In Which a Friend Loses an Unwinnable Battle

My eyes filled up with tears as I heard the news

It never occurred to me, how much I could lose

I find myself wishing that it wasn't real

Every time I think about it, pain is all I can feel

~Collette N. Alaniz

It is mostly well known that Sherlock Holmes was not an emotional man. This is often brought up in conversations when our marriage is questioned—which it often is, usually from the vast age difference and the fictional aura that follows my husband—and I have no true argument against it. No, Holmes is not emotional nor is he sentimental. But neither am I, so it happens to be a working association that has so far paid off in both of our lives.

But even so, Holmes does have his moments of weakness when the emotions in him overturn his brilliant mind. They are few and far in-between, but the moments are both passionate and dreadful. I loathe the moments of brooding sadness and cherish the declarations of love; though I would never tell him such.

It was five years into our illustrious and peculiar marriage when one such moment occurred. The cases had slowed and we were retired in our Sussex home. The stagnant times no longer wore on Holmes as they had in his youth, for now he had his bees to tend to and pending monographs to amuse himself with. I spent my time over my textbooks to catch up on the previous lack thereof due to an arduous case.

I had spent the morning brooding over the books and had yet to see Holmes, excluding the brief exchange in the morning when he had risen early and ordered me back to sleep. I acted on a whim and journeyed to find my husband later in the day, and I did so when I poked my head into the sitting room. He was seated at his desk, back to the dimming fire, sitting silently and staring at the window shutters to his right. Before him on the table was a crisp piece of paper.

I sensed not all was right and approached him, my eyes glancing over the paper before I understood completely what had sent my husband into such a gloomy mood. My heart clenched at the words I apologize for your loss and time of death.

I glanced up to my husband's face. His hawkish features were deadest in a neutral expression, but his eyes were shifting and clouded over, the give away in his stoic mask. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap and his nimble fingers were twitching nervously, as if beating out the tempo of his aching heart.

I briefly wondered if he wished to be alone, or if physical contact would be unwelcome. Often times he was adverse to affection, but I sensed in his tightly set shoulders and foggy grey eyes that now was an exception. I carefully wound my arm around his lean shoulders and tugged him closer to me.

My husband did not resist and allowed his head to be pillowed against my chest. My fingers ran gently through his thinning hair and after a few moments of gentle caresses, Holmes let out a stuttering sigh and closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight and one of his long arms slid around me and tugged me closer to him.

I couldn't speak, I dared not to. I merely ran my fingers through his hair and allowed him to listen to my beating heart, as if to assure himself that they could still beat. I leaned my head down and rested my cheek against his ruffled hair and sighed, allowing my own eyes to close for a brief moment before I pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

Holmes sighed again and tugged my waist forward, forcing me to rearrange my limbs as to accommodate the position he obviously wanted me to assume. I ended up seated in his lap, arms around his shoulders and his head pillowed on my scarred shoulder, his dry and soft breaths puffing against my bare skin at even intervals.

We ended up separating some time later, Holmes ever the master once more after his brief display of frailty. We did not speak of it again, but that night we laid closer together with Holmes's head against my heart. He slept peacefully, the only respite from the harsh, bold inked letter that lay, burnt to ashes, in the fire.

Done because it had to be. Basically this is a collection of the moments of fluff and weakness that I (hopefully we) crave for in the books.

I apologize for any mistakes, I don't have a beta and so all mistakes are mine. I also apologize for the short length; I couldn't eek out any more. I also apologize for the quality, I wrote this rather quickly and published it just as fast.

I tried to keep Holmes in character, but in my defense he rarely is in these moments. I will take requests, and reviews are love and appreciated. See you all soon, I'm aiming for daily or close to updates.

Love to everyone!