Thank Goodness I got this out! I've been having tons of writer's block, and school has made me super busy. I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting.

Now, I think I'll strike a deal with you lovely people! I get that it's not my place, but reviews really keep me going. They're the fuel to my car, the Earphones to my MP3, and the Watson to my Holmes. So, could we please have some lovely reviews to go with the lovely readers?

Thanks a Million,


I watched, puzzled as Holmes left the room. I could have sworn I heard my heart shatter, slowly, but surely beating.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump…

I've never seen him like this. I've always seen the calm, collected detective. Sure, he's had bouts of depression. He established it right at the beginning. But why wait to show me this side? Why now?

The questions rattled my brain, as I sat down on the bed. Why wait, unless it was a secret?

Sure, he'd kept secrets from me all the time. On every case we'd ever handled, he'd give me instructions without giving me a reason. For example, the Scandal in Bohemia. He gave me a list of instructions and told me to fallow them, but eventually he told me why he'd given them.

But this secret wasn't like that. It seemed to me something he didn't want me to know, and had no intention of telling unless he was held at gunpoint.

Certainly, not a position I want to be in.

"Holmes!" I called to the dark figure racing down the rustic hall. "Holmes! Please, just talk to me!"

I stormed down toward him, which caused him to stand still.

"Please, Watson, can't you understand that what I need is some time to myself?" He urged, raising his hand to his forehead, like he did when he had a migraine. But I knew he was hiding the tears that ran down his face.

"If not for your sake, then for mine?"

"Dammit," He cursed. "I always fall for that line,"

"Good, then I'll have some advantage over your genius. Now, please just talk to me,"

"But I am talking to right now," He raised a dark eyebrow.

"But you're not telling me anything! Not anything that can explain what happened back there," I was desperate by now, to get him to tell me what happened.

And to be honest, when he cries, it kills me.

"Fine; I'll tell you something and you aren't going to like it, because you're not like me. And then, you'll go crawling to the police. So, here is your answer," And before I could process much else, he leaned in and close the space between us.

There was no sharp spark or strike of lightning. It was just soft, reminding of the many fires we had shared, and I could taste the tender love dripping onto my tongue. Slow uncertainty tainted it, making the sweetness of it bitter, like coffee that had been left cold. There's only one way to cure that,

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. A smile pressed onto my lips, as Holmes placed his hands on my waist.

Reluctantly, we broke apart, still clutching onto each other for dear life.

I bit my lip nervously, not knowing quite what to say after that.

"Watson, what did you really wish for?" Holmes questioned. I suppose after that display it was quite obvious that I didn't really wish for a wife and children.

"Promise not to laugh?" I asked, suddenly feeling very shy, like a child getting scolded at school.

"I promise,"

"I… well, I wanted to… I thought it would have been quite obvious that I don't want a wife," I answered, at a loss for words.

"No more evading the question. I've already promised I won't laugh,"

I sighed. I'll never be able to live it down,

"I wished for… well, nothing now. It's come true, in a way,"

I felt a blush spread across my cheeks like butter onto bread, only plenty more visible and I could tell that Sherlock probably thought me an insufferable fool for doing so.

But when I looked up, he wasn't giving me one of those condescending looks he gives to Lestrade and any of the other detectives. It was just one of those small, knowing smiles he wears sometimes, whenever he's got a new case or even sometimes when he looks over at me from his armchair with the clay pipe in his hand.

"You may be a fool, Dear Watson- well, I suppose I should call you John now-, but you are my fool," Sherlock Holmes removed a hand from my waist and brushed it across my cheek. "And I hope you always will be,"

I raised an eyebrow, giving Holmes my usual 'are you in over your head?" look.

"I would be lost without my Boswell," He stated matter-of-factly.

I chuckled a bit. He's said that so many times, but only now it seems more… natural,

"So, enlighten me, Holmes; what did you wish for?"

This time it was his turn to blush. Laughter swelled in my chest as his face turned into a cherry.

Suddenly, his face went back into his usual mask. "I believe, that is for me to know and for you to find out,"

I burst out in a hearty laughter. "I only just got one secret out of you; I beg of you, don't give me another! Please, just tell me,"

Sherlock grinned another one of his enrapturing smiles. "Why, what would be the fun in that?"

And that was when I knew that one way or another, we would work this out.

It was inevitable.