SHVoLB 8

SHVoLB 8

(A/N: Sorry this took so long but here it is!)

Holmes crept out of the room before Watson had awakened and made his way downstairs. As he passed the kitchen, he could smell coffee but saw no one about. The room with the television was thankfully unoccupied as well so he sat down on the couch and flicked the thing on. He flipped through the channels absentmindedly, finally coming to a stop on some show with lots of movement, perhaps dancing but he couldn't find it in himself to pay it any kind of attention.
He breathed a deep sigh, his chest giving a dull ache. He reached up to touch it through the shirt, half expecting to find a hole there but of course, there was none.
"I thought you disliked ballet."
Holmes jolted upright at the sound of Monica's voice. He glanced over to find her casually leaning on the door frame as if she had been there all day. The woman was a ninja! Sherlock glowered at her and then back at the screen, realizing that it was indeed, ballet. He gave a grimace of distaste but did nothing about it.
Monica sat down next to him, a cup of coffee in her hands. 'Well that explains that.'  "Holmes…" she said quietly, angling her head so she was in the line of vision of his downcast eyes, "What's wrong?"
"What the devil do you mean?" he asked, his jaw clenching in aggravation.
"Come on, Mr. Detective. Give me some more credit than that! I can tell when someone's been crying all night."
Holmes sniffed and glanced away from her but it was too late. She knew. "It's just…allergies…" He flinched at the terrible excuse and knew she wouldn't believe it for a minute. 'Confound women and their blasted intuition!'
"Really?" she mused, tilting her head to the side, "I haven't noticed you sniffling before."
"Yeah well…I'm temperamental?"
"And I suppose that would also account for the raw tear-tracks at the corners of your eyes."
'Damn it!' He fidgeted uncomfortably, feeling as if he would blurt something out at any minute.
"Come on, Sher-Sher, you can tell me anything," she merely grinned when he cast her a murderous glare. "It's Watson, isn't it?"
He felt his blood freeze for a moment and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're in love with him and you don't know how to tell him but he accidentally thwarted your feelings last night and now you've lost all hope. Is that it?"
Holmes found himself choking on air while Monica calmly sipped her coffee.
"I…Can't believe…you…How…?!" was all he could manage.  
"Hey, it's just what I do. All my friends call me 'Matchmaker'."
"I never knew I was such an open book," he said bitterly, chin in hand.
"You want to tell me what happened?"
He thought about it a moment and then shook his head, "This is ridiculous, I'm behaving like a lovesick fool."
"There's nothing ridiculous about it, it's natural. I'm sure Watson will come around if you just…"
"He has a fiancée, okay?! He's getting married!" he groaned, rubbing at his sore eyes where hot tears had begun to prickle. He would not cry again! He wouldn't!
Monica placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and remained silent for a moment before, "You guys don't know how long you'll be here. It could be days or it could be months, either way you have time. Heck, I guess there's even the chance you won't go back at all! But don't worry about it. I know how much he cares about you. I even knew it when I read the books. He'll come around."
With that, she got up and left Holmes to his thoughts.

---


Watson woke to an empty bed but then remembered about Holmes sleeping on the floor and guilt gnawed at his insides. He got up, expecting to see the other man asleep on the rug, but he was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, he left the room and padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Monica was there, pouring a bowl of cereal for herself and when she looked at Watson, it was with irritation.
"Err…good morning?" he said timidly, confused as to what he had done wrong.
"Indeed," she muttered, placing the milk back in the fridge and carrying her bowl over to the table.
"Have I done something? Did Holmes tell you about sleeping on the floor? Because I didn't tell him-…"
Her head snapped up and her eyes were fierce, "He what?"
Watson swallowed hard, realizing he had backed himself into a corner, "He did but I didn't tell him to! God no, I was just joking!"
Monica's eyes narrowed in skepticism but then she lowered them and uttered a dangerous, "I see…"
Watson fidgeted uncomfortably but she said no more to him. Cautiously, he moved to pour himself a cup of coffee and the girl remained silent. He sat down at the table across from her, nervously stirring his beverage and keeping his eyes trained on her as if awaiting an explosion.
After a few minutes of silence he dared to ask, "Do you know where he is? He was already gone when I woke up."
"Yes."
"…Well?"
"The last time I checked, he was watching the television," Watson rose to leave, "but I wouldn't go in there if I were you." He resumed his seat.
"Why not?"
"I don't know if he would want me to tell you this but he's a bit…upset."
"I assumed as much but I don't know what I did to him."
"That seems about right," she said quietly.
"Did he tell you?"
She looked at him for a moment, considering, and then said, "I can't tell you that but what I can tell you is: make it right as soon as possible."
Watson half-growled in irritation, "How am I supposed to make it right if I don't even know what I did?"
"Hey, that's up to you. Go with your gut. But I will say that a grand gesture of some sort wouldn't be a bad idea." She put her bowl in the sink and left the room.
John's thoughts were racing, trying to come up with something…anything that would make it right between him and Holmes. His hand moved to massage his injured leg absentmindedly when a thought sprang into his head.
"A grand gesture," he said to himself and he remembered the cane that Holmes had so caringly provided for him…and that's when he knew what he must do.
"Monica!" he called, darting out of the kitchen.

