Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Young men and women often came Baker’s Street not only in crime matters. They sometimes came here not for Holmes but for me. I was known among feminist organisations and men like my dear companion for performing illegal surgeries on people in case of unwanted pregnancies or removing breasts.

For many years I refused to do mastectomy on my detective, even after many pleas. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to be comfortable in his body, but I was scared to do it because I knew Holmes will not wait to fully recover before taking another case which can lead to many unpleasant side effects.

I gave in to his desire only because I couldn’t look at his attempts to flatten his chest nearly broke his rib. I said that he should take better care of himself. My remark led to an argument, what led to me to finally get him what he wanted.

No longer than 8 weeks later his scars were almost fully healed and he asked me to let him take a case. I categorically forbade it, arguing that he didn’t get any case anyway. At this words- as in to mock me- Mrs Hudson came with a letter addressed to Mr Sherlock Holmes.

My companion took the letter from her and called her off. He opened it and read.

‘I must disappoint you, my dear. My old friend just asked me to meet at 4’ He smirked. ‘oh, pray, John, let me take it.’

He knew he could get almost everything my simply calling me my name. I sighed.

‘You drive me mad, dear boy.’ I sat down on the sofa ‘I’ll let you, but only if you promise to be careful.’

‘Everything for you.’ He promised happily, sitting on my lap. ‘I hate you.’ I mouthed, but Holmes just gave me a peck on the cheek and smiled sweetly.

Exactly at 4 PM we heard doors opening from downstairs and Holmes stood up so fast that he had to grab my arm to steady himself. Then a gentleman walked in greeting my detective.

‘Sebastian, meet my companion, Dr Watson.’ He said looking at me.

I got up from my seat to shake the man’s hand. His hands were ink stained hand and a firm grip so I ass he was a writer. Oh, Holmes would be so proud of my deduction.

‘So, dear friend, what are you coming with?’ Detective asked our client.

‘You see, my friend – Basil, was supposed to exhibit his works in France, he even supposedly bought a ticket to Paris but he never arrived there. No one heard from him or saw him anywhere. He never disappeared for such a long time’ Sebastian stated.

‘when did you last see him? And where?’ My detective asked.

‘A week ago, day before his disapirence’ Our client replied ‘In his art studio’

Chapter Text

We arrived at the studio at half past 7. It was a big room with walls covered in paintings. In the middle stood a pedestal and an easel next to a table with various kinds of paint and brushes. Majority of men in that paintings had the same face and the same blonde locks of sweet-looking cupid.
‘Who is that?’ Holmes asked.

‘I don’t know his name’ Our client answered ‘I know he used to sit for dear Basil. He talked about him a lot, but he never reveals names of people that are dear to him.’

We walked around the place, looking for clues. I found a square painting covered by cloth. I he removed the cloth from the painting and revealed a portrait of a man identical to my Holmes, just healthier and with a moustache.

‘Holmes, look!’ I called him off and in a second he was standing behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder, inspecting the portrait. ‘Who do you think it is?’ I asked.

‘That’s Basil.’ Said the voice behind us. ‘He worked on his autoportrait when I last seen him’

I looked closer. It was definitely unfinished, the background was half done, his face lacked highlights I looked down, at his suit and saw green carnation in his hand. I looked at Holmes, he knew what that meant. Mr. Hallward was a man just like us.

My companion hid the picture quickly, in case Yard will also start looking for our painter. It was completely unnecessary to ruin innocent man’s reputation by our imprudence.

‘Thank you, Herman’ Sherlock clapped his hands. ‘I saw enough’

As we arrived at Baker Street, my companion basically run the stairs to his room. I reminded him he’s not supposed to move that much and that he should rest. He ignored me, searching his drawers, looking for something.

I took his hands and lead him to sit on the sofa. He pouted but he knew I’m right. I kissed his forehead.

‘What do you need, love? I’d get it for you.’ I said.

He wanted his flowers. They were in my room so I went to get them for him. Indeed. Same as on the portrait. That ment our painter probably attended certain kind of parties.

I knew what Holmes wanted to do next. As much as I didn’t want to let him party in such state but I also knew a man like my dearest companion is not to be stopped.