Watson stood in stunned silence; he had come home early from visiting his daughter who was at university, only to find Holmes in the throws of passion with a younger man.

 

Watson cleared his throat; horrified Holmes pushed the younger man away, and leapt to his feet pulling his dressing gown tight around him.

 

“Watson I wasn’t expecting you back until next week” Holmes could hardly look him in the eye

 

“Obviously. “ He took a deep breath and fought back the tears “I think I shall retire to my room, it IS still MY room is it not? His voice cracked, and his eyes betrayed the pain with in.

 

Watson turned and staggered up the stairs to the solitude of his bedroom. He sat heavily upon his bed and wept silently.

 

 

At breakfast in the morning Holmes sat in silence waiting for Watson to make mention of the previous evening. He noticed that Watson still wore the same clothes, and his greying hair was unkempt and the smell of alcohol clung to him.  His eyes were bloodshot, Holmes was unsure if it were the crying or the drink that had caused it.

 

Watson sat down at the table and lowered his head; he was unsure what to say. Part of him was curious as to who this younger man was. Part of him was furious with Holmes for what he had done, whilst yet another part could well understand the allure of the younger man. His body lean his hair a chestnut brown; he was a fine figure of a man, as Watson himself had been in his youth.

 

Watson looked at his reflection in the silver teapot; he slid his hand through his greying hair, and then rested his hand on his stomach, patting the slight paunch. He felt old and useless.  Holmes had begun to rely on him less and less in cases. Now it seemed he had no use for him at all.

 

Watson looked at Holmes; he placed a small box in front of him and made his way back to his room.

 

Holmes opened the box with curiosity; inside was the most beautiful gold watch he had ever seen. It was very expensive and must have cost Watson at least 3 months of combined wages and pension.  He turned the watch over in his hand, studying every detail.  When finally he opened it the inscription was simple, but held meaning. “To the best and wisest man I will ever know” Holmes smiled though he knew who had inscribed the watch, to anyone else it would look quite innocent as though the person were simply echoing words written by Watson years ago. There was a folded piece of paper in the box as well. Holmes carefully unfolded the paper; the note read,  “Happy 20^th Anniversary. It has been my privilege to be your biographer, friend and lover. May our next 20 years be as filled with adventure and each other as the last. Watson.”

 

Holmes sat back in quiet meditation; he didn’t hear the whispered good bye or the front door close. He didn’t see Watson tearfully hailed the cab then ride off. He had yet to realise that Watson had walked out of his life, and in all likelihood would not be returning.

 

The realisation hit him when he went to Watson’s room to check on him and found the room empty. There was no note or token, just an empty bedroom. Holmes sat on the bed and thought about all the times he and Watson had made love there, all the times they just lay there happy to be to together. He thought of all the times he had carried Watson to bed either because he was exhausted from events or wounded or because of his drinking.

That night he slept in Watson’s bed, but dreamt of a younger mans touch.