Fic for calccarbonate: Pleasantly Divided

[lavvyan.livejournal.com]

Title: Pleasantly Divided
Author: lonely_hunter
Recipient: calccarbonate
Characters/Pairings: Watson & Holmes, mention of Lestrade
Rating: G (PG for a nude Watson?)
Warnings: None.
Notes: It didn't come out quite as Christmasy as I'd originally aimed for, but there's a tender little nod towards the holiday at the end.
Summary: When a patient keeps Watson from joining his wife during the holidays, he finds himself once again home at Baker Street...


Pleasantly Divided

It was Christmas Eve when he appeared in my doorway. His silhouette was the same as ever, and his pale cheeks were flushed from the cold. I was undeniably glad to see him.

He took me in with one long glance as he swept into the room. “Mrs. Watson is gone for the holidays, but it seems a very ill patient has kept you here. One of the trials of the medical profession, I presume.”

“And how did you know that, Holmes?”

“There is a bit of shaving cream behind your jaw to which no one has alerted you. If Mrs. Watson had been here, she would have done so. The hem of your trousers is damp, so you’ve obviously been out. Now, you could have been out on other business, but your Gladstone bag was in the doorway, indicating that you were going to see a patient. The patient’s case must be dire in order for you to give up your Christmas holiday with your wife.”

“Well done Holmes. It seems you have the whole story from me then. You are on a case, I see.”

He raised his eyebrow at me, but I could tell I was right by the smile that began at the corner of his mouth I was right. “Indeed.” He stepped back with a small flourish of his hand. “Explain your methods then.”

“You are…” I faltered. What could I tell him? That when he was on a case he produced a kind of radiance? That seeing him flushed and smiling would always make me want to set aside my life to follow him? “You are unusually energetic.”

He laughed. It was a sharp, bright sound that I realized suddenly I had missed.

“And you, my Watson, are unusually astute.” His hand lighted upon my shoulder for a moment as he walked past me. “I admit, I had hoped you would be here. I might have need of your steady firing hand tonight. Will you join me?”

He scarcely needed to ask.

Thus it was that some four hours later I found myself, with my service revolver weighing heavily in my pocket, squeezed beside him in a stranger’s wardrobe as we waited for the arrival of a murderer.

When we had been waiting in the wardrobe for some time I realized Holmes had not clearly explained any part of the situation to me, and by then I had no choice but to admit that I would have joined him for any reason in the world and, so it seemed, for no reason at all.


Beside me, he inhaled deeply; he was growing impatient. “You’ve changed soaps.”

He had not spoken to me yet and had silenced me a short time before when I had attempted to make conversation by asking why, exactly, we were waiting in the wardrobe. “What?” I asked.

“You’ve changed soaps. I was around you quite often enough to know what your soap smelled like. You are using a different one. I presume one your wife has bought.”

“Oh. Well, yes. It is a different soap. I hadn’t given it much thought.”

He sighed. “Lestrade was right.”

“What was Lestrade right about?”

“Hush now, I hear steps on the stair. This will be him.”

I had expected to hear a knock, but instead the footsteps were followed by the unmistakable sound of the door being kicked open. Six shots were fired, and Holmes flew out of the wardrobe without so much as a word. I stumbled after him, but the man had already fled. I got out just in time to see Holmes disappearing through the door. I took in the six bullet holes that now riddled the coverlet Holmes had arranged so as to make it seem that a body lay there, and I ran after him without another thought.

I chased them along the cobblestones with my gun in hand, but soon my leg was throbbing. I could run no more. I lost them and stumbled out of a side street only to discover that we had arrived at the Thames. I stood by the river, trying to catch my breath and wondering how best to help Holmes.

The sound of my own breathing and the blood pounding in my ears caused me miss the footsteps until they were close. Before I could turn around a blunt object connected solidly with my temple.

I had the dim feeling of falling, but then I knew nothing else.

The first thing that I was aware of was a heavy hand pounding my back as I coughed up what seemed to me to be the entirety of the Thames.

The second thing was Holmes’s voice. He was yelling at someone, though I only caught words here and there. “Fools…supposed to be waiting outside…never should have…”
Someone responded, but I did not understand. Holmes stepped in front of me. “What if his wife had been made a widow? What if I had lost him?” He was roaring, but he grew silent at his own final question. Suddenly his hands were cupping my face, gently touching the wound on my temple, holding my eyes open to examine my pupils. His hands seemed uncommonly warm, and it was not until their touch that I realized how cold I was.

