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Six Weeks	By : Leloi Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 4258 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter List
- 1-Six Weeks
- 2-Week 2
- 3-Week 3
- 4-Week 4
- 5-Week 5
- 3
- 4
- 5
Week 4, Holmes

The case had lasted much longer than I intended. It was really rather difficult orchestrating it behind the scenes as Lestrade insisted I do. I suspect he wasn’t too keen on having Watson angry at him. My fingers explored the edge of the seat in the hansom I sat in, waiting for Lestrade’s return. It didn’t take long. The door opened and the shift in balance announced the Inspector’s arrival. He sat opposite me, rearranging his coat as the hansom lurched with a start. “The sweethearts are safe and sound.” He gave me a smile. “Thanks to your aid, Mr. Holmes, Lady Barrington wasn’t too happy with sharing the stage lights with another diva.” Chuckling, he seemed pleased with himself. No doubt he had worked on that metaphor the whole time.

“Indeed.” I replied. “How did you know them to be sweethearts?” I couldn’t help but ask. I made certain to leave out those particulars when I briefed Lestrade on the case.

“I’ve seen plenty of sweethearts, Mr. Holmes. I know what they look like.” His eyes fastened on mine for an uncomfortable moment before he finally looked away. “We best be getting you home to the good Doctor. He must be worried sick by now wondering where you went.”

I refrained from answering. The Doctor’s reaction weighed heavily upon my own mind. No doubt he would be furious… or forgiving. A part of me feared that in my absence he had packed his belongings and vacated our rooms. I prayed to every entity I could think of that he would still at least be there.

Finally the hansom pulled up to my home on Baker Street and I looked out at the building as I eased myself out of the cab. Lestrade was at my side, taking part of my weight as he helped me up the steps to our sitting room. Cautiously I opened the door.

There sat Watson, reading on our couch. At the sound of the door he didn’t look up, his eyes intent on the page. I let out a relieved breath, elated to know that he hadn’t disappeared. But he didn’t move. His eyes didn’t flicker or register Lestrade’s or my entrance into the room.

“Doctor?” Lestrade queried.

Watson’s face took a moment to register the voice and he looked to Lestrade, suddenly breaking into a smile. “Inspector Lestrade, this is a pleasant surprise. Have you been on any interesting cases lately?” Coming forward, he took the inspector’s hand, shaking it warmly.

“Just one…” Lestrade replied, looking to me for guidance.

I was speechless.

“It just finished. I’m sure you know the case. You should be happy to know the soprano was returned.” Lestrade’s synopsis was short but I couldn’t answer, so unnerved was I at Watson’s peculiar nature.

“That’s splendid! If Holmes were here I’m sure he’d be interested in hearing of it.” Watson stared intently at the inspector.

“I’m here, Watson.” I whispered.

“He likes those sorts of tales. Although I’m afraid he’s… he’s just not in at the moment.” Watson went on. I could see moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes. It hurt to be ignored so thoroughly, especially by him. I wanted to reach out and hold him or slap him and demand that he look at me. I couldn’t do anything while the inspector stood there.

Lestrade reached out and gently placed his hand on Watson’s shoulder. “I kept him safe for you, Doctor. He did not participate except in consultation. He was guarded by at least two men then entire time.”

Watson stared down at the floor, shoulders hunched.

Quickly Lestrade went to the side board and poured out a drink to give to Watson. “Here you go, Doctor. It’s alright. Breathe.”

Watson took the drink, clutching it tightly.

“I don’t understand…” I said quietly to Lestrade. “What’s going on?”

Lestrade helped Watson sit down and take the drink to his lips. “Don’t be fooled by that pretty story he wrote about your death, Mr. Holmes. The Doctor was greatly unnerved by his loss. So much so he had to be sedated.” Gently he knelt before Watson. “It’s alright…” He smiled kindly. “Holmes is alive. I brought him back to you.” Standing he gave me a grim look and waved me closer. “Be kind to him.”

Mrs. Hudson came in with a tea tray. “Oh! Good gracious! I thought it was the doctor moving around. I was hoping he was up for eating.” Her eyes caught on me and she gave me a hard look. Angrily she shoved the tray into my hands. “You left him like this, Mr. Holmes. You feed him.”

Lestrade gave me a clap on the shoulder. “Take good care of the doctor, Mr. Holmes. I leave him in your capable hands. I’ll check back in a few hours once I get the paperwork sorted out.” Soon he and Mrs. Hudson were gone, leaving me with a despondent Watson.

