Title: Through Glassy Eyes

Summary: [Holmes/Watson slash]. Watson has left and Holmes is heart broken.

Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.

Warning: Slash, don't like don't read.

A/N: I've seen this movie twice. OMG! It was so … utterly … freaking … awesome!! I sat both times slashing them though but hey – I enjoyed myself. Mwhahahahaha.

Holmes sat staring at the wall in his study. Watson had barely been going 24 hours and he was already a wreck without his loyal friend by his side. He felt a deep hopelessness settle upon him, a black abyss of despair and helplessness opening before him. It seemed to him that he would be forever engulfed by the blackness, and the more he dwelt on it, the more he convinced himself that he would never be happy again.

He had tried to sabotage John's relationship with Mary. He really had tried. Now he just felt stupid. John was never going to leave Mary. Why would he? She was beautiful; educated; wonderful in every aspect … and then there was him.

When he had first walked back into his study after seeing Watson and Mary off for the final time; he had gone about trashing the room, throwing instruments and turning over tables in a mad fury of anger that soon disappeared as fast as it had appeared, giving way to extreme fatigue, realising with a breaking heart that it was over.

He had lost.

Collapsing to the floor amongst the shards of his life with Watson, tears finally flowed, silently progressing down his ashen cheeks. Raising a hand in what was almost disbelief, he felt the hot tears beneath his fingers as he pulled his hand back so he could see the salty water to confirm to himself that he was indeed crying. He had always considered crying a futile display of emotion. He had always thought that nothing good ever came from it. Now though he simply didn't care as he was consumed with sorrow and the streams down his cheeks became rivers. He never tried to wipe the tears away with his hand or sleeve, allowing the tears accumulating on his jaw before dripping to the floor below.

After what seemed like an eternity, the light of day gave way to night. Holmes laid on the floor, nothing making him want to move. His fingers played with loose threads of carpet while he fought a staggering headache. His eyes were heavy but sleep didn't come. He would be grateful for the black, blissful oblivion that sleep would bring, but he was also scared that sleep would bring Watson's haunting image before him to taunt. The cold made him shiver slightly, his tear filled eyes reflecting in the white light of the moon streaming in through a gap in the curtains covering the windows.

Anxiety tore at Holmes. The future suddenly looked bleak. With Watson before he had announced his plans to move in with Mary, the future was rarely considered; the present was good enough. The stark contrast between the two now made his heart ache. Holmes, when ever he had toyed with the idea of thinking of the future and what it had in store for him, always thought Watson would be present by his side. He had even entertained the notion of them being lovers on more than one occasion. He had pondered what Watson would have tasted like when he kissed him for the first time. He had planned out how they would keep their relationship between them only and how happy he would have felt to know that Watson would not abandon him ever.

But he had.

The odd smell would reach his nose and remind him painfully of Watson. it would be some memory of them both laughing, joking and solving cases together. Now Holmes would be solving cases on his own without his dear friend beside him. He realised that his fear had done nothing but hold him back and hurt him. Even if Watson had rejected him, at least he would have known. Anyone could be smart with hindsight; and now Holmes realised the homophobic society he lived in had affected him more than he ever thought it had or would have done. In a way he was scared of Watson being so appalled at his deceleration of love that he would tell others and everything that he had worked to achieve in his life would be destroyed over night. As fast as a click of the fingers.

As Big Ben struck midnight, Holmes slipped into an uneasy sleep; his dreams plagued by Watson and his smile. The smile that originally caught his attention. The smile that reached Watson's eyes and lit them up. The smile that had made his heart melt and hammer every time he saw it.

He wished he had said something; done something; anything.

Now; it was too late.

End.

A/N: I did pull on my own experiences to write this.