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1:00 am.
It was a very quiet night.
Much too quiet for what I would have liked better since I was still awake. The only way I can put my feelings into words is that I needed to hear Holmes’ voice. It was as if I could almost see his tall figure sitting in the armchair in front of me, his features highlighted by the warm light that our fireplace usually brings us, especially that sparkle in his eyes when he got lost in his train of thought. Without him, I had to get lost in my own train and it was a very unstable one. Every second that the clock ticked increased my fears. Those investigations when Holmes insisted that I could not go with him felt like torture. I stood up, hands behind my back, and began to walk the short distance between said chair and my own again and again.
I fell and sat down again, white as paper, when I turned and my vision became reality: Holmes was sitting in his assigned seat, his fingertips pressed together to support his face. I could never get used to him using those hidden entrances, but I knew all too well that they had helped him survive a few dangerous encounters.
“Holmes,” a quiet greeting, a hint of concern in my voice.
“Watson,” a warm greeting, a hint of mockery in his smile, “my dearest friend, why are you up so late?” His smile soon faded to a tired one and the mere sight of it worried me, but that did not stop me from snapping at his question.
“Why am I up so late?” I repeated, raising my voice a little. “Holmes, you left more than three hours ago…”
“Lies. Two hours and forty-eight minutes, to be exact.”
I hurried to my feet once again, grabbing him by the thick coat he was wearing to make him stand as well.
“There is no place for these little corrections of yours, Holmes. I was worried sick about you, that you were in need of help and I had no way of knowing back here at home.” I can proudly describe myself as a patient man, but Holmes seemed to be a specialist in getting on my nerves.
The only response I got was a wince that Holmes could not hide. I quickly pulled the coat I was tightly grabbing off his shoulders, only to be horrified when I confirmed my suspicion.
“You’re hurt. Holmes, you’ve been shot.” I had to say it out loud. It was the only reaction I could manage at the moment.
“It really is nothing…” his smile as he said what to me was an obvious lie to me was way much warmer than Holmes was used to. He seemed to be trying to soothe me with it, but it wasn’t going to work.
“Holmes, would you do me a favour?” I asked, no smile on my own face to be seen in response.
“What is it?”
“Please, just be quiet. Don’t complain. Don’t argue with me.” I frowned. “I’m asking this not only as a doctor, but as a friend.”
Sherlock opened his mouth as if he were to protest once again, but when we met each other’s gaze and he realised I was serious, he finally shut himself up. And the thought of Sherlock Holmes being silent struck me as if it were an achievement. “Follow me upstairs,” I commanded, expecting him to say nothing again and having luck with that.
Holmes and I entered my medical office and I guided him to sit so I could examine him. I finished removing his coat and sighed deeply as I could see more clearly his white shirt stained by his blood.
“Holmes…” I murmured, “you should have let me go with you,” it was my turn to complain now.
“No, my dear Watson. As you can see, it was a very dangerous mission that I had to do on my own. I couldn’t have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you,” he wasn't going to stop himself from talking now, but I didn’t stop him this time either . I couldn’t bring myself to that. It was honestly sweet when he showed that he cared about me, especially knowing how impossible it was for Sherlock Holmes to bond with someone the way he had bonded with myself.
“Still… if we both had been together, we could have protected each other, like we did so many times before,” I rushed to shush him when I noticed he was going to talk back, not wanting him to be stubborn again. As we shared those words, I had been unbuttoning his shirt so that I could remove it too and begin to heal the wound. Fortunately, it wasn’t bleeding any more and, after examining him carefully, I noticed that the bullet hadn’t penetrated Holmes’ skin. That made me sigh again, this time in relief. “You’re going to be just fine, but I have to clean the area and cover it up. It might hurt,” I warned.
“Go on,” he nodded and lowered his gaze. It seemed as if he was feeling shy or nervous, and that was really unusual of him.
“Are you all right, my dear Holmes?”
“It does hurt,” he tried to laugh it off, but he couldn’t fool me. After all these years, I know him way better than I know myself.
“I know,” but those were the only two words that I managed to barely whisper. Now that my concern for him had stopped manifesting as anger, I started to feel a deep pressure down my chest.
Holmes could have died.
Of course I knew that his occupation was full of risks, but I could never get totally used to the idea. In fact, it just gets worse every day. Because every day that goes by, the closer I feel to Holmes and the more terrified I am of losing him.
I stepped away from him so I could clean my hands and noticed they were shaking. I took a deep breath and tried to pull myself together before returning to his side, where I couldn’t help but hold his face gently. He was going to talk but I shushed him once again.
“My dear… friend,” it was as if that last word was trying to resist escaping my lips. It seemed unnecessary, the first two seemed enough. “You don’t seem to understand how frightened I was to even think I’d lost you…”
"Watson," it was always a pleasure to hear him call my name.
“No.” Nevertheless, I wasn’t done. He sighed and put his hands on top of mine’s, but with no intention of making me let go of his face. “You always do the talking. Now, please, listen to me.” Another sigh escaped him and he seemed to shiver under my touch, giving up again and nodding slightly to prove it. “Do you know how important you are to me?” Holmes nodded to said question. “No, you don’t know it,” it was also my turn to be stubborn, to contradict him, to study his features and reactions closely to try and guess what he was thinking. “If you knew it, you wouldn’t be so careless and put yourself in danger all the time.”