I set the tea tray on the floor and knelt before Watson. I couldn’t wrap my mind around this. He had always been my strength. It hurt to see him so broken. Gently I pushed him back on the couch to lay on it. His eyes stared ahead, empty. That, by far was the most painful. Watson’s eyes always held SOMETHING, whether it was love or concern… never emptiness. I held his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.” I kissed his hand, his large, solid hand. At times it was clumsy, but more often it was strong… and warm. When he probed me or stretched me I was at their mercy. I wanted nothing more than to be held by his hands… or kissed by his mustached lip… or seen by his soulful, loving eyes. He was a man. Ever muscle and pore screamed “man.” He was THE man… but unlike THE woman, a creature after my own heart, I wanted to be a part of this man and join with him. I wanted him to worship only me as I worshiped him. I wanted to know every fiber of his being and be known. Most of all I wanted to fill the lonely aching need inside of me that I didn’t know existed until the day we met. I’ve tried so hard to better myself to please him. For him I learned and retained the information no matter how senseless it was to know that the earth moves around the sun. “The earth revolves around the sun… I still remember it. I remember every senseless thing you’ve ever told me.” I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heart. “I can’t help it… it’s because I love you.”

His hand tightened a bit on mine and I knew that he had heard me.

“I’ve loved you since the moment we met and you feigned fascination at my discovery, not having the least clue what it meant. I loved how you tried to guide my learning. I loved how you watched me… and seeing the happiness on your face, even though I knew it was because of another person.” I sat in the floor, my head resting near his hip. “You were my first broken heart and my first love. Imagine that! And my first real pleasure…” I was rather enjoying myself, thinking out loud about Watson. “And when I was in exile… I thought about you. I wondered how you were doing. Your little stories about your day always amused me… even though they became more and more about her… your wife. I let you go, severed the bind we had by faking my death so you could be with her and only her. So you wouldn’t be tied down with me. She was your wife… by rights you two should have been together and I had no place in that. I couldn’t forget you, but I hoped you would forget me. I couldn’t forget you… and I couldn’t stay away. That’s why I came back. But I have no intention, John, of ever letting you go without a fight to my very last breath. I would rather be dead than live without you.” I was shocked when Watson’s hand hit me on the head. He had rolled over, carelessly flailing an arm and was snoring softly. Just how long he had been asleep I couldn’t guess.

I watched him. It seemed like time had stopped and all I could do was watch him. The slack innocence in his face as he dreamed always fascinated me. His worries always disappeared and I could watch his eyelids flutter in dream. Sometimes he would call my name. I don’t know how long I sat there watching him but all too soon it ended with Lestrade returning as promised.

“I thought you might like some aid. He’s asleep? I’ll carry him to his bed then.” Lestrade picked up the doctor and took him to the bedroom, returning a short time later to where I sat by the couch. “When Doctor Watson returned to London after your death he immediately came to me. He informed me himself about what happened to you. I don’t know, maybe he just wanted to voice it to another person. Or maybe he thought I would be concerned. I was concerned but that’s beside the point. He was a very different man when he came to me.”

“Different? How?” I asked.

“Well he told me the narrative of what happened in the case as normal as can be so at first I didn’t even know anything had happened to you. He told the story all the way up to finding your farewell note. Then he stopped. A horrified look came over him and he covered his face in his hands. ‘He’s dead! He’s dead! My Holmes is dead! He fell!’ he cried. ‘I should have been there… I should have gone with him.’ he sobbed. And he was actually sobbing. In all my years I have never seen such a display. I offered him a drink and he gulped him down. I gave him several and his sobs eventually calmed down. ‘What will I do without him?’ he asked and all I could do was try and remind him about his wife, his career. That didn’t seem to please him. I kept an eye on him after that. Luckily for us his wife, god rest her soul, helped pull him out of his sadness and for a time he seemed almost cheerful… until she too died. But her death didn’t seem to touch him the same way yours did.” Lestrade stared at me the entire time as if to gauge my reactions.

What I heard most distressed me. “I didn’t realize he was fond of me that much.”

“No offense, Mr. Holmes… but if you ever decide to fake your death again you best tell the poor man so he doesn’t have to go through that… if you have any care for him at all.”

“I shall try and remember that… thank you for reminding me.” I whispered.

Lestrade clapped me on the shoulder. “Good lad. I’ll see myself out.” He left and shut the door behind him.

I sat there where he had left me and stared down at the rug. I had done this… I had pushed this dark mood upon him. I knew I was often victim to morose moods… but I had no idea that Watson could be affected too. Of course he had seen horrible things in war and no doubt had seen many friends die. And then he lost me and it pushed him into the darkness.

Rubbing my face I noticed the flash of gold from Watson’s ring on my finger. His inscription had been “Beloved.” I got up, went to Watson’s door and entered.
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Six Weeks