What ifffff... (3, yes again)
Holmes realized who he had to thank for being there?
He watched attentively the flight pattern of his bees. They moved diligently as they worked on their arduous task, while he sat quietly on his sofa, under the shade of the porch of his country house
Holmes, who had dreamed so many times of this peaceful retreat, had finally achieved it: a farm of his own, with calm afternoons spent writing his new studies, accompanied by sunshine and the murmur of waves breaking on the shore. A quiet life that had once seemed unattainable when London demanded him at every moment
And even in moments like these, his mind never rests
He thought, reviewed, reconstructed. Remembered
He thought about how each new puzzle had reached him, reviewed every resolution he had ever given in his life, reconstructed each case in his mind. He remembered every life that had crossed paths with his. Every shadow he had faced, always on the edge of something greater, always dangerously close to the abyss⦠and every hand that held him when he was about to fall
And that led him, inevitably, to think of Watson
Of how, throughout all these years, he had been by his side.
Of how, if not for his tenacity, for his presence, and for his absurd and generous loyalty, Holmes would have succumbed years ago:
Perhaps from a fatal wound in one of his casesβ¦
Maybe in a failed experimentβ¦
Probably from extreme exhaustion due to lack of sleep and foodβ¦
Dead from an overdose in his roomβ¦
A slight movement beside him pulled him from his ever-darkening thoughts, and he tried to ignore the invisible weight that had begun to settle on his chest
Watson, who had been drooling in his sleep against his shoulder, now began to stir. His breathing had become heavy, and he tried to murmur something unintelligible, frowning
Holmes knew what was happening
βJohnβ¦β he called softly, placing a hand on his shoulder to pull him out of that place where he could not follow him. It was not the first time. Nor would it be the last
He began to move him gently, trying to wake him
Watsonβs eyes flew open, and he sat up abruptly, gasping
βTHEYβRE COMING!β he cried urgently, looking in all directions, disoriented, until his eyes met Holmesβs and his breathing gradually returned to normal
βSherlockβ¦β he finally managed to say. He placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his heartbeat. βIβm sorry. Againβ¦ a nightmare about the warβ he admitted with embarrassment. βThank youβ he added with a grateful smile, as always
Grateful for being awakened, for being comforted
Grateful for being saved from a dark dream
And Holmes realized then, with a lump in his throat, that this man, this wonderful, clumsy, and brave man, thanked him when it had been he who had saved him time and time again
He, who had pulled him from death more times than either of them would ever admit
He, who had rescued him from the edge of himself
βNo,β Holmes replied softly, and Watson frowned, confused
Holmes raised his hands and cupped Watsonβs face between them, holding something fragile and precious
βThanks to youβ he murmured, before leaning in and pressing his lips tenderly to Watsonβs, making all the dark thoughts vanish, never to return
Watson, unaware of the storm that had raged just moments before in Holmesβs mind, did not understand the origin of this sudden display of affection
But he didnβt need to understand it to return it
He didnβt question it. He never did
He wrapped his hands around Holmesβs waist and pulled him close, responding to the kiss with the same steady, constant love he had always had for his man
Not realizing that in that simple gesture, once again, he was saving Sherlock Holmes
