acdholmesfest | Fics for gardnerhill: World Enough and Time, PG; Another Spring (Reply)

Title World Enough, and Time
Recipient

gardnerhill
Author

dreamtimegirl
Rating PG. It implies that there may be sexy times at some indeterminate point in the future, whether right after or not is entirely up to your reading.
Characters Holmes/Watson
Warnings None
Summary Holmes is nervous, Watson is nervous, there’s a lot of nervous going around really.
Disclaimer I’m a bit young to be Arthur Conan Doyle, so no matter how much I wish they’re mine, they’re not.

I desired my Watson in a variety of ways for some years before the whole thing came to a head in a surprisingly painless conversation on a shockingly unremarkable night in our sitting room. The whole incident was going quite swimmingly, despite my inexperience in such matters, until we reached the foot of my bed far quicker than I would have thought possible, and I found myself consumed by a mind-numbing panic.

You might presume that exchanging these passions with Watson, a man with whom I have shared the closest confidences for some years now, would lessen the awkwardness I felt concerning my oversight somewhat, but you would quite incorrect; having longed for our companionship to extend beyond our hearty friendship for as long as I had made the event feel shockingly fragile. I have never been well suited to handling fragile things, particularly if they pertain to the softer emotions, and that thought made me unaccountably nervous.

“Holmes, you are shaking.” Watson noticed, taking my hand in his and observing the tremors with a tenderness that made my heart weak. Unfortunately, it did not serve the same function for my tongue.

“I find myself singularly unsuited to the task of taking ‘Three Continents Watson’ to my bed. Although, when I say task, of course, I do not mean to imply that it is a chore. Indeed, far from it! You are, after all, a very handsome man, and my beloved Watson, although that hardly helps a man with my far more pedestrian charms that I boast treat your seduction with any sense of calm. Oh! but I did not mean to imply that this is merely a seduction, or that my difficulties are in any way your responsibility. As I was saying just a moment before, to have the opportunity to go to woo you, and I do intend to woo you in the most gentlemanly sense of the word if that is quite alright, is not a difficulty; it is a privilege, and I suspect that if I am to keep that privilege long enough to make good on it, it would be best if I were to stop talking, miracle that that would be…”

Finally, my babbling mouth caught up with my entreaties for it to stop. I had watched his face flicker through concern, shock, confusion and amusement as I spoke, and I could not help feeling quite miserable at the thought of how badly I’d bollocksed the whole thing up.

“Oh Holmes,” he murmured, taking my face in his hand and stroking my cheek with his thumb, “we’re both treading unfamiliar waters here.”

“I was under the impression that you were not unfamiliar with the bodies of men.” I snapped back, nerves and confusion sharpening my tongue.

“Yes Holmes,” he explained gently “I’ve bedded men before, but I have never bedded Sherlock Holmes. Look.”

He smiled at me wryly, and raised his own hand. It was also shaking.

I stared at the proof that his nerves matched my own with blank incomprehension until he laughed and gathered me into his arms, whispering into my ear.

“Perhaps it would be wise to merely lie together tonight. We can save more… athletic activities for another day.”

Emboldened by his revelation, I found my usual unflappable temper, and drew him down onto my bed. After all, my Watson will follow me anywhere.

Title Another Spring
Recipient Gardnerhill
Author [redacted]
Rating G
Characters Holmes/Watson - UST
Warnings None
Summary After certain things were discussed, Holmes and Watson have a seriously awkward train ride.
Disclaimer I’m a bit young to be Arthur Conan Doyle, so no matter how much I wish they’re mine, they’re not. Also, the title is from a Christina Rossetti poem.
Author’s Note It’s a character study of Watson, but it’s not particularly flattering or cheerful. I hope you don’t mind…

The train rattled along the tracks, and the sound made the silence in our cabin seem even more pointed, which is to say very pointed indeed. Holmes’ stony gaze had been fixed on the window since the journal began, and his mouth had formed a thin line.

