a common spring. He chuckled. Even now his damned brilliant mind couldn’t refrain from bringing up phrases out of the depths of his befuddled brain.
When they were in jail, he and Watson, he couldn’t resist resting his head upon the doctor’s shoulder. He had never spent a night better in the last few weeks. This shoulder, even scarred, had provided so much comfort, warmth and a faint smell of him… He had dreamt of the two of them as kites, flying high in the sky, circling each other in perfect harmony, synchronicity, parallel lines winding at high speed through the dawn…
But then he had been alone, alone in the icy sky - again. Searching for his mate, but he couldn’t detect him…
He awoke with a start then, finding Watson right beside him but so far, far away. Hearing the doctor’s conclusion about his state of mind, (‘I am mentally disturbed.’) the fact, that he would, of course, go to the country-side with HIS wife and at last, Holmes winced, his statement. ‘You are not human!’ Wasn’t he? He searched for his own heart beat, found it hammering in his ears, his pulse point at his throat, an aching in his chest… He clenched his teeth, drew himself up a bit more, one hand at his ankle, the other around his head. If he could get rid of all the tiny voices in his head, all the impacts from the outside world on his fragile system of rules and regulations. How much he thought it a very high, deep cupboard with millions of tiny drawers were he could stow away every tiny detail ever witnessed in his life, give them meaning and a label, sort them anew, finding relations and solutions within seconds… Until every detail fits in the great whole completely… Why, wasn’t that human? To make order out of chaos? A new shudder shook his body. He felt vulnerable, like a tiny bauble made of thin coloured glass, but shattered, molten and reformed, even thinner now than before…
A door fell with a nearly inaudible click. A weight dipped the mattress. A hand touched him through the layers of fabric. Watson.
“Holmes. I want to apologize. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Holmes?” Reluctantly Holmes’ head emerged out of his hiding. He stared into Watson’s face with red eyes and hair like a ruffled bird’s feathers.
“No, Watson. You don’t have to apologize. It’s me who is not human…”
“Holmes! That was… thoughtless of me to say! Of course you are human. You have wept…” A broad hand tried to touch his face but Holmes ducked out of reach.
“Holmes. Look at me, please. I am so sorry! I know that you love me, and everything you did at the Royal and everything you told Mary was only to show me your love. You don’t want to lose me, that’s why… I understand you. I understand you completely…” Holmes, who had half turned to face the doctor, blinked. He said nothing and then he felt a feathery kiss on his forehead. He sobbed and threw himself into the doctor’s arms, felt the body heat, two strong arms embracing him. He felt relief but betrayal also. This damned stupid body!
“Show me, Watson. I need to know…” He whispered, kissing and biting the doctor’s throat, arching into the touch, surrendered to the strong grip of the doctor’s hands pressing him down in a sudden attack onto the mattress, wrapping his own arms around the doctor’s shoulders and head, struggling away the sheets and blankets with his legs.
“I will… here, let me… show… you…” Watson let go of his hold, exposing Holmes’ chest to his hungry eyes, kissing the silky skin, down, down, down to Holmes’ navel, ‘With trousers in bed’ his last coherent thought, when he reached his goal: Holmes’ manhood jutting out hard and demanding. He grinned and started his attack. One hand firmly around the base he licked at the tiny slit and then… brushed his moustache over the tip. Again and again, a left circle, a right circle, up and down, down and up… Holmes’ tensed, a tiny lick, a prickly kiss, a bite… Holmes groaned. He knew he was lost. Too soon he found completion; so mightily he nearly fainted. He sensed Watson’s smiling lips kissing his way upwards again. Finding his nipples he did the same to them as to the still throbbing prick. Watson smiled when Holmes tightened his grip in his hair. He had once done this to Mary and she too had moaned and cried out in lust and pain when he used his teeth upon her. Holmes wasn’t any different. But he was stronger. He had to use more strength to keep him down, stifling his cries with one hand, biting and licking until the tiny nubs were sore and swollen. He growled low in his throat and after several minutes of rubbing his own prick through the fabric against Holmes’ hipbone he spent in his trousers, breathing heavily into Holmes’ neck.
Holmes didn’t move. His eyes were closed, only his chest rose and fell in fast shallow breaths.
“Holmes?” Watson swallowed, grabbed the detective’s wrist and felt his pulse. Fast and strong.
“Holmes?” He touched his cheek and smiled. Holmes seemed to be unconscious. He watched in awe until the detective came to himself again. His dark eyes searched and met the blue gaze. Cerulean blue. Like the sky.
“Watson,” he said. “I was flying…” Watson said nothing. He snuggled closer and smiled, closing his eyes, inhaling the scent of the man lying beside him.
“You fainted.”
“No, I didn’t. I was flying… And you were there… with me.”
“Always, Holmes. I am always where you are…”
Holmes turned his head. He regarded the blue eyes with a warm look then kissed the doctor’s eyebrow.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Your showing me that I’m human.”
The Morning found them entangled like two pieces carved out of one.
****
Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Rating: NC - 17
Word count: ~1100
Warnings: Hurt/comfort, sadness.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Scene from the movie: Holmes and Watson in jail, where Watson accuses Holmes not to be human. Holmes is hurt, but he knows: Watson is right.
A/N: Thanks go to justnyxie. You gave me the idea.
