Watson's View on the Sins of the Master
Summary:Nothing big, just something that popped into my head. Slash HW
Disclaimer: Don't own them.
Author's notes: This is just a simple story. Just the Watson on my mind that wouldn't shut up. Sorry if it's too OOC. I still don't have the talent to make a good Holme's story.
First of all, what can a proper gentleman do in a situation such as this? What can I do in this situation, my dear friend? I ask you for I'm cornered, and you are always so full of answers. I'm afraid, though; your counsel is not for me at this moment, right? Seeing that you are the cause of my distress.
I turn to the whiskey then. A silent companion but it will have to do, since I feel I can't confide in no other than you about this. I try to turn my thoughts on something else, but all train of thought seems to converge to you. To that shocked expression in which your face contorted when you realized I knew.
Of course, I knew. Good Lord, I may be not as sharp of mind as you but I'm no oaf either. That worried me even more. If I knew, who else did? More important yet was could we trust them? Well, we had no choice. Our lives depended on that and we still breathed, I think whoever they are they deserve my trust for now.
I kept seeing you in my mind's eye. How your eyes fled from mine as you realized I knew. They fled in shame, worst even, in pain, like I had hit you in the stomach with a punch. Your feet were unsure as you left my room and I thought for a moment they were taking you to the bridge and then to the river. In spite of your defeated posture and eyes that screamed suicide, you just went to your room and no sound was heard after you closed your door.
I dragged myself to the living room by the fire and filled my glass.
Defeat… It does not suit you, at all. The hard lines of your face were made to pose in concentration, not consternation. Your eyes were made to exude your endless joy when you find an answer, not stare lifeless at me. I always thought of you as beyond sadness. You made such impression on all of us, your followers, mere mortals, that we almost thought of you as beyond these foolish feelings. Even so, there you were earlier, at my room, defeated by them. So smart, but oh, so weak at that moment.
So weak, so consumed by "these foolish feelings", that your observing mind failed you. You've spent many years hiding from me that it escaped you. MY little secret; no less condemning than yours. The secret I silenced in my mind and heart, disguising it in admiration and friendship.
The secret that I too, felt for you something quite astray from brotherly love.
That I too searched the curve of your neck wishing I could kiss it down your throat and chest and navel, until you can no longer say coherent word. That sometimes I crave for the touch of your violinist's fingers, playing my body in a merrier way than that you use with your violin.
I gathered my courage, flared by the whiskey. It was time to stop playing hide and seek. I climbed the stairs to your room. I knocked.
Our destiny may be the gallows, but I couldn't stand the mental image of your dead eyes.
You opened the door and I was haunted by them again.
You told me to go away.
I blocked the door with my foot before you could shut me out again. I entered the room. Your voice is enraged; you demanded to know what was going on. I hit you in the face, using your momentary shock to kiss your lips.
I kissed your lips and you were undone.
You didn't fight. You didn't complain. You only moaned as I had so deep in my heart wished you would.
I touched your skin and there was no jail awaiting us, no gallows, no hell to punish us.
There was no sin in what we did.
In what we do.
Only you and I…