“I’m solving crimes, Watson. I’m helping people here,” he frowned and spoke louder.
“I know, my dear.” That was it. Now, just those two words to address him were more than enough and Holmes seemed to agree. “And you’re the best at what you do,” even if it sounded condescending, it was just the truth and we both knew it, “but, still, it’s okay to use some help. I understand if you can’t count on Scotland Yard, but… what about me?”
“You’re the best companion I could have ever asked for… my dearest,” two words. Just two of them that could have made me melt right away. “I’d hope you were always by my side, but I might find myself giving up to stain my own hands with blood if anyone laid a finger on you to hurt you,” I shut my eyes closed, shaking my head no.
“Holmes, I…” we reverted to our usual roles as he was the one to shush me again, but not literally, he just left me speechless as he took my hands and planted a kiss on them.
“Hey… these are the hands that can heal me. You too are the best at what you do, Doctor. If you’re doing all right you can always help me.”
“And I will,” Three more words, one promise. I smiled softly, shaking my head again. My thoughts were running through my head, they were fighting each other, trying to ignore other three words that wanted to come out of my chest. “I love you,” three words that won. Because no, it hadn't been a short battle. I had been trying to stop myself from saying that for such a very long time that I didn’t even remember when my feelings evolved to love, to a love that didn’t need to add the word ‘friend’ to it either.
The silence that formed just after felt like a stab to my already sore chest. I could only think about how wrong those words were. Not only because of the social implications, which were a reason big enough, but also because of how Holmes avoided every feeling to ever exist, especially love. I always saved to myself the hope that he just averted women and was capable of feeling love if it was for a man. If it was for me…
“What?” That was the only word that broke that silence, and it hurt me even more. I shook my head and remained silent again, biting my own lip nervously and trying to tell him I was sorry but not a single word came out of my lips.
Holmes’ expression was a puzzle that I couldn’t figure out. I didn’t know what to do. I started to freak out, to immediately think that I had ruined our relationship forever. Even if those thoughts made me want to hold onto his face tighter, I realised it was much better to let him go.
“No, wait… did you… did you just say you loved me?” Holmes was the one to hold into my hands tighter so he wouldn’t let me go away and hide from what I’d just confessed.
“I… I did. And I’m sorry,” I finally recovered my voice after his question, swallowing nervously.
“No, there is nothing to be sorry about, dear” hearing him call me that again caught my attention, making me feel a little less desperate.
“But…” I began.
“Don’t you ‘but’ me, Watson. Can it be my turn to speak again and yours to listen?” A gentle smile appeared on his face while I nodded to that. “It’s just that I never thought anyone could ever love me,” he started and I wasn’t capable of interrupting him again. I wanted and needed to listen to him, to be comforted by such sweet words. “What we have is just… so important. You know how I’ve always tried to avoid feelings. I’ve always thought that it would be the best way to focus on solving cases, right?” I just nodded again, a pint of anxiety crossing my body all over again, especially since that pause was longer than the former. “But I’m a human being, after all. Even if it’s unbelievable,” he laughed briefly and I responded with a light, shy smile. “The years have been going by and it’s getting harder and harder not to develop feelings for you,” it was still a very Holme-ish way of explaining it, but I loved every word of it.
“Ah, what kind of feelings?” I managed to express that question in a slightly flirtatious way, I couldn’t help but tease him now that hearing that he felt the same way made all my fears go away.
“Hey, I’m sure I’ve taught you well enough to make such a simple deduction,” he teased me back, and I couldn’t deny how much I was enjoying it.
“Well, but it’d be a thousand times better if you just told me, Holmes…” I shook my head with a sideways smile.
For the mere look in his face, I realised he was dying to complain again, but he sighed and stopped.
“I…” it was a novelty as well to see him stutter. “I do think I love you too, Watson,” he finally said, digging his fingers into my hands that were still holding him tenderly.
We looked at each other for a couple of seconds in silence, in the best silence I had ever experienced. It was warm and so peaceful, but I couldn’t help but break it again with an incomplete question: “May I…?” Such an obvious statement was nothing to his deductive genius, so he quickly nodded and pulled me closer for a kiss before either of us could regret it.
It felt like heaven on earth. Now that it was happening I could fully realise how much I actually needed it, how much I was practically yearning for something like that to happen, to deepen the bond that Holmes and I had been growing all those years. I lowered my hands to hold his waist and since he was still shirtless it felt good enough to make both of us shiver, soft sighs kind of interrupting our kissing, but we made up for it almost immediately.
“This just feels like the most amazing thing ever…” I said when we had to stop to catch our breath.
“It might be,” he smiled, I smiled back.
We couldn’t keep our lips apart for more than a few seconds, not after that long time waiting for it; not the two hours and forty-eight minutes, but all those years trying to keep our love as just a proper friendship between two gentlemen.