Untitled

By: QrYx

Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary Morstan

Summary: Holmes reflects on Watson's actions leading up to Watson's
declaration of his proposal to Mary.

Warning: Angst.

Rating: PG

A/N: I've taken some liberties with canon, I think the timeline
might be a little obscured, but it's mostly set sometime before and
during a Sign of Four. I know Holmes is slightly out of character
here, it got away from me but I don't see anything that can be
changed mostly. It's sort of very personal to me as many of Holmes'
thoughts are my own, and think it should be similar to people going
through or who have gone through similar situations. I hope it's
coherent enough to the readers as well… it makes sense to me and
since it's something as personal as this, I'm reluctant to pass this
on to a beta even though I should. In fact, I'm not even sure I want
to post it as it was mostly a cathartic thing for me but since I've
written it, I might as well. Anyway, there are some quotations
towards the end taken from SIGN and for those who can't make it out,
Watson is speaking throughout it all with Holmes narrating his POV.
Ummm that's all I guess, please read and review… enjoy…

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"No," Just one word, not even shouted, maybe if it had been shouted,
but no, it had been spoken softly, in his smooth, calm tenor voice.
If he had shown some emotion, some sign that this was hurting him as
much as it was hurting me, maybe then it would feel better. Not even
hurt would be necessary, just some emotion, regret, mocking even
would be better then this calm resolve.

"I cannot continue this." Why? Even with my prowess in logic, at
deduction and analysis, even if I know the reasons behind his
decision, I still want to shout out why. Funny that. I want to
barrage him with countless questions, explore each and every action
of mine that caused him to come to this decision. What changed to
start all this? Why did I, the great detective, not have any inkling
that this was going on in his thoughts? Why did he not talk to me
about this first before summarily making his decision? Why?

"It's not you, it's me, it's my fault." Of course, he assures
steadfastly and with all sincerity that it is not my fault, nothing
I could have done different. It's all him, all his decision, he was
to blame. His fickleness and lack of self-knowledge was what brought
us to this impasse, at least that's what he claims. But no, can I
believe that? Dare I believe it? How can it be? Simple elementary
will prove that it could not be because of him? God knows I am not
an easy person to love. My mood swings, my selfishness, my temper,
my constant mocking of his abilities, it's a wonder he even was
willing to begin it in the first place. There isn't even the
redeeming grace of attractiveness that could explain it all. I
suppose I should count myself lucky that there is something to
mourn. Somehow though, repeating the mantra of `it is better to love
and lost then never to have loved at all' does not take away the
pain.

"I'm sorry." Why even say that? What does that mean? That he's sorry
he even started it in the first place? Did he regret it all? Or that
he's sorry to have to put an end to it. If that's the case, then why
do it at all? If what we had made him as happy as he claims it did,
and if I did nothing wrong, then why? Why end it? The whys resound
on and on constantly, filling up my brain whenever my effort to fill
the time and the emptiness with work and continual activity fails.

"I'm just not able to give you what you want." Is what I want all
that different from what everyone wants? I'll admit, it is illegal
but the crime has been committed, the sin has been partaken. So why
shy away now? Is it because of the change? Because it's beyond the
norm? Since when did I ever claim to be normal? But no, it cannot be
that. Is this denial somehow going to change everything we have
shared and revelled in? Maybe he wants to punish me for tempting him
to enter this life of sordidness. But it does not make any sense.
That as much as anything else is why I cannot just let it go.
Everything has a reason. Everything makes sense. This has to as
well.

"I'll remove myself for the time being to make the transition easier
on you." Unfortunately, nothing can make it easier. The worst is
that my skin, my bed, my life doesn't feel mine anymore. Before him
I carried on perfectly. I was happy, self-reliant, and strong. The
loneliness did not echo as it does now. The hard won strength seemed
to have disappeared the moment he entered my life. How in the blue
blazes did he manage to disrupt everything so effortlessly and
without my knowledge? Even my work no longer is as satisfying
without him next to me, listening intently with that look on his
face, intent, hung on every word, and always looking for a flaw to
trip me up. I miss being able to impress and baffle him with sudden
revelations. How did he manage to take with him my triumph of
solving a mystery? How? Even my valued privacy is lost because he
insisted on writing his thrice-damned accounts of it all. And then
he took away my crutches of morphine and cocaine, his care and
tenderness, his worry for my well-being made giving it all up an
easy thing. And now, I wonder why I allowed it. How could I have
allowed him to remove one of the few pleasures and escape routes in
my life? How did he permeate each and every aspect of me so
thoroughly and intrinsically? Why do I feel every moment is
incomplete because of his absence?


"I never meant to hurt you." Sometimes I wish I could just hate him.
Revile his gumption and scorn his protestations of innocence. I want
to tear up his apologies, rip into his speeches and spit in his eye
at the piteous looks he gives me. But ultimately he is a good man.
He was able to put up with my foibles and my failings for far too
long, and he seems sincere. For some reason my temper and anger fade
fast when it comes to him. It always has. Grudges seem to disappear
in light of his soft brown eyes. I never thought I would be so weak.
Little does he know that everything hurts. It aches constantly,
living in these rooms and lying in our bed causes pain. Even the
plans we made, the little things, the tickets I bought for the
concert next week, tea with Miss Adler after her final performance
this weekend, they all hurt. Even the token he admired in passing
once which I purchased last week Sits in my locked drawer and mocks
me for my silly dreams and emotions.

"I hope when this blows over, we can still enjoy the camaraderie we
have always had between us. I would hate to lose so great a friend."
Ah, the agony of the untouchable. Fighting the instinct time after
time to not reach out. What seems natural is now so obviously
awkward and every look, thought, word, gesture has to be weighed and
measured to not drive him away further, for his company and
friendship is still better then nothing. At least I'm allowed the
pleasure/agony of his presence in my life, and the pretence of
friendship covers the obviousness of my still present regard and
esteem. I can sit and bask and steal glances while he talks on about
his practice and his interests. I can observe and judge his health
and well being, listen to the sound of his voice and share some of
the thoughts that ache constantly to be shared with him.

But I withstood it all. I shouldered the pain and focused on other
things, told myself that something is better than nothing and lied
to myself, fooled myself. I am nothing if not a master of governing
my emotions and need when I have to. But then finally…

"I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have
the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the
honour to accept me as a husband in prospective." Those simple
words, the earnest look of happiness on his face. And the tentative
hope that I thought was squashed burst into flames. A sound escape
me, but I strived thereafter to no longer show any weaknesses in
front of him. Instead, I gathered my dignity around me, like the
shroud I suspect will be my sole companion to Hades one day and
informed him that I was unable to congratulate him.

"Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" Yes, she
isn't me I wanted to scream, but held back. Damning myself for
wanting to remove the hurt on his face, I murmured  nonsense,
wanting to end the moment as soon as possible. Quickly putting an
end to his happy pleasantries and his concern for my well being, I
reached out for my one remaining comfort and sank down into its
waiting, welcoming arms.  That night I broke the promise I had still
kept because of that tiny speck of hope I did not know I still
harbored. The pinprick of the needle was a welcome distraction as
the oblivion of the cocaine allowed me to ignore the pain in my
chest. Only with my mind clouded with the effect of the drug did I
permit myself to even acknowledge the part of me that wanted to
shout to you that I would wait forever till you were ready. What
would that accomplish? Nothing. There is nothing left for me but
this.

Fin.