A beard? another Holmes/Watson flashfic

[delorita]

I gotta admit, I am not sure at all if I should post this. I am having the bad feeling that I am failing the two. I am sorry if I got them wrong. My muse is a bit sappy lately.

Title: A beard?
Author: Delorita
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Word count: 980
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: They belong to Sir ACD and Guy Richie. I'm just playing a bit and don't make any money with them.
Notes: First of all, this is inspired by the "beard" discussion at holmeaswatson09but has nothing to do with Irene at all. Second, I've always wanted to write a "fix it" piece for the open end of the movie myself.
Thanks for betareading go again to the very talented ladylovelace.
I also want to thank enkidutsfor her open ear for all my babblings lately.




"I have loaded the last of your boxes, Sir." The voice of the cabbie interrupts my musings about the complicated Moriarty case.

Watson turns his gaze towards me and I feel the incredible pang of loneliness creep up my spine. The pang which I had ignored for the last days. It hits with full force but I try to hide it. I take a great effort to look calmly back at him.

"Well." He says in a somewhat husky voice.

"Well." I answer lowly, looking awkward to the floor.

"Gladstone!" Miss Morstan's voice interrupts the tense moment.

"Stop him before he gets to the front door." Watson calls and doesn't look at me again. They are out of the room, chasing the dog - our dog-, within seconds.

"Case reopened." I say firmly, turning to Clarky and putting my hat on.

No one has to know in what state of misery I am about to fall.

The case might soothe my battered ego, distract me from the stupor, I know I am about to fall into, for a few days longer.

How can he leave me for a woman?

I shake my head. Silly question.

It is a normal thing to do for a man his age.

It would be a normal thing to do for a man my age as well. But since I am no normal man...

"Holmes?"

My heart gives a heavy thud at Watson's voice. He's standing there in the door frame, holding Gladstone in his arms, his gaze intense.

He is searching for words.

I wish he had not come back. It hurts me too much to look at him so I turn away.

I hear him come towards me, his steps hesitant.

"I want you to have him." Watson's voice sounds oddly strained.

I only move my head an inch to look at the dog.

He holds him out to me.

I do not move.

He wants to leave Gladstone in my care? What a noble gesture of him.

What about when I forget to feed him?

I am struggling with a lump in my throat.

Damn it, I am an adult, how can I get tearful when my best - and only - friend is leaving me?

"Holmes." He says again.

I shake my head, take Gladstone without looking at Watson and set the somewhat heavy animal on the floor. When I want to make sure that he wouldn't run again, I see that Watson had closed the door behind him when he came in already.

I slowly stand, heart racing in my throat.

It is now or never.

I will not see Watson again anyway since he decided to move out of my life.

He is still standing in the same place, close to me as always, not moving.

Then I let it happen.

I cut off my rational mind, which has always suppressed this reaction almost from the start of our friendship, and kiss him hard on the mouth, tongue flicking over his lips and tasting a bit of his moustache.

He staggers backwards, staring at me in astonishment.

I hold my breath.

Our gazes are locked.

I cannot say a word. I am shaking with anticipation and horror at what he might do or say.

His clear eyes seem to penetrate my very soul.

I do not bend my head. I want to get through this with my head held high. I am a sodomite, an invert - for him. Because I never felt the urge to kiss another man. It was always only ever him and I hate myself for that fact. I would have never come out, if he had stayed with me.
But now I want him to know what I have felt for him all those years even though he might hate me from now on.

Then he moves.

He steps forward, grips my dressing gown and returns the kiss so feverishly and powerful, that I have to stop it and gasp for air.

I am holding his lapels just as fiercely.

"Why now?" He asks utterly confused.

"Because...because you are leaving me for good." I gasp.

"But I do not." He states and explains hastily. "I... I still want to... I need to work with you. I need the macabre, you were right." He pauses, then adds in a whisper, "I need you."

I pull his head toward me again and interrupt his explanation. I think my heart will burst with utter relief. I can feel his hunger for me as much as mine for him.

What an extraordinarily bad timing.

Mary's call from the staircase breaks us apart and we stagger both backwards a few steps.

"I will see you. I will manage a practice and our adventures. I always have." He looks radiant with joy and hope.

"I assume you have a plan?" My voice sounds not like my own at all. I search for my pipe in the pocket of my dressing gown, to keep my fingers occupied.

"Yes." He states just as Mary opens the door, smiling cheerfully. "John are you coming?"

He is still facing me and I see the wicked boyish grin beneath his moustache, when he mouths, yes, to me, his eyes gleaming with the double innuendo of the word 'coming'.

I can hardly suppress a childish giggle.

"All right, then." I shake his hand firmly, marvelling in the strength and warmth of it. Then I walk up to her, using my acting skills, kiss her hand and wish her a good day.

"I have a case to solve." I tip at my hat and disappear into my bedroom to change.

"I will look after Gladstone in a few days." My dear Watson shouts, then the door gets closed and I hear them go down the seventeen steps.

I start to hum lowly. What an interesting and promising turn of events.

chapter 2