NB: Hi! So...this series of fics will be all about lost scenes from the movie, or scenes that are alluded to that happened before the movie...pretty much anything! If you have any ideas that you would like to see, please don't hesitate to ask me! I don't own any of the characters, I just play with 'em until they beg me to stop :p

Please read and review!

Confessions (I)

For a detective with no cases, Holmes was in an unusually bright and cheerful mood that morning, chatting excitedly about how some experiment of his 'that was of course going to assist wonderfully in the apprehension of villains, I should send for Lestrade directly, except that the bumbling idiot will probably not understand even half of what I'm saying, honestly how did he come to be inspector, that is a crime in itself - ' had evidently been successful. It was his good mood that led Watson, who had been waiting nervously to say this for several weeks now, to confess his new secret.

He rustled the paper. "Holmes…" No time like the present, you had better tell him, he'll only work it out for himself anyway, he may have already worked it out, though I doubt it because if he had he would have thrown something at me by now - "Do you remember Mary Morstan?"

Holmes clearly did not suspect a thing, because his only answer was a vague grunt and his reaching to the table for a piece of toast. Watson ploughed bravely on.

"You remember I said I went to the opera with her? To see Verdi?" And you were annoyed because you wanted to go with me instead, and refused point blank to accompany us, leading to several days of extreme Holmesian sulking?

"Yes, and a million other places," Holmes grumbled, biting into his toast and flicking through a few ink-stained notes that were perched precariously on his lap.

Watson paused - for heaven's sake, John, pull yourself together man - then dropped the bombshell.

"We're planning on getting married."

Holmes's toast fell from his fingers. Watson braced himself for a volley of abuse, but received only a wide-eyed stare in place of it.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" Holmes asked, as if Watson had just volunteered to walk over a lava-filled crater on a tight-rope, instead of simply planning to settle down - although they might be one and the same John, shut up, don't think that -

"Well…because I love her, Holmes."

Holmes's eyes, against all possibility, grew wider. He doesn't understand, how would he understand, he doesn't understand love, just…facts, cases, logic, and that's not part of the reason why I am leaving at all, most especially not - Watson hesitated, then decided he may as well plunge himself fully into the pit of crocodiles now that he was half in.

"So…I will probably be moving out in a few months."

What little colour Holmes had immediately drained away at this sentence; his eyes like two huge black ink blots on a sheet of parchment. Watson cleared his throat and looked down at his breakfast, and for a moment there was silence, in which Holmes stared in incomprehension at Watson, and Watson glared fiercely at his bacon.

"Move out?" Holmes muttered eventually.


"Of Baker Street."


"And go where?"

"Well…we were thinking maybe Cavendish Place, or around that ar - "

"You are going to leave me?"

Watson stabbed at his bacon. Of course, he thought. It's all about Holmes, isn't it? No mind to what I want, to what I need, as his friend you think he would be glad that I've found someone who I - who I am - but no, of course, it has to be about him, everything does, because he can't see past his own insane brilliance and I am so sick of it -

"Yes," he said ruthlessly. He felt Holmes tense at that, but ignored him, his chest tight with rage. "And I probably won't be able to accompany you on anymore cases either." And I'm sorry about that, because I like being on them, and I know you like me being on them, not just because it gives you someone to boast to, but -

Holmes flinched again, but he carried on. "I want to settle down, Holmes. Be ordinary, have an ordinary life."

"I've never thought of you as ordinary," Holmes said, but when Watson glanced at him, his face was expressionless, the words tumbling out of him completely unbidden.

"Well I am ordinary," Watson retorted, more sharply than he had intended. "I am an ordinary man who is going to marry the woman I love - "

" - and leave me - "

"Oh Holmes, stop being melodramatic, I'm moving a few miles away, not leaving the country, we can still see each other!"

Holmes fell silent, and then, after staring into Watson for longer than was comfortable, turned his head away and stared fixedly into the room instead, his expression blank. Watson waited, nervously, but it was evident that no other words were forthcoming. He must have really hurt him for Holmes to act like this, he realised uneasily. Usually there was…bickering, smart comments and smarter retorts, not this…silence. Unending silence -

"Holmes?" he ventured.

Holmes did not move. The silence continued.

"Holmes? Please say something."

More silence.

Watson thought about touching his hand, then noticed that both hands were gripping the sides of Holmes's chair as if he were going to be ripped unceremoniously out of it, and he thought better.

"It's not the end of the world," he tried, for levity's sake.

Holmes closed his eyes. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to, his words it is for me rang as clearly inside Watson's head as if he had shouted them.

Watson shifted, waiting for Holmes to reopen his eyes, but he did not. He wanted to…to say something, to heal this sudden hurt - because you are a doctor after all, John - but there was nothing he could do, the truth had been told, he could not go back on it, he did not want to go back on it, and how could he help Holmes when he was the source of his misery?

He waited until the silence reached its peak of awkwardness, then left just as quietly, deciding he did not want any breakfast after all.

The house was silent all day.

...To be continued! R & R! Any ideas for me, give me a shout!