Lestrade's Paramore

I nodded, slamming my fist on the cab's roof, and it pulled away, leaving the inspectors behind.

Wiping Holmes's pained face with a handkerchief, I pressed the flask to his trembling lips, causing his eyelids to flutter.

"Wa..." he breathed, frantically trying to find my hand. "Watson..."

"Yes, yes, I'm here..." I whispered tenderly, stroking his cheek, and he leaned into my touch. "We'll be home soon... You stupid man."

"He's... Watson... He's escaped..." he stammered, clinging to my hand.

"The main thing is that we got you out of there..." My voice trembled, and I pulled his head to my chest, spitting on the dirt.

He could probably hear my poor heart pounding, so terrified for him. Was Moriarty trying to push him over, or drag him down with him into the roaring abyss of the Reichenbach Falls?

The cabman helped me carry Holmes into his room, and I quickly threw off my jacket. With trembling hands, I tore off the cufflinks Gabriel had given me, but paused for a moment before carefully tucking them into my pocket. Rolling up my sleeves, after thoroughly washing my hands, I first cut open his dirty and smelly clothes, as there was no point in saving it.

The wound was long and deep, but fortunately, as I'd noticed back on the pier, it hadn't hit an artery, and the blood, though flowing, was oddly reluctant, and he hadn't lost a critical amount. And my crooked bandage of a handkerchief and tie helped a little. After removing them, damp and soaked with blood, I tossed these completely ruined rags into the pile and began to clean the wound of dirt and mud.

Holmes groaned softly, his eyelashes fluttering, and his hands began feebly feeling the sheets, trying to find something. My poor boy was so frightened; I could feel his fear hovering over us.

After cleaning the wound with acidified water, without thinking twice, I injected him with mor****e, gritting my teeth inwardly, but there was simply no other choice. Every movement I made was accompanied by a quiet, pitiful whine from his lips. His thin brows furrowed in pain, and I couldn't torment him any more. I could only hope that this would dull at least a little the terrible pain he was surely experiencing. All this time I was talking to him, lulling him to sleep, and Holmes exhaled loudly through his nose, reacting to my words.

"Be patient, my boy," I whispered, stitching up the muscle, but leaving a cavity for a drain soaked in iodoform, as, unfortunately, it was practically impossible to avoid inflammation after swimming with an open wound in the Thames.

Having finished stitching, I washed the wound again, and then, taking the softest sponge, began wiping his legs and thighs with warm water, ensuring the surrounding skin was also clean. Mrs. Hudson brought me a basin of hot water and informed me that the warm bath would soon be ready. After briefly thanking her, I returned to tending to Holmes's body, which was shivering from the cold and pain. He continued to twitch at my every touch, and I desperately wanted to squeeze his hand, but unfortunately, I only had two, and both were occupied. Instead, I continued cooing, trying to soothe him, even though he was barely conscious.

Holmes what are you doing? What is this supposed to mean? He pulls back before anything happens, almost in a panic. I'm married he probably also says and then Holmes remarks bitterly on the betrayal this marriage was to him

Now Watson is rightfully angry, what is he saying, he gets up in his face, but ohno the memory of Holmes leaning in is still too present, he falters and blushes despite himself

and now Holmes kisses him, pulls him in and pushes his lips hard and desperate against Watson's, as if trying to make him see. And this time he responds, gives in, he doesn't quite know why, he was so worked up and angry moments ago but now it's all channeled into this kiss

Please, Holmes whispers into his mouth, and has Watson ever denied him?