************
It hurt. It hurt so much he balled his fists and bit into his own knuckles. Tears welled up in his eyes, he suppressed a sob and felt his face getting wet. Drawn up closely to a bundle on his bed, covered under layers of fabric, among them his old cloak, he shivered. But as much as he tried to prevent it, he cried hot tears of hurt feelings and cursed the clarity of his own thoughts telling him Watson had been right. He wasn’t human. He couldn’t feel like others felt, he couldn’t see how others saw, he couldn’t bring his passions from a common spring. He chuckled. Even now his damned brilliant mind couldn’t refrain from bringing up phrases out of the depths of his befuddled brain.
When they were in jail, he and Watson, he couldn’t resist resting his head upon the doctor’s shoulder. He had never spent a night better in the last few weeks. This shoulder, even scarred, had provided so much comfort, warmth and a faint smell of him… He had dreamt of the two of them as kites, flying high in the sky, circling each other in perfect harmony, synchronicity, parallel lines winding at high speed through the dawn…
But then he had been alone, alone in the icy sky - again. Searching for his mate, but he couldn’t detect him…
He awoke with a start then, finding Watson right beside him but so far, far away. Hearing the doctor’s conclusion about his state of mind, (‘I am mentally disturbed.’) the fact, that he would, of course, go to the country-side with HIS wife and at last, Holmes winced, his statement. ‘You are not human!’ Wasn’t he? He searched for his own heart beat, found it hammering in his ears, his pulse point at his throat, an aching in his chest… He clenched his teeth, drew himself up a bit more, one hand at his ankle, the other around his head. If he could get rid of all the tiny voices in his head, all the impacts from the outside world on his fragile system of rules and regulations. How much he thought it a very high, deep cupboard with millions of tiny drawers were he could stow away every tiny detail ever witnessed in his life, give them meaning and a label, sort them anew, finding relations and solutions within seconds… Until every detail fits in the great whole completely… Why, wasn’t that human? To make order out of chaos? A new shudder shook his body. He felt vulnerable, like a tiny bauble made of thin coloured glass, but shattered, molten and reformed, even thinner now than before…
A door fell with a nearly inaudible click. A weight dipped the mattress. A hand touched him through the layers of fabric. Watson.
“Holmes. I want to apologize. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Holmes?” Reluctantly Holmes’ head emerged out of his hiding. He stared into Watson’s face with red eyes and hair like a ruffled bird’s feathers.
“No, Watson. You don’t have to apologize. It’s me who is not human…”
“Holmes! That was… thoughtless of me to say! Of course you are human. You have wept…” A broad hand tried to touch his face but Holmes ducked out of reach.
“Holmes. Look at me, please. I am so sorry! I know that you love me, and everything you did at the Royal and everything you told Mary was only to show me your love. You don’t want to lose me, that’s why… I understand you. I understand you completely…” Holmes, who had half turned to face the doctor, blinked. He said nothing and then he felt a feathery kiss on his forehead. He sobbed and threw himself into the doctor’s arms, felt the body heat, two strong arms embracing him. He felt relief but betrayal also. This damned stupid body!
“Show me, Watson. I need to know…” He whispered, kissing and biting the doctor’s throat, arching into the touch, surrendered to the strong grip of the doctor’s hands pressing him down in a sudden attack onto the mattress, wrapping his own arms around the doctor’s shoulders and head, struggling away the sheets and blankets with his legs.
“I will… here, let me… show… you…” Watson let go of his hold, exposing Holmes’ chest to his hungry eyes, kissing the silky skin, down, down, down to Holmes’ navel, ‘With trousers in bed’ his last coherent thought, when he reached his goal: Holmes’ manhood jutting out hard and demanding. He grinned and started his attack. One hand firmly around the base he licked at the tiny slit and then… brushed his moustache over the tip. Again and again, a left circle, a right circle, up and down, down and up… Holmes’ tensed, a tiny lick, a prickly kiss, a bite… Holmes groaned. He knew he was lost. Too soon he found completion; so mightily he nearly fainted. He sensed Watson’s smiling lips kissing his way upwards again. Finding his nipples he did the same to them as to the still throbbing prick. Watson smiled when Holmes tightened his grip in his hair. He had once done this to Mary and she too had moaned and cried out in lust and pain when he used his teeth upon her. Holmes wasn’t any different. But he was stronger. He had to use more strength to keep him down, stifling his cries with one hand, biting and licking until the tiny nubs were sore and swollen. He growled low in his throat and after several minutes of rubbing his own prick through the fabric against Holmes’ hipbone he spent in his trousers, breathing heavily into Holmes’ neck.
Holmes didn’t move. His eyes were closed, only his chest rose and fell in fast shallow breaths.
“Holmes?” Watson swallowed, grabbed the detective’s wrist and felt his pulse. Fast and strong.
“Holmes?” He touched his cheek and smiled. Holmes seemed to be unconscious. He watched in awe until the detective came to himself again. His dark eyes searched and met the blue gaze. Cerulean blue. Like the sky.
“Watson,” he said. “I was flying…” Watson said nothing. He snuggled closer and smiled, closing his eyes, inhaling the scent of the man lying beside him.
“You fainted.”
“No, I didn’t. I was flying… And you were there… with me.”
“Always, Holmes. I am always where you are…”
Holmes turned his head. He regarded the blue eyes with a warm look then kissed the doctor’s eyebrow.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Your showing me that I’m human.”
The Morning found them entangled like two pieces carved out of one.
****