Dec. 31st, 2009 09:53 pm
Comment Fic: Holmes/Watson
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fox_confessorWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic a few weeks past.
prompt: Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson, When Holmes thinks he does not need Watson.
It'd been weeks since Holmes had sought out Watson for advice, or any other need to be fulfilled. He was confident that he had proved to himself, first, and to Watson second, that their relationship had been one of convenience rather than necessity. It was supplemental, the needs of the heart and the needs of the body, rather than integral, as are the needs of the mind, and he had the morphine when his work failed him. The conclusions were elementary.
It was Miss Morstan, as Holmes still thought of her, who answered the door, laughing at the sight of him and needlessly apologizing for opening the door rather than their servant as he wasn't expected but wouldn't he come inside. Miss Morstan herself presented a problem, one which he had never been able to solve, and Holmes took a step back, rain dripping from the brim of his hat and trickling down the neck of his coat.
Holmes heard Miss Morstan breath in deeply, her giddy enthusiasm of before collecting into a calm and he nodded, understanding immediately. He barely had the words out, asking after Watson, when he turned and found the gentleman himself as Watson rounded the corner, his gait slowed some by his old wound. He humored himself that when Watson looked up and his steps quickened that it wasn't just for the aforementioned lady, but for the guest who was dampening his doorstep. He sought signs for it in his way, marking the brightening of Watson's eyes, the lift of his chin, the flush that worked its way around Watson's collar.
"Holmes. My god, man. It's been too long."
"I had wondered if I might be welcomed."
"Only too much, my dear friend. As I say, it's been much too long."
comment_fic a few weeks past.prompt: Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson, When Holmes thinks he does not need Watson.
It'd been weeks since Holmes had sought out Watson for advice, or any other need to be fulfilled. He was confident that he had proved to himself, first, and to Watson second, that their relationship had been one of convenience rather than necessity. It was supplemental, the needs of the heart and the needs of the body, rather than integral, as are the needs of the mind, and he had the morphine when his work failed him. The conclusions were elementary.
It was Miss Morstan, as Holmes still thought of her, who answered the door, laughing at the sight of him and needlessly apologizing for opening the door rather than their servant as he wasn't expected but wouldn't he come inside. Miss Morstan herself presented a problem, one which he had never been able to solve, and Holmes took a step back, rain dripping from the brim of his hat and trickling down the neck of his coat.
Holmes heard Miss Morstan breath in deeply, her giddy enthusiasm of before collecting into a calm and he nodded, understanding immediately. He barely had the words out, asking after Watson, when he turned and found the gentleman himself as Watson rounded the corner, his gait slowed some by his old wound. He humored himself that when Watson looked up and his steps quickened that it wasn't just for the aforementioned lady, but for the guest who was dampening his doorstep. He sought signs for it in his way, marking the brightening of Watson's eyes, the lift of his chin, the flush that worked its way around Watson's collar.
"Holmes. My god, man. It's been too long."
"I had wondered if I might be welcomed."
"Only too much, my dear friend. As I say, it's been much too long."
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