It was unfortunate, I reflected, that it is not an uncommon thing for a change in scenery to bring about certain revelations that may go on to effect the everyday life of those involved when they had long since left the scenery behind, not in the least because it made for some damned awkward train rides. I had read the paper beside me three times over already, and the only thing that was preventing me from taking it up yet again was the memory of how the rustling of the pages had jarred the silence on my last attempt.

I had been angry at Holmes when we first settled ourselves in for the journey, but the heavy quality of the quiet had forced my stewing into self-reflection, and I was now aware that a large part of my ire was a ploy to avoid having to admit any fault on my behalf, and now that it had faded I was quashing a great deal of sympathy, if not quite guilt, for Holmes, who was obviously feeling very poorly about the whole affair. Do not misunderstand me; he was not entirely blameless. He of all men should have recognised the foolishness in his actions and brought himself up short, but he had not, and now we had to salvage what we could of the situation. Of course, there was a limit to how long I could ruminate on the problem before the tension and boredom became unbearable, and at this point I would have almost relished some small calamity aboard the steamer if it would only provide a distraction.

Of course, such distractions were not to be, and I sat at attention until my shoulders were stiff, and I became so frustrated with the situation I decided, against my better judgement to raise the issue. I had no wish to lose Holmes as either a fellow lodger or a friend, and I thought that was as good a place to begin the discussion as any.

“I should hope,” I began, startled by own voice after such a silence, “that upon returning to Baker Street, this unpleasant business might be put behind us.”

At the sound of my voice Holmes’ eyes flickered towards me, but his gaze returned to where his fingers were gripping the window ledge before it reached my face. It took him longer than was strictly necessary to reply, but when he did, his voice held no sign of duress.

“Indeed. We should do just that.”

I attempted to smile encouragingly at him, but he had returned to being so still that you would almost believe him a statue, and the strain in my cheeks warned me that it had fell flat in any case. I felt keenly for him, and on some level for myself, although I quashed that pity quickly. Perhaps, I considered, it would be best to have another attempt at clarifying my position to him before we returned and began to sweep this mess under the rug in earnest.

“You must understand Holmes that it is not as if I don’t hold you in the highest regard, and indeed, return your level of feeling, however –"

“I am aware of your feelings!” he cut me off, and suddenly I found myself staring straight into the razor sharp grey of his eyes. “Who do you think I am, man? A witless clerk? A doddering fool? One of the yard’s men!? Perhaps you fancy me a trained buffoon who will only perform their tricks on command in the hopes of receiving table scraps! I am Sherlock Holmes, and you of all people should know that I am aware of your feelings!”

He stared across at me angrily for a count of five, and then wrenched his eyes down to where his fists had curled in his lap. I was surprised by his outburst, but chose to push on; after all, my position on the matter was undeniably reasonable.

“We are gentlemen, Holmes.” I told him gently. “It is not uncommon, indeed, it is almost pedestrian for such a feeling to exist between the likes of us, but it is not a feeling to be acted upon. There are many men who have yearned for the intellectual bond that can only exist between men of a similar stature to become somehow more tangible. It is a love, Holmes, and a strong one, but not one to be consummated. We have a moral obligation not to indulge ourselves.”

Holmes only slowly closed his eyes, and slumped back into his seat as if defeated. I could have almost believed that he was acquiescing, if I had not heard his quiet murmur.

“The only thing pedestrian about this feeling is how carelessly it is trodden underfoot.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes after that, although some of the tension had bled out of the air, leaving only a sense of melancholy in its wake. The view outside our carriage had become metropolitan and was beginning to slow in its stately march as we approached our destination.

“It will pass.” I told him as the train drew into the station.

As we carried our luggage off the train into a light misty rain and headed to the street to hail a hansom, Holmes paused and glanced up into the drizzle. His lips curled a little at the corners, but the smile did not reach the centre of his mouth, let alone spread to the rest of his face. His words rushed out, hidden in a sigh and addressed to the wet grey sky,

“I doubt this feeling will lay itself to rest that easily my dear friend.”

He was right of course, as he always is. Although it took many years and battered us about in the process, love won. I think I always knew it would, but I am a soldier and I will fight as I am told I should until the enemy claims me, one way or another.