Work Text:
Retirement suits my Watson. In the first few months after he joined me in Sussex, he grew soft and lovely and happier than I had seen him in years. We were comfortable together in our gentle domesticity. Casual touches between us became more frequent and often lasted for longer. I found myself looking for excuses to touch him, craving the warmth that bloomed over my skin at the gentle brush of his fingers. It seemed to me that he was doing the same, although it could have been an invention caused by the strength of my affection for him. I decided that I would have to give him some definite token of my love.
One morning, he announced that he was going into the village and would not be back until lunchtime.
“Shall you need me to do anything for lunch?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “I shall bring something back. You just stay out of trouble until I get home.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, I will be quite safe with my bees and my writing. Enjoy yourself.”
He leaned down to press a soft kiss to my cheek before leaving. I sat stunned for some minutes. My Watson had kissed me. Hope bloomed wild in my chest. Perhaps he did return my feelings.
I roused myself and went out to tend to my bees. I spent a long time talking to them while I did what I needed to. When I had finished, I went back inside to have a cup of tea and do the crossword. It was as I sat at the kitchen table, gazing out of the window, that an idea came to me. Watson loved flowers, so I would gather him some wildflowers from the meadow. I go out to do it just before he was due back. I imagined how it would make him smile, that lovely smile that always made my knees feel weak.
After I had finished my tea, I settled to do some work on a monograph. This kept me occupied until half an hour before Watson was due home. Then I went out to the meadow to gather my flowers. I paid attention to which types the bees visited most often, judging that those must have the sweetest scents. I carefully picked a small handful, then headed back inside. I placed the flowers in one of our small vases, then sat down to await the arrival of my sweetheart. My hands twisted nervously on the table while my thoughts chased each other around my brain. At last, the click of the gate signalled Watson’s return. I got up as he came through the front door.
“How was it in the village?” I asked as he entered the kitchen.
“It was very pleasant,” he replied, setting down his shopping bag upon the worktop. “How was your morning, my dear?”
I twitched a smile, warmth moving through me at his words. “I accomplished what I wanted to,” I said. “And I picked you some wildflowers from the meadow.”
I was almost afraid to see his reaction, despite the positive signs he had already given me.
He smiled broadly, and I felt my heart flutter. “They’re lovely, Sherlock,” he said.
Now was the time to be brave. “I wanted to make you smile,” I said softly. “I love you, my dearest John.”
He moved forward and wrapped his arms around me. I returned the embrace, burying my face in his shoulder and inhaling his warm scent.
“I love you too,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing my ear. “I only wish I had been brave enough to tell you years ago.”
I raised my head and leaned in to capture his lips in a soft kiss. He returned the kiss and we smiled against each other’s lips. It did not matter how much time we had lost, only how much we had left.