I tried to smile at him reassuringly, but the pull of muscle and skin made my head ache more fiercely. I am afraid it turned into a grimace. “What do you think you are, a doctor now?” I half-heartedly brushed at his hands.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered. “And you are freezing.” He pulled me to my feet. “Easy now, old chap. Let’s get you home.”

Lestrade called after us. It was something about serving as witnesses, but Holmes resolutely ignored him. In the hansom he covered me with his own coat and pulled me close against him.

My head began to swim again with the jostling of the cab. I have only a vague memory of our clumsy dance up familiar stairs. It was not until he was depositing me in the warm bath water that I realized he must have helped me undress since I was shivering too badly to have possibly managed all of my own buttons.

He tenderly cleaned the crust of blood from my cheek as I soaked. His brow was furrowed and his lips were drawn into a thin line.

“I’ll mend, Holmes. It’s really a very minor thing. My head is already clearing.”

“Of course you’ll mend. I’ll be damned if you survived a war in Afghanistan only to drown on Christmas Eve in London.”

I smiled, and this time it was easier. “What was it you were saying earlier, in the wardrobe? You said that Lestrade was right about something, I believe.”

His hand stilled. “I don’t recall saying any such thing. Your head was hit quite hard, you know.”

“Come now, Holmes.”

He huffed and continued his gentle ministration. “Very well. A few months ago, if you recall, you did a very neat job of stitching up a small wound of mine. Lestrade was there, and he commented afterwards that you had always taken proper care of me. He said that he was glad you had finally found someone who would care for you.” Holmes paused. “I rather resented, at the time, the implication that I did not care for you. However, he was quite right. Seeing you in your home and hearing you mention so casually the things she did for you, I realized that you were being very well looked after. Look at you. I forced you back into my life for a few hours, and you wound up beaten and bruised, being hauled out of the Thames by a policeman.”

I would have laughed had he not looked so melancholy. I took his hand in mine. I had kissed him once before, after which he had gently explained to me that physical affection had not, and never would be, his area of expertise. Our relationship had remained close and comfortable, but I had not thought twice about taking a wife.

No. That is a lie. But I took a wife anyway and foolishly hoped that somehow my intimate friendship with this man would remain unchanged.

“You are right. I am happy, and she does take care for me. However, you have always been my good friend. You have done a splendid job playing nurse tonight. I will be entirely recovered in the morning, and even the scrap and bruise will fade soon.” I touched his face, which was the most I dared. “My life is rather dull without your cases and adventures.”

“Indeed, I am certain it is. I find that my case notes are rather dull as well, without your exaggerated flair for the dramatic.” He turned quickly towards my hand and pressed a fleeting kiss into my palm before rising and leaving the room.

He returned briefly to hand me his robe. “I don’t believe I have anything that will fit you. This will have to do for tonight.”

When I made my way into the sitting room, my clothes were spread out before the fire. Holmes was emptying out his pipe into the grate. “There are no bedclothes in your former room, I am afraid. You may join me, or you may sleep on the settee.”

I looked at the damp clothes currently occupying all the furniture, and I silently padded after him into his bedroom. It was not a room that I had been in often, even when I lived at Baker Street. It seemed stranger still to be there after such a long absence. When we were both tucked under the covers he turned to face me. “You are warm enough now?”

“Yes. The dressing gown is a bit thin, but the covers and the combined warmth of our bodies will soon help.”

“Would it be better if I were closer?”

I tried to meet his eyes in the dark room. “Holmes…I do not want for you to cause yourself discomfort.”

“It would not cause me discomfort merely to be close to you.”

He moved towards me, and I let myself relax against him. In a moment his arm settled over my waist. I covered his hand with my own. I had not lied to him. I am happily married. Yet I felt no qualms about our closeness in that moment. If my heart is pleasantly divided between two people, it was my wife, not Holmes, who did the dividing. It belonged to him long before.

In the distance I could hear the clock toll midnight. Holmes’s fingers interweaved with mine. “Merry Christmas, Watson.”

I sighed contentedly. “A merry one indeed.”