#anarghalb

“Make sure to get my good side.”

meet another member of my muse’s family || accepting 

@anarghalb

The cafe is one of Watson’s favourite; small, cozy and yet still busy enough to feel sophisticated. You could see the castle, too, from this seat and hear the distant sound of pipers trying to make some money. There’s even a log fire crackling cheerfully. By all accounts it’s a beautiful place. He regrets bringing Harry. After all he should have known his brothers visit would end like this, and it didn’t feel right to bring an argument into the cozy little space. At length Watson spoke, his Scottish brogue far thicker than when he’d started university.

“I can’t give you that kind of money.”

Across from him Harry frowns in a way that would be intimidating did Watson not know him so well. Still it does remind him of their father and the thought makes him feel slightly ill. Thankfully he’s wise enough to keep the observation to himself.

“Liar, I know he left you money too.”  "Yes, but I need to eat and pay for my education.”

Neither of them said anything out loud for a moment, they didn’t have to. In the heavy silence between them an old argument reared it’s head. Medicine, what the hell do you want to go into medicine for?  The idea of doing something to help others has never occurred to Harry Andrew Watson, apparently. It’s a bitter thought and one that Watson doesn’t say, but Harry knows he’s thinking it all the same. Their ability having blazing rows while simply glaring at one another in silence is truly spectacular, if a little disconcerting for those around them.

“I’ll be able to give you it back this time I promise. The investment’s practically guaranteed money. James said-”  "Oh well if James said then it must be true.” "You’ve never liked him.” "Because the man’s an idiot”

A few heads turned in their direction and the owner spared them a glare. With a slight murmur of apology Watson turned back to his brother, now speaking in a hushed but angry whisper.

“I’ve already given you enough, any more and I’ll be living off bread and water until I’m thirty.”  "John please I need this.”  "That’s not my problem.”  “I’m your brother.” "More’s the bloody pity.”

Harry winced, actually winced, and Watson found himself regretting the words almost as soon as they’d left his mouth. Maybe they’re words he needs to hear, but that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.

When they were younger Harry had made him a bow and arrow out of sticks and piece of string. They had sword fights, too, and more often than not Harry would let him win. He still remembers laughing while his brother acted out an overly dramatic death. Later that night Watson had reminded him that he wasn’t allowed to die, not really, not ever. He remembered the letters Harry sent him while he was at school and how he was smart enough not to mention anything to do with him. Watson sighed and realized that he was never going to say no. The money was Harry’s before they’d even sat down. It was better to just bow the inevitable. Who knew, this time it might work. He might stop drinking and and sort his life out for good, but he doubts it.

“Fine. But you’re paying me back Harry so help me God, and I swear this is the last time.”

A lie. There was plenty more times. Enough to land Watson in the army rather than a comfortable practice somewhere in the city. Harry let out a breath, relief washing over his haggard features like a rare patch of sunshine. Watson tried to focus on that, and not the way his hands shook. He’s trying, he told himself, at least he’s trying.