In These Arms – Bon Jovi
Watson was alone that night. He hated it when Holmes decided he would sit up all night, working on a case. Watson heard the front door bang and his heart sank. That meant Holmes was going out to look for something. Watson would never sleep now. The streets of London were not a pleasant place to be at 2 o clock in the morning. Especially when Holmes had promised that he would be there tonight. He had promised that they would have dinner together, and that Watson would be allowed to tell him what he had to say. Watson's heart beat erratically. The courage he had had to build up to say those words was disappearing. Watson wasn't sure if he could say them anymore. He crept across the hall, and slipped into Holmes' room. His clothes were scattered all over the floor, and the room smelt of his aftershave. Watson picked up a shirt, and crushed it to his chest. He sat on Holmes' bed, then curled up against one of the pillows. Holmes was not there to hear the words he whispered to the detective's possessions. "I wish you were in my arms tonight..."
Feels Like Tonight – Daughtry
Holmes did not know why he hid the truth from his loyal friend so much. He told Watson he was simply looking over some discrepancies in his cases, for which he had to investigate outside again. Though in reality he went to the underground boxing ring. The one place Watson had begged him not to go, he went. Holmes felt guilty at lying so much, but the exhilaration was just too much to stop. Though there was the darker side to it. Men bigger than Holmes knocked him senseless, sometimes even attempted to do the things he only allowed his John, his Boswell to do to him. The faces changed every night, but the one he went home to was always the same. This time though, when he crept in, the beautiful face was not sleeping. Watson was standing at the door, with a look of such anger upon his features. Holmes broke, and fled back to the place he had come from, and ran straight into the victor of the night, who kicked him as he was down. Holmes lay there bleeding, words escaping him. "There's nothing that I want to do, but make it up to you..."
My Immortal – Evanescence
Holmes was the sort of person that you believed would never be gone. He was always so full of life, so full of brimming emotion, that thoughts of him not being there were simply preposterous! Watson always had his enthusiasm by his side, his total and utter undying love, that the good doctor reciprocated. When Holmes fell into a depression, and shattered into a thousand pieces, Watson had always pulled him up, put him back together. Sometimes in the literal sense. Holmes had no caution. Perhaps this was why he was stolen, snatched forever from his Boswell one day. All Watson knew was there was no living laughing love in 221B Baker Street any more. He knew it, but he did not believe it. Holmes' clothes were still in his wardrobe, and Watson's clothes were all over the house, ripped and dirty from the eagerness to solve cases. Nights came, and Watson always moved from his own bed to the detective's, expecting to feel the (often cold) and slender fingers on his arm, around his waist. He did not, now the house was empty. He always woke up expecting to feel a warm weight pressed against his back. He never did. Every time he woke up, John Watson died with Sherlock Holmes.
Goodbye My Lover - James Blunt
I know perfectly well he cannot stay here now I've said those things. I have hurt my dearest Watson by telling him I resent him leaving, when, in actual fact that is a complete lie. Part of it is anyway. He is completely breaking me by leaving me all by myself here. But I do not resent him for it. I do not blame him in the slightest. Any thoughts of staying with me are gone from his mind completely. I stand at the window as he puts things in trunks, looking out on the street he will soon abandon. "Goodbye my lover...goodbye my friend," I whisper, so he cannot hear. Or maybe he can. I'm past caring now. I just need to say the words. It's hard to control all the sorrow welling up inside me, but I have stolen a few of his journals from his trunks, and I am wearing his clothes, but that is not new. My wardrobe is full of them. Love like this...I may lie with many other men, perhaps women. But I will never love like this. I never thought myself capable of loving, laying bare my emotion, my soul. But to my dearest Watson, I could. He does not know, though. And now he is taking that soul away with him. It belongs to him now. He just doesn't know it.
Smile Like You Mean It – The Killers
Who is this, that I am shown to? I shall share the rent of this house with him, though it looks like our space will merge. Things are scattered all over already. Books, clothes, strange looking instruments. Though as a doctor, I am no stranger to those. "John Watson," I say, extending my hand with a small twitch of my lips. It is not a proper smile. "Sherlock Holmes," he beams, the light reaching his eyes. He laughs as he sees my trunks. "You are the doctor then? That should come in handy indeed," he muses, moving to help me take them to my bedchamber. "Do not be alarmed by anything that happens here," he says, matter of factly, picking up a violin. I realise that nothing will stop him, and his spirit is in the music he plays. It runs right through me and I laugh. The notes are so beautiful, and I smile. I smile like I mean it.
