Genre: Romance/Angst
Character/(Pairing): Watson (Holmes/Watson)
Disclaimer: The figures don't belong to me. I'm simply abusing them for my own sadistic pleasure )
Summary: Watson has a startling (and, I dare say, long overdue) self-revelation at midnight, three years after "The Final Problem"
Author's note: I'M NOT A NATIVE SPEAKER! If you find ANY mistake or have suggestions on how to improve certain parts, please tell me and help me to improve my skills.

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“It’s been three years” was the first thought that entered my exhausted mind in it’s half-awake state when I heard the faint sound of the old grandfather clock in the hallway striking midnight. Slowly and silently I rose from what I still thought of as “my” side of the bed, remembering all the times I had taken extra care to be quiet as not to wake my late wife from her peaceful slumber. I vacantly threw my old dressing gown over my shoulders and went into my study, only to stand there in front of the bookshelf. Whether the tears that filled my eyes were those of tiredness or some deeper emotion I dared not to deduce any further, for I feared that the answer would have thrown me back into the abyss of despair I was so determined to finally overcome. Nevertheless, my hands were shaking when I reached for the envelope, hidden between the sides of an old book about medieval medicine that my dearest friend Holmes had once given me as a gift for Christmas. I found myself unable to open the slightly yellowed piece of paper, but even without doing so, I could easily picture the fine features captured in ink.

Three years.

Three years since that fateful day at Reichenbach Falls. I no longer could hold back the tears that had once again threatened to fell from my eyes all evening. Though I did not look at the photograph, I could see the slender figure, the narrow face with the high cheekbones, the hawk-like nose the thin lips and the grey eyes. Those piercing grey eyes, like storm clouds, that haunted both my dreams as well as my every waking moment. I still caught myself searching for him everywhere I went.

Mary had been worried about me. Ah, my dear, sweet Mary. She had deserved better than me. I never should have put the demons that had, unnoticed by myself, contaminated my soul on her shoulders like I had done the moment I married here. I hoped that now, at last she had peace from me and the ghost of the man who had owned my heart as well as my whole being in his hands for to long to ever change it. I had indeed loved Mary like I had never loved any other woman, but looking back on it I understood that I had never loved her the way a man ought to love his wife. “Maybe”, I thought, “she knew.” The way she had watched our interactions the few times the three of us had been together, and also the way she looked at me whenever I had talked about him… “She knew it”, I realised with a startled sob, “so long before I did.” It was then I broke down completely.

My desperate crying only faded hours later by the time dawn started to creep through the windows, announcing a new day of agony for me. When I washed away the traces of my not-so-inner turmoil to prepare for my new case –word had been send that the honourable Mr. Ronald Adair had been found murdered- the only coherent thought that cut through the fog that currently was my mind was the one gruesome realisation:

I had been, and still was, in love with my dead friend Sherlock Homes