Kiss You Goodnight

Summary: Watson should have kissed him goodnight, but he was just one day too late.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Title is from Meg and Dia's song Kiss You Goodnight.

Pairing: Holmes/Watson, past!Holmes/Watson

Warnings: Angst. A lot of Angst. Spoilers for The Final Problem and major spoilers for A Game of Shadows, and slight, slight AU -I'm a little fuzzy on the time placement between when Holmes, Watson, and Sim arrive at Mycroft's home in Switzerland to the ball/final scene. The AU aspect is that there was day between when they arrived and when the next scene took place.

A/N: Stumbled upon this song again in my iTunes library and I just couldn't get over it. Enjoy!


Watson sat behind Big Joe during Holmes' funeral. He didn't want anyone to see him, no one to touch him, or anyone to think about him. Watson wanted to be invisible during the eulogy. Before the sermon began, Mrs. Hudson sat down at the pew. She was clad in black and white lace, her bonnet tied underneath her chin, already dabbing her face with a handkerchief. People started to fill in the empty seats. The sermon started, while Holmes' empty casket lay on the bench underneath.


"Watson." Holmes whispered. The train ride had left them beat. Holmes almost died, and Watson's constant worry about Holmes' shoulder left them drained of energy, physically and emotionally. It was the night before the ball. Holmes, Simza, and Watson were lucky enough to come across Mycroft once again. They were more than comfortable with their accommodations. All three had their own separate beds, Watson and Holmes cooped up in the same room while Sim was placed in the other side of the household.

"Yes, Holmes?" Watson's voice was tired, yet awake. He shifted in his bed facing away from the window overlooking the scenery of Switzerland and towards Holmes. Watson sat up in his bed and lit the oil lamp so he could at least make out the detective's features.

"Have you ever regretted something?"

"…I'm not quite sure what you mean, old boy." Watson responded.

"Have you ever wished you done something when in actuality you didn't do anything about it?"

Watson sighed. He remembered back to Afghan War. His mind drifted back to the tents when he would sleep with his bunkmate. They were close, very close, but he could never do anything more than just sleeping in the same bed, in fear. He wished he'd kissed him. The next day there was a raid. His lover was shot in the head, while Watson was only hurt in shoulder. He wished he just gave him one kiss. Just one. Watson didn't reveal that to Holmes. He just sat there, silent. Watson figured Holmes already deduced something from his lack of an answer, so he lied. "No. Not really."

"Ah," was all that came out of Holmes' mouth. Watson noticed that this was very out of character for Holmes. He would have immediately caught the lie, and call him out for it. There was something wrong.

"How about you, Holmes?" The air was thick with tension. "Have you ever regretted anything? Surely, there must be something." Watson chuckled but his last laughs were met with a silent drawl from Holmes.

Holmes looked at his watch, then disregarded it the device on the nightstand. It was a few minutes before Holmes responded. "I do."

"I'm sorry?"

"I do have regrets."

"And what might they be?" Watson was intrigued. Holmes lit another lamp in order to see Watson's face in better detail and pushed aside his shoes on the wooden floor. Holmes got up from his bed and walked over to the edge of Watson's bed.

"I regret," Holmes paused. "I regret not being there for you. I regret pushing you away." Watson sat in the middle of his bed.

"Holmes, you never pushed me away." Watson countered but Holmes put up his hand.

"Will you allow me to explain?" Watson quieted. "When I met you, I…" the detective sighed. "I couldn't control myself. I thought about you constantly. I couldn't bear to see you hurt and I tried to push you out of my mind, however it didn't help. I…love you. You will always be my Boswell." Holmes said clear as day. There was a long silence between the two. "If you could give me some sort of reaction it would be greatly appreciated, so I don't sound like some lovesick teenage boy."

Watson dragged a hand over half of his face and took a deep breathe.

"I…love you too, Holmes." Watson smiled. It felt like a weight off of his shoulders.

"Well." Holmes' face lit up, clapped his hands together once then pivoted. "I shall see you in the morning, mother hen." Holmes blew out both the lamps and returned to his bed. He though Watson had gone to bed, however he heard the floor creaking.

"May I?" Watson asked.

Holmes knew what he was asking. "You may." Holmes smiled.

Watson climbed into bed with Holmes pressing himself right against the detective. Watson nuzzled his face into the dip of Holmes' neck. It was nothing sexual, but more of a sensual time between the two. Holmes fell asleep first, his breathing slowing down to a rhythmic pace. Sleeping next to Holmes felt like an eternity and he wished it stayed like that. No more cases, no more crooks, just him and Holmes and Baker Street. Watson wanted to kiss him goodnight, to say that he was there and will always be there. There will be many more after this night.

He didn't want his mind to drift back to Mary. Just for one night he wanted to be happier than normal. His mind calmed and drifted to sleep.

Mycroft came in to wake Holmes and Watson, but didn't expect to see them in bed together. Holmes was on his stomach with his hand sprawled across Watson's chest, while the doctor lay on his back. About damn time, thought Mycroft.

The two of them went by their duties, gathering up information for the ball. Attendees, hosts and servers and others were all learned by the evening just before they all had to arrive.

Watson remembers opening that door and seeing Holmes jump to his death, with Moriarty gripped tight in his hands. Holmes closed his eyes, wanting Watson to be the last thing he sees before his death was imminent. Watson did the same. He imagined Holmes lips upon his, the touch of him, the scent that never was. He closed his eyes to make sure that it was all a dream and he would just wake up next to Holmes, inches away from his face. Inches away from the large eyes that stared straight back at him with an upturned smile upon his lips.

Watson regretted it and the tightness in his chest returned, with an added feeling of a pit in his stomach. He walked over to the wall of the building and looked over to see the falling waters of Reichenbach.

Watson screamed Holmes' name again and again, his eyes filling up with tears. He screamed until he couldn't anymore.

Mycroft came swiftly to the outer patio of the building, pulling Watson away from the edge.


The memories came flooding back to Watson. Tears started to fall, but he hastily wiped them away. Sim sat next to Watson, putting a consoling hand upon Watson's shoulder. The empty casket was hoisted up by Scotland Yard and brought out to the cemetery to be buried in London's earth.

He told Mary that he wouldn't be coming home that very night. He lied to her saying that a patient needed to be tended to throughout the evening into morning. She let him go for the night, even though in the back of both their heads, they knew it wasn't true.
Watson arrived at Baker Street late, unlocking the door slowly. He swiftly headed up the seventeen steps and opened the door to the study. Holmes' dressing gown was still in place upon his chair. Watson gave a shuddering breath. He took the dressing gown and took it up the stairs to his bed. He inhaled the fabric – it still smelt of Holmes. It still had the aroma of tobacco, sweat and whiskey. He lay in the bed emotionally drained. The bed felt empty. Watson thought that visiting Baker Street would make him happier, however it just made him shudder. Since the fall, he regretted it.

He wished that Holmes didn't die. He wanted to give Holmes that kiss goodnight.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the story. Reviews are most gladly welcome :)