Fic for autumnatmidnite: The Care of an Aspidistra

[methylviolet10b]

Title: The Care of an Aspidistra
Recipient: autumnatmidnite
Author: only_po
Rating: PG-13
Characters, including any pairing(s): Holmes/Watson, Watson/OC
Warnings: implied established slash relationship, m/m kissing. Naughty word
Summary. Guilty!Watson makes a confession to Holmes; Holmes must decide whether or not to forgive him.
Disclaimer – Unfortunately ACD’s estate owns the remaining rights to Holmes and Watson.

It was an intoxicating kiss, insistent and passionate, and it was all the more heady for the length of time I had gone without such a kiss. His tongue slid along mine deliciously. I could feel my knees weakening even as other parts of me were decidedly hardening. I moaned involuntarily and was rewarded with a breathy whisper, "God . . . John . . . "

The sound of my first name struck me like pail of frigid water. It kept me from pressing against him as he moved in for another kiss. Instead, I pulled back, muttering senseless excuses. I was aware of his eyes watching me as I hurried out the door and into the street. I half-ran a full three blocks with my heart pounding the entire way. Only when I could scarcely draw breath did I stop and lean back helplessly against a wall.

Dear God, what was I going to tell Holmes?

*****

I made my way back to Baker Street, longing to lose myself in the comforts of home but dreading every step that brought me closer to Holmes. What the devil had I been thinking? How could I have been so stupid, so selfish? How could I have come so close to betraying Holmes’s love for me and my love for him? Did I value our partnership so little?

Of course, Holmes had taken little notice of me of late. I had not seen his detecting services in such high demand in years. But before, even when he was at a fever-pitch of deductive reasoning, he had always been able to spare a few seconds to touch my wrist or caress me affectionately with his gaze. I had not had even that much attention in weeks . . . months, truth be told. In fact, it was out of desperation for human interaction that I had even ventured out tonight with the excuse of wanting to hear a medical lecture. At least there I might engage in conversation without being told that the exchange of pleasantries was an unnecessary distraction. For as much as Holmes praised my abilities as a sounding-board, he might have been addressing his bedpost, so impersonal had he become towards me.

But what sort of paltry excuse was that? Did I truly have no control over my behavior that I was so susceptible to another man’s flirtation? Did I have so little regard for the relationship Holmes and I had built up that I would carelessly throw it all away for a stranger’s touch?

I stopped in my tracks and gave way to a dismal groan. There was no earthly way Holmes could fail to discern something had happened to me and it would not be long after that that he would deduce what. And then . . . and then we should have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I could only pray that my misery would show as plainly as my philandering.

I was suddenly surprised to realize that a small part of me did not care. Indeed, it reveled in my selfishness. Holmes had the consequences of his actions that he must face as well and if it took my unfaithfulness to make him see that, then so be it. Then grief and despair swept over me again and I wanted nothing more than to erase from existence the past few hours.

All too soon 221 Baker Street loomed ahead of me. My feet were like lead as I climbed the steps and my heart beat wildly as I opened the door to our sitting room. Holmes sat in his chair, pouring over his analysis of dirt samples from the crime scene, just as I had left him when I set forth for the medical lecture just a few hours before. He made no indication that he was aware of my return. For one wild moment I thought perhaps I might escape to my room without Holmes noticing me at all. Then guilt overwhelmed me anew. I could no more keep this from him than I could grow a fish’s tail.

I had to call his name three times before he looked up from his work, only to snarl, "Watson, you know perfectly well that I hate to be disturbed when – " He stopped speaking only when he finally turned and saw my face. Instantly his demeanor changed. "Watson, whatever is wrong? Surely the new treatments for cankers and carbuncles are not as bad as all that."

At last I had his undivided attention, and at the moment I wished for it the least. I shook my head and poured us each a measure of brandy. Silently I handed him one. He accepted it, his gaze raking over me while concern deepened upon his features. "It was not the lecture," he stated, although there was a question behind it.

"No," I agreed miserably. "It is . . . something I have done."

At that, Holmes turned off his Bunsen burner, abandoned his samples, and came around to his chair. "My dear fellow, whatever the trouble is, we shall work it through together. You need not suffer this alone. Whatever you need from me, you shall have it, and devil take whatever London’s next crime is."

The tenderness of his voice nearly unmanned me to tears, even as hysterical laughter bubbled in response to the irony of his words. "I hope you shall not regret those words," I managed at last, and confessed to all.

*****

Dr. Sean Barrowman appeared to be in his early forties. There was a sprinkling of grey at his temples that enhanced his handsome features, setting off his blue eyes and giving him an air of still-virile maturity. After we had been introduced, his congenial smile shortened into a quizzical look.

"John Watson . . . Dr. John Watson . . . Great heavens, you’re not THE Dr. Watson of the Sherlock Holmes stories?"