It feels surreal, like a dream, it can't really be happening, them kissing, it's ridiculous, but...it is

Conscious of his every movement, of Holmes against him, still so eager in his desperation, Watson pulls him close, surrendering to whatever is happening

They both try not to think too hard about what they are doing as they undress and fall into bed together,

It is awkward, and as they move against each other it takes about 130 seconds until Holmes cums, choking, and he touches Watson clumsily with his hand until he, too, spills

And then they lie together, not speaking at all, not the whole night, and fall into an uneasy sleep

Holmes is not in the room when Watson wakes

Watson can't help but feel sorry, doesn't know how to address this, doesn't know what he's feeling, ignores it for now but maybe tonight...if he has the courage...he might confront him?

and then Reichenbach happens

And Watson stumbles into a grief so deep and hopeless and only further complicated by what transpired between them, there is not only loss but so much regret, a deep troubled uncertainty, and oh if only he had not left him alone...if only it had been different

and as he grieves him and tries to live on, he is plagued by what could have been, he reassesses and realizes......he could have loved him. he already loved him and there already was something there between them that he couldn't (did not want to?) see, but now that he acknowledged it – he could have loved him fully and deeply. Oh Holmes.....

and then Mary dies, too. and it's all over for Watson. There is no more joy or consolation in his life. he falls into an abyss so dark even his return from the war pales in comparison. the following year passes by in a desolate blur, just mechanic life

until he returns to him

And it gets better, so much better, but no less complicated at all, there is so much to work through between them

But for now they are both too joyful at their reunion, clumsy as it might be at times, they commit to each other anew, they rekindle, Watson moves back into 221B, and not once does what happened that night come up between them

Maybe it's better like this? They could be as they were.

But Watson is plagued, now, by his feelings, the knowledge of Holmes' feelings, the way he rejected him that night, the years he yearned for his presence, back alive and at his side so he could touch him, kiss him, do it right, do it again

Holmes meanwhile deeply regrets what happened not bc of what happened per se, but because he feels like he forced it on Watson, and as if Watson only indulged him out of a mixture of pity and obligation (ouch).

And Watson? It's true he was overwhelmed that night in more ways than one, but he could never bring himself to regret it, he has clung to the memory many lonely and sad night, has been, in an odd way retroactively thankful for it, only wished for another time, a chance to make a better memory

One night, months after Holmes' return, they are sitting by the fire together in quiet companionship, Holmes gets up and stretches and announces his withdrawal

Watson also gets up. Walks over to him. Holmes raises his brows

Watson says nothing, and when it dawns on Holmes what's about to happen Watson is already kissing him, a quiet and urgent kiss, leaning his head forward into him, not his body

And Holmes melts into the kiss like cotton candy into water

And when they break apart it is Holmes who speaks, but all he says is - Watson?

Do you not want this? Watson asks, half unsure and half hopeful

Of course, Holmes manages, but... He doesn't finish the sentence (he doesn't know what to say. Or can't say it. Or doesn't want to say anything that might stop Watson) so he kisses him, and Watson's strong arms sneak around him, pulling close without hesitation

And this time when they go to bed together they are lovers with purpose and intent and enough yearning energy to blow up all of London, it is slow and conscious, they're soaking it all up, it's a whole nonverbal feelings declaration (not saying they last much longer than last time tho)

And they hold and stroke each other afterwards, and Holmes falls asleep to Watson cradling him in his arms

And awakes to him screaming, waking from a terrible nightmare (guess what he was dreaming) and he holds him, feeling guilty and terrible

And as Watson regains consciousness and sees Holmes he just comes apart, starts sobbing into his shoulder, all the grief is too much to hold, and Holmes cries too, his chin pressing into the crown of Watson's head, but he cries silently and unmoving, his tears streaming down his face as Watson shakes in his arms

Watson confesses his love, then, whispering it into the crook of Holmes' neck, and Holmes kisses him

they hug and kiss and console and at some point Watson falls back asleep, Holmes watches over him until sleep takes him too, unbidden

He awakes to Watson's peaceful face in front of him

they wake up beside each other, and everything has changed, and at the same time nothing has changed at all. the day awaits, there are things to be done

their relationship, too, requires growth and the untangling of many delicate strands, it is not suddenly all simple, but there is a certainty now that they will face it all together, that their devotion will outlast even death, that the thing between them is mutual and they commit to growing into it together, this new kind of love

And Watson strokes Holmes' cheek, smiling sleepily, and in that moment they are both so so so happy