#grabs popcorn#nodding head#.... go on ...
It began during winter when Watson would feel an extra strain on his leg when walking up and down the long wooden stairs inside of 221B, It wasn't painful per se but it was something quite irritating to him.
Days go by and he would feel it when they would step up into the carriage, climb through a window or run after a perp. Watson ignored it of course, he was a doctor, he knew it was just the body once again falling to the seasonal frost of winter. It was nothing worth noting at all.
Sherlock would notice it when one morning he heard Watson coming down the stairs.
"Good morning Watson" How strange why is he taking his time coming down?
A grunt was heard just before the last few steps. There was a sharp intake of breath, a slap onto the wooden barrier before a heavy thud of slippers sounded at the floor. Watson appeared seconds later at complete ease as if nothing had happened.
Watson sat down to eat the simple breakfast of toast and eggs and the morning tea Mrs Hudson had brought in. A few beats of silence passed before Sherlock lowered his mug,
Watson raised his eyes over his own mug with a stiff expression,
"Of course I am, why are you asking that?"
Sherlock didn't need to deduce that this was something Watson didn't want to discuss so he waved it off to enjoy their morning together.
It didn't seem to a topic needing to be discussed until it became a regular occurrence. Stepping onto a carriage and chasing after perps which used to be done with ease seemed to be difficult to execute as of late. He was sore, stiff and exerting more strength than usual which fed him into an unending temper. Sherlock had wanted to breach the topic more than once however one wicked glare sealed his lips shut of it.
Watson had been horribly embarassed when one time he struggled to climb the steep stairs at the opera. He could feel the strain in his thigh and hip which not even his cane could relieve. Sherlock had offered his arm but he declined, he could get up the stairs just fine but unfortunately it seemed his leg decided just at the moment to disagree as it gave out. Sherlock, as well as a young lady who was close by, had put their arm out to catch him.
"My goodness sir, are you alright?"
The young lady watched in shock as the man she had just helped from falling had walked off in a puff. Sherlock turned to her to apologised on Watson's behalf, she had simply shook her head with an understanding smile. Catching up to their box seats Sherlock sat down next to Watson where they watched in silence for the rest of the show. When the show finished, Sherlock had grabbed some snacks from a vendor and passed it to Watson with a smile. Watson felt guilt eat at him. Upon returning home Watson profusely apologised to Sherlock, he was ashamed that his temper had taken the best of him.
'No more of it Watson, all is well'
Having put it behind them, they had a fulfilling dinner. Sherlock and Watson both gone off to do their own nightly activities before bed. After some time of playing his violin to the music he had heard in the opera, Sherlock had bid goodnight to Watson.
He had gone upstairs undressing, taking a quick bath and then tucked himself into bed before realising he hadn't heard Watson come up the stairs at all.
"Watson? Are you not coming to bed?"
With no response, Sherlock reluctantly untucked himself from his cosy bed being careful to make his way through the darkness of his room. He had opened his door to see the downstairs lights still on but no sign of Watson.
Watson couldn't get up the stairs. He couldn't get to the stairs. He couldn't even get up from his armchair.
He had bid Sherlock goodnight with the intent to finish reading the newest medical textbook published about disorders of the mind when midway his leg decided to have pain shooting from hip to foot. The pain did not cease and had became so unbearable he could not stand to place the book back onto the shelf, he resorted to chucking the book onto the table. Massaging his leg he sat in his misery on the armchair, Watson had resigned himself to sleep the night on it. He didn't acknowledge Sherlock when he came downstairs later.
"Oh Watson...come here, lets get you more comfortable"
He stood besides the armchair putting Watson's arm over his shoulder with one hand on his waist, he helped Watson up and they took little steps towards the couch just across. It was a slow and painful move as they had to stop every 2nd or so step as Watson would take a sharp intake of breath, gritting his teeth to bear the pain. After finally sitting down on the couch, Watson watched as Sherlock left to seemingly get the blankets and pillows from upstairs.
He began to sob. Even with his limp and scarred shoulder, Watson could take their stairs and the steps of carriages with ease. He could climb through windows and chase down perps. He could accompany Sherlock to everywhere and be sent wherever he needed to be. Now he couldn't even get to the stairs to go to bed. No matter what he thought he could not find any retrieve in the future. His mind began to turn on him as it whispered to him that Sherlock would perhaps tire of him, not wanting to take care of a invalid, that maybe he would even leave him.
He knew his mind was being irrational and seeking dread but he could not help but remember his outburst towards Sherlock and the poor girl at the opera who knew nothing of his troubles.
If not my crippling body, it would be my mind that runs him off...
Sherlock grabbed Watson's night clothes and their blanket and pillows. He could hear sobbing from downstairs which clenched his heart and made his blood race. He hurried down throwing the pillow down and blanket over the back of the couch as he helped Watson into his night clothes. He took a damp tea towel from the kitchen, handing it to Watson who used it to wipe his face. Sherlock turned the lights off and with only a glimpse of the moon's lights peaking through the room, he went to lay down on the couch first. He moved his legs behind Watson and stared until he turned his head to look back at his open arms.
They stared at eachother in silent agreement as the conversation they both knew they were not touching on would be for tomorrow's them. He tiredly dropped into Sherlock's welcoming arms where he turned his face into the crook of the slender neck taking deep breaths. Sherlock tightened his arms around for a beat then moved his hand to stroke up and down Watson's back, he kept at it until he could feel the tense muscles relax and breathing soften.
He laid beneath Watson and stared at the ceiling of their home as his mind slowed from its racing thoughts coming to a decision. Sherlock would visit DI Lestrade's office first thing in the morning to let him know that he will no longer be available for consulting services for the time being. Then he will send a wire to his elder brother Mycroft to inform him that he will need the pair of keys to that cottage much, much sooner than he planned for.
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