I wanted nothing more than to give him a rude retort and walk away. Discussing Holmes and his cases was the last thing I wished to do tonight. Instead, I smiled wanly and shook my head. "If I had a sixpence for every time I was asked that. There are a good many Dr. John Watsons in London, you know. We ought to hold a convention of sorts and air our grievances at that writer."

"And yet you haven’t denied that you are he," he pointed out shrewdly.

I mustered all the sincerity I could into my face and my voice. "I am not he. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, no," Dr. Barrowman protested. "I’m not disappointed at all. I confess, the writer of those stories always struck me as a rather dull, stupid fellow but you . . ." His smile returned, with a hint of something other than mere pleasantry. "You seem far more interesting and intelligent than he. I think I should like to get to know you better."

It was an invitation, I finally realized, or at least what could be an invitation if I gave the man any encouragement. It was a mark of how long I had been out of practice – not only with men who shared my tendencies but also with Holmes himself. The thought made me resent Holmes’s recent indifference all the more. Then I found myself contemplating a flirtation with this man I had only just met and a wave of guilt and unease swept over me. Clumsily I made some remark to the effect that I hoped the lecture might be equally interesting and made my escape across the room. Nevertheless I was aware of Dr. Barrowman’s eyes upon me up until the speaker began.

To this day I scarcely remember one word of the lecture. I had chosen it because it regarded a new treatment of skin infections but so aware was I of Dr. Barrowman’s presence and what might be, if I so chose, that I heard not a word. I vacillated wildly between desire and denial, between offering myself rationalizations and counter-arguments.

Afterwards, whilst the other attendees clustered around the lecturer, asking questions and offering comments, Dr. Barrowman reappeared at my elbow. "It is terribly crowded here," he murmured into my ear. "A man can scarcely hear his own thoughts."

"A quieter venue would be a fine change," I replied immediately. Even so, we had not gone more than a block when horrific doubts assailed me and I expressed my doubts to my companion.

"A fit of nerves?" Barrowman laughed softly and led us into a darkened space between buildings. His hand cupped my jaw and pulled my head close. "Perhaps this might convince you."

****

I could not meet Holmes’s eyes. The best I could do was address to his cravat. "He kissed me. And I kissed him back. Then I left him there on the street. Nothing more happened." I swallowed hard and then whispered, "But I was sorely tempted."

Holmes had gone very still, almost statue-like, for the duration of my short confession. Now he reached for his pipe and tobacco with an air that was positively careless. "I see. Well, you recall what Oscar Wilde said about temptation," he said in a slithery drawl. "But you needn’t have deprived yourself on my account. I do give a thought for your happiness, you know. No doubt we can find him again, since it is he whom you desire."

There are but a few things I simply cannot tolerate from Holmes. That loathsome, denigrating tone is one of them, especially when it is directed towards me. Or when he directs it towards himself. And I was already raw with harrowed emotions. "You damned fool!" I snarled.

It was enough to raise a single black eyebrow. I marched to within an inch of him, forcing him to look up at me. "It is you I desire, not he. You. It was always you. But you were not available."

"And my deepest apologies for not being at your disposal every minute of the day," retorted Holmes, lapsing into his most hateful incarnation of sarcasm. "Had I known you were so incapable of controlling your baser urges – "

I snatched the pipe out of his hand and slammed it upon the table, caring not a whit if anything ended up scorched. "You have not been available for weeks! Perhaps occasional glances over the morning coffee pot is enough basis for a relationship for you but it is not for me. I am not so – "

For one terrible moment I found the word "heartless" on my tongue and bit it back hastily. For one, it was utterly untrue. Holmes is more sensitive to emotions than most men but he hides it far better. For another, I had come to learn that Holmes despised being called so and for me to utilize the word against him would prove which one us was in actuality without a heart.

"I am not so adept as you at separating work from the rest of life," I finished somewhat more gently. "I know your work is important and I would not dream of demanding your attention from it. I don’t want you at my services every minute of every day. But I would like you for myself for a minute or two out of the week. I have not even had that much of you in a long while."

Holmes had gone still again but this time his posture seemed less rigid. "You conduct an affair with another man and you dare to lecture me about proper conduct within a relationship?"

I would not consider it an affair but I fully understood his point. I retreated to my chair at the table, his eyes still upon me. "I do not mean to lecture," I replied contritely. "I do not even mean to excuse my behavior. I only wish to explain it so that you have the full facts before you."

"Go on, then," he asked quietly. I could not read his tone.

"He was there and he was willing. He did not know I was Dr. Watson of 221B Baker Street, colleague of Sherlock Holmes. He could only have been interested in me for me. I confess, I was flattered by his attention. He . . . he made me feel desired again. If I could not have you then at least he was someone, albeit a poor substitute. I am truly sorry, Holmes. I never meant for it to go as far as it did. I wish I could undo it. One kiss was not worth hurting you as I know I have. And . . . for what it is worth . . . I did cut it off before any more damage could be done."

