Hi everyone! I understand I haven't updated anything in a long time and for that I'm sorry. But this little plotbunny held me hostage and made me write it. So enjoy, my pretties!
Warning: Slash, meaning sexual relations between men.
Disclaimer: I've neglected to do these before, but really, if I owned this, Watson and Holmes would be together and Mrs. Hudson would keep their little secret.
"If you could have three wishes, what would they be?" Watson questioned me, eyes lit by the fire in front of us.
I feigned thought, although I knew exactly what I would wish for.
I would wish I could call him John. I can just picture myself saying, "How was your rounds today, John?" or, if I was lucky enough, "I love you, John,"
I imagine calling out his name while making love, and being as loud as I wanted, without the neighbors reporting us to the police.
I would be able to call him by given name every day, filled with more kindness than I've ever shown anyone before. I would name a song after him, play it for him.
And, instead of applause, I would receive a kiss, the taste of his pipe dripping onto my tongue.
I would wish to take him in my arms and steal his pain away. Even if it's just a little pain, like his injured leg, or the hurt of a heart torn to shreds. I would dare to hold him, while tears spill down his face and sobs wrack his body.
"Everything will be alright, John," I would whisper. "I'll make it alright; you'll see,"
And then, he would twist his face upward, kiss me on the cheek and say,
"You know I love you, right, Sherlock?"
And my answer would always be: "Of course, love. You need not cry,"
I would kiss his tears away, before lifting him into my arms and leading him to the bedroom we shared, leaving sleep to take us.
I would wish to live with him the rest of my life. Here, in this house, was where we would stay. Gray hairs would peck at our hair, our skin would wither, and age would creep up on us. But yet, I would still love him madly. I would still kiss him passionately, hold him tightly, and still find him absurdly handsome.
"Sherlock, what do you think of me?" He would ask.
"What do you mean, love?"
"Do you still find me, well, attractive?"
"How could I not? John, I love you; I'll always find you attractive," My arms would wind around his waist. "Now, how about some breakfast?"
"Well, Holmes, what would you wish for?" Watson interrupts my thoughts, sweet voice laced delicately with concern.
"I would wish for a new chemistry set, some money, and one I would save for a rainy day, when my life has no luck." I lie, heart breaking with each tiny word. "What would you wish for, old fellow?"
He doesn't hesitate. "A wife, some kids, and a house,"
The words stepped on my crumbled heart.
But what hurt worse was the smile he had when he said them.
And that was when it hit me.
I would never call him John; only Watson and "Old fellow". I would never get to take his hurt away. He would always go to someone else; a nice, kind woman would be the one to take it all away. I wouldn't get the chance to grow old with him, reassure him that I loved him even though his hair was turning grey and his looks were withering.
But it would never be me.
Tears stung at my eyes, blurring my vision.
"Are you sure you're not sick, Old boy? You look quite pale," Watson inquired, turning to look at me closer.
"I'm quite alright, Watson; Just a head cold, that's all." I answered.
"You should head up to bed. I'll send Mrs. Hudson up with some tea later,"
And with that, I went up the stairs to my bedroom, small traitor tears running down my face.
As soon as I closed the door to my room, I let the tears fall, sobs wracking my body.
I didn't bother to put on my dressing gown before crawling into bed and waiting.
Waiting for the misery to end with the sleep that would come.