Work Text:
1896
To the day, it has been fifteen years since taking up residence at Baker Street.
Though the cause for my jubilant mood was a mystery to those around me, they played along readily enough. I am blessed to have friends who are willing to follow my whims on occasion without too many questions asked, and so when I insisted we meet at the pub for drinks that evening that was what we did.
I drank more heavily than was my usual habit and ignored the sidelong warning glances I received from Holmes. I deliberately ignored that he drank very little. Everyone I cared about in our little circle of friends was by my side and I couldn't care less about anything else. It was a grand evening.
But as all grand evenings do, they draw to and end as morning rolls in. My legs were unsteady, my words slurred, and Lestrade and the others bid farewell.
“Time to get you home, Dr Watson.” Holmes teased patiently, though I could see he was clearly more than ready to be on his way.
We were only a few blocks away from Baker Street, the night was clear and the weather mild. We took a slow pace, neither one of us in much of a hurry to get anywhere.
“You've been quiet.” I noted. “Did you enjoy the evening?”
“You enjoyed it enough for the both of us, I believe,” Holmes answered.
"You disapprove?" There was no tone to his words to distinguish what he might mean and I was in no mood for riddles.
"Of your overindulgence in alcohol? I am hardly the one to cast stones." We walked a while further in silence. "Though your behaviour does perplex me, nonetheless,” he said.
“Oh does it? Pray, tell me, why?”
“There is something hidden behind your mask.” He glanced at me and then back at the road ahead.
“I'm doing nothing of the sort. I had an excellent time.”
“You are determined to be content. That is not the same as actually being content.”
I stumbled on a cobblestone and Holmes caught my arm before I could fall. “Can we not simply enjoy ourselves?” I asked.
“That isn't what this is. You have performed the same ritual every year since we've met, save for the ones I was absent. It is the anniversary of the day we moved into Baker Street, as you are fully aware.”
“I am aware.” It was true, I’d taken Holmes out for a drink on this same date every year. I didn't think he noticed. I stopped and leaned against the building beside me, no longer feeling pleasantly off balance but simply tired, dizzy, and old. “I simply did not think you were aware. It is as good a cause as any to celebrate, is it not?"
"Is it?" He asked.
"It isn't?" I shot back. "Why shouldn't we celebrate?"
"Why did you not tell anyone what we are celebrating? Not even me?" He asked.
He had a point. Why didn't I? The answer was obvious was it not? How else could I mark the importance of something I did not dare to acknowledge other than secretly?
“You are intoxicated.” Holmes insisted and pulled on my arm to get us moving again. “I did not mean to dampen the mood. You are correct, it is perfectly acceptable that we go out and enjoy ourselves.”
“Thank you.”
We walked a couple more minutes in silence, but the nagging voice in my head was enough to keep me occupied. If I didn't say it now, I might lose my nerve to ever do so again.
Baker Street was in sight. If not now... I dared not contemplate another fifteen years of silence.
I stopped and took hold of his wrist. I cleared my throat. “Everything ends,” I said softly. “It has ended once already.”
For once, he waited quietly for me to continue.
“Holmes." There had to be words for this, but even in hindsight I can not fathom what they might be. "I don’t want this to end.” There. It was less than what I wanted to say and yet exactly what was in my heart.
“Then let's not ever end it.” He said very seriously. He adjusted my hold on his arm so that my hand was tucked into his elbow, and together we walked home.