We sat silently for a time, nursing our respective drinks. "You did not spend much time in the agonies of indecision," observed Holmes. "I should wager it was not more than a quarter of an hour between your peccadillo and your confession."

"A little less, I think." I did not know what difference, if any, that made, but I forebore any comment. It was not my right to do so, not yet.

"You put me in mind of Mrs. Hudson’s aspidistra," said Holmes abruptly.

"I beg your pardon!"

"It withstands all manner of neglect," Holmes continued, ignoring my affronted outburst. "Poor light, poor environment, poor water supply, what have you. It will not thrive, of course, but it will endure because it is in its nature to do so. It is not until the neglect becomes overwhelming that any problem is noticed." He paused. "It is possible to reverse the damage although I have heard it does take some diligence to the cause." He paused again and looked at me.

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth but I was not so appeased as all that. "Provided one cared enough for the aspidistra to do so."

"I abhor aspidistras," declared Holmes flatly. "I would not give them a second of my time." Then, as my heart had just begun to sink, he added, "but I adore you. As such, I think you are owed far more than one minute a week."

"Thank you," I murmured.

"I am still angry with you," he admitted quietly. "But if we are to be honest with one another it is only fair that I should acknowledge my role in this matter."

"Again, thank you."

He shook his head with the barest smile. "Ah, Watson. You are the only man I know who can commit an indiscretion and still remain a good man."

"A good man would not have kissed another man while his lover remained at home," I replied bitterly.

"A lesser man might not have had the strength of character to make a clean breast of it minutes later. Nor," he murmured, "might he have been able to keep it only to a solitary kiss, when even I cannot recall the last time we ourselves shared such an activity. I said to you a little while ago that whatever you needed from me I would give. I mean to honor that. Tell me what you need from me, Watson. And do be precise as to details."

The gleam of his eyes was unmistakable and I rejoiced in it. "I need you, Holmes. I need the feel of your skin all over me. I need your scent in my nostrils. I need your mouth and your hands marking me and bruising me. I need your cock deep inside me, claiming me as yours, all yours, only yours."

His smile was a touch more feral now. "Indeed? Then tonight I shall make sure you receive exactly what you need. And tomorrow, you shall have what I know you want but have not asked me for: more than a minute of my attention."

Comments

[spacemutineer.livejournal.com]

There is so much to love in this story.

There was no earthly way Holmes could fail to discern something had happened to me and it would not be long after that that he would deduce what. And then . . . and then we should have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I could only pray that my misery would show as plainly as my philandering.

Emotional and tense. Well done!

[dreamtimegirl.livejournal.com]

Aww, that was lovely! :)

[fabelschwester.livejournal.com]

Very nice, something completely different for once.
I think it actually sounds believable. Why should there always be nothing but love and happiness? It's Holmes-Canon, not Disney... :)

[impulsereader.livejournal.com]

Nicely done!

All relationships have issues, and that's a rich vein to explore between these two men.

Definitely an interesting read. :-)

[methylviolet10b]

Very well done! You maintained the tension throughout the story. Watson's guilt, misery, frustration, and anger were all very true to life and well handled. Holmes, too, was very Holmesian in his responses.

[hardboiledbaby]

"I know your work is important and I would not dream of demanding your attention from it. I don’t want you at my services every minute of every day. But I would like you for myself for a minute or two out of the week. I have not even had that much of you in a long while."

Oh, poor Watson! He is only human, after all. A well-written tale of love tested. Thank you, Anon.

[mainecoon76.livejournal.com]

Very interesting take on their relationship. Yes, I do believe Holmes would be in danger of neglecting Watson once the novelty had worn off. Well, he did, canonically. That bedpost comment always gets me. Poor boys.

[stardust-made.livejournal.com]

I really like it when a story makes me conflicted and this one did it very well! One moment my heart was bleeding for Watson, the next I wanted to shake him; my heart went out to Holmes, then I wanted to smack him; and then, and then...Oh dear.:) It's the way we are with real people in real life situations, and that's the real strength of this story. Thank you for sharing!

[autumnatmidnite.livejournal.com]

Dear Anon, this was absolute perfection! You took a premise that isn't often explored, and made it credible every step of the way; from the temptation and guilt that ensued, my heart ached for Watson. What I appreciated most though was how Holmes doesn't forgive him straight away - instead you used that as an opportunity for their love to shine through and made the reconciliation all the sweeter.

This was memorable and beautiful, and I cannot thank you enough for making my day with such a well done bit of romance. Thank you!

[garonne.livejournal.com]

So good to see a story which is both realistic and romantic at the same time. Emotions ran strong and deep in this story, and you conveyed that wonderfully. Excellent!

And a very clever title indeed. I loved the metaphor.

[cyanne]

This is heartwrenching and wonderful all at once, and very real.