A Quiet Evening
I wrote a short something. Guess it works for original canon too, but I wrote it with Brett and Hardwicke in mind.
Also on Ao3.
-
Our rooms at Baker Street were silent apart from the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth and the constant beating of the against the windowpane. There had been a thunderstorm earlier but though the thunder had moved past the rain had not abated. It was late and between the hour and the weather, even the street outside was silent.
I sat on the sofa by the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. I had been reading but found the text did not compel me tonight, the high seas and its adventures held no interest. Instead, I found myself engaged in a half-dreaming reverie, recalling those I had had of my own through the years, of the long and winding path I had walked alongside my friend and companion.
My gaze slipped from the fire to Holmes’s back where he sat at his work table, bent over his microscope. I lingered at the sight of his lean back, the way his black hair shone in the low light. He was wearing his old, mouse-grey dressing gown. I knew how soft that fabric was beneath my hands. How he would sigh when I kissed the nape of his neck when he was in the mood.
He was stabler now than when we were younger. Though his dark moods had not disappeared, they happened with less frequency even at times like this when there was a longer stretch of inactivity. And he was less prone to seeking solace or escape in narcotics, much to my unending delight.
“I’m fine, Watson,” he said, without turning his head.
“Reading my thoughts again, Holmes?” I asked, with no real surprise.
I was accustomed to his ability to pierce my thoughts and it had been years since it had made me uncomfortable. There were no longer any secrets between us, we knew the worst parts of each other. And the best.
He turned in his seat to face me, one arm hooked around the back of the chair.
“Shall I walk you through the steps?” he asked, his lips curling into a smile.
“I would much rather you joined me here,” I said suddenly feeling that he was too far away, even if he sat only a few feet away.
He rose with familiar elegance and crossed to my side, perching himself on the armrest of the sofa.
I laughed at his antics and padded the seat next to me.
With a grin, he moved.
“What do you wish?” he asked.
I shifted in my seat and put my hands at his waist, the novel I had half forgotten about falling to the floor with a thud. Neither Holmes nor I paid it any mind.
I felt the warmth radiating off him, the lithe muscles beneath the fabric, and my fingertips brushed against the bottom edge of the whalebone corset he used to flatten his breasts.
“May I?” I asked, leaning forward.
“You may,” he answered.
I pressed my lips to his. They were dry and slightly chapped but warm like all of him. His hand came up to rest on my shoulder, and I felt his fingers draw lazy, restless patterns.
He did not deepen the kiss and neither did I, content with tasting his lips. When I pulled back there was a slight blush on his pale cheeks and a warm smile creased his lips.
“Was this what you were after?” he asked.
“Among other things.”
“What else can I give you tonight?”
“Would you play for me?”
“You have but ask.”
He rose and retrieved his violin.
“What is your request?”
I thought for a moment.
“You pick. Something that suits your mood,” I said.
“My mood? Very well,” he said as he tugged the instrument under his chin.
He closed his eyes, put the bow to the strings, and began to play. I didn’t recognize the tune, it might have been one of his own, but it was soft with a light, almost merry note to it.
I leaned back in my seat and stretched out my legs, my eyes sliding half shut as I listened to him play, the gentle notes mixing with the crackle of the fire and the patter of the rain.
54 notes
·
View notes
Friendly reminder that Doctor John Watson had no one. He returned from the war ill and newly disabled. He had nowhere to turn at his most vunerable moments and drifted without purpose within his new, alien life.
Friendly reminder that Sherlock Holmes had no one. He was different, no one understood him. He had been battling addiction alone for years. His only chance at survival in a world he was ill-suited for was to carve out his own niche.
Friendly reminder that they met each other when each of them desperatly needed someone. Friendly reminder that Holmes was instantly open with Watson, and Watson was instantly smitten. Friendly reminder that Holmes provided Watson with a mystery, a distraction that Watson desperatly needed. Friendly reminder that Watson showered Holmes in praise when he was so unused to it. Friendly reminder that Holmes let Watson write about his life, and Watson helped him through crippling drug addiction.
They're both broken men who begin to heal in the presence of each other. They built their lives around each other, encouraged each other, comforted each other. If they hadn't met, their lives would have been worse for it.
3K notes
·
View notes
He laughed 65 times!!!
Those who do not know Sherlock Holmes well, think that he is a gloomy and dark man.
However, we know that it is different: he is an extremely energetic and chaotically cheerful person.
In the ACD canon he laughed 65 times (and smiled 103) ~
Source: {Sherlock Holmes - playing cards, N. A. Bird, late of the V&A Museum}
266 notes
·
View notes
so at this point everyone’s made a crack at Watson and Holmes for going years living together and never telling each other about their respective brothers. But like. Watson never told Holmes about his brother because he didn’t like talking about him. He and his brother had a complicated relationship and I’m sure Watsons feelings about him only got more complicated after he died. Holmes never told Watson about HIS brother just cus he’s weird like that and almost as soon as he does get talking about Mycroft, he’s singing his praises.
I have this idea that when Watson found out about Mycroft at first he kinda rationalized Holmes never telling him about him by going “well, maybe they just aren’t close. maybe there’s a little hostility there. Maybe Holmes is jealous of him or something or other.” because, well. That’s why he didn’t tell Holmes about his brother. He couldn’t fault him if that was the case.
Until, of course he actually meets Mycroft in person and it’s very clear that Holmes was being completely genuine in his praise of his brother. And they don’t seem like they have a strained relationship at all. In fact, they’re happy to see each other. And they’re so alike in personality. Mycroft is pleasant to him on first meeting. He and Sherlock fire deductions back and forth like it’s a game to them, and in all honesty it might be. He writes that being reminded that Holmes has a family reminded him of Holmes’ humanity.
Do you think that Watson looks at the Holmes brothers dynamic and feels a little bittersweet remembering his own brother?
454 notes
·
View notes
"The problem with having Sherlock Holmes brainworms versus, like, literally, uh, any other brainworms is that you eventually, like, run out of worms with other media, but Sherlock Holmes has been adapted since like the beginning of time- so... there are plenty of worms- too many."
-transcript of voice message i sent my sibling, 2024
163 notes
·
View notes
I understand why some people want to view Watson as Neurodivergent alongside Holmes, and honestly good for them. It's a sucky sucky world out there, go project to your hearts content. But for me personally, I have to see Watson as neurotypical.
My little neurodivergent ass saw Holmes and imprinted on him like a little lost duckling. And then there's Watson, who sees Holmes and his Behaviours™️ as something wholly out of the norm but absolutely adores him anyway, quirks and all. It's so refreshing to have a implied-neurotypical character who comes across neurodivergent behaviour and is just like. 'oh! that's new. ok then, on we go.' he doesn't try to change Holmes, only tries to help him away from destructive behaviour , like weaning him off cocaine.
Doctor John Judgey Watson saw Sherlock Holmes and did not judge him. instead he was just facinated by him. adored him. acepted him.
that being said, Watson is Fucked Up. that man is not 'normal', but I do think he is neurotypical.
646 notes
·
View notes