---

"Holmes…Holmes!" The man woke with a start to find Watson standing in the doorway, holding something behind his back.
Holmes sat up, his back stiff from having fallen asleep on the sofa. "What is it, Watson?" he asked, trying not to look directly at him incase his eyes were still red.
"I have something for you."
This however, took him off guard and he stared at Watson questioningly. The other man revealed what he had been hiding behind his back and Holmes knew the black box immediately to be a violin case. John came towards him and placed the case on Holmes's lap. Sherlock stared at it for a second, and then back at Watson who nodded and smiled. Timorously, he reached forward and unlatched the case, drawing back the lid.
He couldn't restrain the gasp that escaped him, earning him a chuckle from Watson. Carefully, he lifted the delicate instrument from its bed and marveled at its beautifully sloping lines.
"A Stradivarius…" he breathed, turning the violin over in his hands again and again.
"Yes," Watson grinned.
"What…How did you get this?"
"I bought it of course."
"You bought it?"
"Yes."
"…Watson, would you mind telling me the time?"
The doctor reached for his pocket out of habit and froze, his face flushing.
"You sold your brother's pocket-watch," Holmes stated quietly and Watson nodded, "And that is what afforded you to buy the violin."
"Well…not entirely."
"What do you mean?"
"I sold my old clothes and shoes to a museum as well."
Holmes gaped at him for a moment, trying to reason out what on Earth could cause Watson to do such a thing. "Watson…I…can't accept this. If you're trying to make amends of some sort, I assure you it is unnecessary."
He tried to hand the violin back to Watson but he shoved it back into Holmes's hands. "No. I wanted to do it. I was glad to do it," and it was the truth, "I want you to have this."
Holmes shook his head, looking down at the instrument in his hands. He couldn't understand why! Watson didn't love him because he quite obviously still loved his fiancée and Holmes hadn't really done anything to deserve this so…he must be feeling sorry for him. It stung.
"Watson, if this is your own special brand of pity then I don't need it," he said, his voice acquiring a sharp edge.
Watson's mouth dropped open and he tried to find his voice again, "Pity? You think this is pity? Why would I be feeling sorry for you?"
Holmes felt his face heating up and knew he was dangerously close to some kind of precipice. "Sometimes, Watson, I really do not understand you! It's quite infuriating! I think you've finally met some kind of revelation but then I realize that you're just as dense as ever!"
"Dense!"
"Why! Tell me why you did this! Explain to me why a man would go out of his way to win someone's affections if he doesn't love them!"
Watson's eyes widened to mirror Holmes's. The detective sat rigid as a board, not believing he had just let that slip. He knew he was red all the way to his ears and tried to make an escape with what little piece of dignity he had left. However, Watson's hand caught his, holding him there.
Holmes closed his eyes, his head bowed away from Watson and he wondered how much more of this he could possibly take. His heart throbbed in his chest and he fought the urge to curl his fingers around Watson's.
"You think I do not love you?" It was barely a whisper in the dark room.
"Just forget it. There's no way to make you understand…" he tried to wrench his hand from the other man's grasp but Watson held firm.
"Try."
Sherlock swallowed and he could feel his free hand tremble nervously.
"Make me understand."
The words echoed in his head which was spinning and the room was suddenly so hot and before he had time to plan it, he whirled around and captured Watson's lips in his own. Fireworks exploded behind his closed eyes but all too soon, he pulled a way for fear of Watson's reaction. The doctor stood, blinking dumbly at Holmes, a very becoming shade of pink blooming across his cheeks.
Holmes wrung his shaking hands as he stared at him, "Watson, I do wish you'd say something."
Watson however, in one fluid motion, slipped his hand around Holmes's head, his fingers knotting in his wild hair and pulled the man into another kiss. A startled sound escaped Holmes but it soon died away as Watson's lips were moving against his and his mustache was tickling him in such a pleasant way and all his muddled thoughts melted like the rest of him.
When they finally pulled apart an inch or two, they were both panting and Holmes dropped his head to Watson shoulder, his arms winding their way around him. Watson returned the embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to Holmes's neck.
"Oh this is soo going on YouTube," Monica giggled as she put away her phone.

(A/N: Hot plate of crumpets! It finally happened! XD)