My Skin – Natalie Merchant
"Take a look at my body, take a look at my hands," I shout at him. "There's so much here that I don't understand!" His face saving promises whispered like prayers – I don't need them. There is surely something wrong here. I am a man, a respectable doctor, yet I am held here, upon this bed, by another man, a wild and free detective. I cannot stand the guilt I feel, for we are supposed to work for the law, but I could not stand to be away from these arms that touch my skin. His fingers lace into mine and I hang my head, curling a little closer. "You know what will happen if we are ever caught?" I voice dejectedly.
"I know. But they will not. We shall hide this." I cannot...I do not know what I am to do I...tears well up in my eyes at the thought of being hauled away and kept apart from my dearest Holmes.
"hush, my dearest John," he whispers to me, breath touching my ear. I let them fall but I make no sound. Every time I spend the night with Sherlock Holmes he runs his fingers over my entire body, caressing my skin. And though I regret it, this is something I cannot stand to lose.
The Mess I Made – Parachute
"I should have kissed you there," Holmes whispered to me. "But I could not...not while Mary was in the room. But Watson, you must know I love you! I'm staring at the mess I made though...that's all you're leaving me with." I hear his words, and they shatter every single plan I have made. For I have been feeling for him almost since we met. I agreed to marry Mary because I knew he would not love me back...but he does. "I'm not leaving you Holmes," I gasp. I don't know how I'll manage to cancel all the arrangements, or how I'll get away with it, but now I know he won't walk away, I don't care.
He steps a little closer, scrutinising my face, disbelieving. "You've taken my heart," I whisper back as our lips finally meet in the sweetest and most perfect kiss there has surely ever been. He tastes of tobacco and tea.
I Can't Decide – Scissor Sisters
Watson kissed Holmes, feeling him smile against his lips. "Dear God, I don't care what they say!"
He cried out, with a grin. "I love you, and I won't stop!" Holmes loved it when his lover was in a mood such as this, when they smiled and laughed together. "Would you care for a brandy, my dear Watson? Or gin? Or anything?"
"Oh, I can't decide. I can't decide whether you should live or die tonight Holmes! Lock the doors and close the blinds, and I shall see!" he was still smiling as he pressed Holmes into the bed.
Run – Snow Patrol
Holmes never thought why he never stopped. He just kept going. With a case, he would not stop pursuing the leads. He would never allow himself to fail. Watson was the one who pulled him away if his obsessions threatened to take him over. But he always solved what he was asked to.
Watson kept running from his thoughts. His nonexistent love for Mary drove him, he ran to believe it was there. He ran from the thoughts that perhaps his heart lay with the detective he knew would never give it back. It was under his scrutiny, he would run with it. And Watson, deep inside him wanted that. "To think I might not see those eyes...makes it so hard not to cry...as we say our long goodbye..." Watson said these words to Holmes, to his everything, as he did not allow any of his hidden love to penetrate his being. As he left Baker Street. As he ran.
"Light up, as if you have a choice, even if you cannot hear my voice," Holmes murmured as he watched what he was running to, run away from him.
Watson was not happy where he was. He was engaged to a woman he did not love. He prepared himself to start running again. But this time, he was not running from Holmes. He literally ran to baker street, leg be damned, and into the arms of the notorious detective.
Everything About You – Three Days Grace
Watson lay awake on his bed. Alone. Holmes had retreated to his own room after the argument they had just had; raised voices and broken ornaments. It was Holmes' cocaine habit. Watson could not stand to feel as if he was not enough to make Holmes happy. Holmes seemed to care more for the drugs. And yet, he regretted some of the things he had said. "I hate everything about your habits, Holmes," he said aloud to the room. "And yet...why do I still love you?" He sighed and turned onto his back.
Across the hallway, Holmes felt small, weak. A tourniquet was tight upon his left arm, a needle poised in his right hand. With skill and dexterity that only comes with practice and delicate work, the detective invaded his own skin.
As the drug flowed through his veins, he felt his love for Watson. Stronger.