Title: Minutae
Characters: Holmes, Watson
'Verse: Doyle, Granada (basically no Watson marriage)
Rating: K+ for (canon) character death
Word Count: 1300 plus footnotes (13 drabbles)
Warnings: Spoilers for both Granada and Doyle FINA and EMPT, basic canon spoilers
Summary: It's the little things that make or break a relationship. Prompt was: I would love a fic by kcscribbler that shows all the subtle little things Holmes does for Watson- not going out when it's the kind of weather that would pain him, moving his chair closer to the fire, playing violin on bad days... anything like that, if possible?
A/N: Written as prize fic for donutsweeper, grand prize winner at the JWP prompts for watsons_woes. And it's my first real Holmes fic since...well, before the 2009 movie came out? o_O Only drabbles, but 'tis better than nothing, y/y? :|
It is a matter of power. This strange and unique and thoroughly incomprehensible army surgeon which Fate and one Henry Stamford have so neatly deposited upon his doorstep, is a variable tossed into the experiment which is his life, one so volatile and impulsive that it completely upends all predicted outcomes. He is thrown off his guard, simultaneously charmed and intrigued, by a dry wit, tolerance, and unbelievable loyalty, none of which are variables he has ever used.
His brain thrives on enigmas, intricate problems, mysteries with hidden depths.
John Watson is the most fascinating one he has yet encountered.
-00-
It is a matter of pride. The man is a war hero, and has seen horrors which make East End serial killings look like penny thrillers. Nightmare-haunted and half-crippled, the doctor could easily fade into the background, unnoticed and unmissed, but for his chance encounter with London's keenest observer. Holmes knows instinctively, without the evidence of observation-deduction, that while help and sympathy might be tolerated by this ex-soldier, pity and coddling will not be – and more surprising than that, is that any of the above ideas have even occurred to his admittedly self-centric mind.
John Watson has already changed him.
-00-
It is a matter of protection. He sees the indications moments before it starts, and is already flying across the warehouse to shield from curious eyes. The case has been exhausting, and their quarry is himself a veteran, hopelessly addicted to opiates…Holmes should have anticipated this.
Only the clatter of the sergeant dissembling a rifle; but a trigger. He steadfastly ignores all else, taking two frozen hands in his – not the arm or shoulder, never that – and tries to penetrate the memory-fog he can see the doctor desperately struggling against.
John Watson is the bravest man he knows, twice over.
-00-
It is a matter of common sense. "Do try to not drive this one into Bedlam, Sherlock," had been Mycroft's sole piece of wisdom, and the advice is sound. From curbing his enthusiasm regarding grisly details, to not leaving newspapers where a limping man's walking-stick will slide dangerously on them, he is willing to attempt keeping the doctor in good spirits.
After all, who else would react to a (dead) poisonous frog in the sugar-bowl at breakfast with only a blink and a dry, "Shall I check under the butter-dish for the scorpions, then?"
John Watson is an ideal flatmate.
-00-
It is a matter of respect. Courtesy is engrained in the British mind, and yet it differs crucially from the quality of respect. Courtesy is extended; respect is awarded. While the doctor's nerves are self-admittedly in tatters, he is quite game for anything Holmes has yet thrown at him. And when, one rainy evening, they are accosted in poorer London by four roughs suspecting an easy target, Holmes is dumbfounded to discover that this rail-thin army surgeon is a smallish demon with a Penang-lawyer.
John Watson has a hand up from the pavement, and his respect from that night onward.
-00-
It is a matter of concern. Winter has turned into waterlogged spring, and he charts the weather patterns by the amount of pain the doctor is in. A white-knuckled grip on the morning paper is typical. But the doctor is a proud man, and Holmes will never offer pity or platitudes.
Instead, he tolerates the odd looks from Scotland Yarders when he orders a cab to the crime scene. It is only half a block away, only ten minutes – but on sleet-covered pavements.
John Watson settles beside him with a sigh of gratitude, and Holmes smiles out at the drizzle.
-00-
It is a matter of selfishness. A doctor is frankly invaluable to Holmes's work; he has nerve, he has knowledge, and this particular one has nearly unending patience. The doctor's conversation is fascinating and well-read, his company unobtrusive yet reassuring, and (perhaps most valuable) apparently the whole of Scotland Yard adores him, if only by Holmes-comparison.
So if, listening, he hears the hesitation every second of the seventeen stairs on this miserably cold night, and scoots Watson's chair that much closer to the comforting hearth-glow, it is only self-preservation.
John Watson is a perfectly miserable patient; that is all.
-00-
It is a matter of science. Scarcely a year since they embarked upon The Great Flat-Sharing Adventure (the Yard's betting pool increases monthly), not nearly enough time to develop a relationship which justifies this idiotic lack of self-preservation. Holmes has never before had a man risk his life for him. The knife might have taken his ear off. Duly warned, he dodged in time to see it strike a secondary target.
He has never before had a man bleeding in his arms for him, either.
John Watson is magnetic; no nurse is going to eject him from this room tonight.
-00-
It is a matter of penance. He has been informed, frequently now that he has a colleague who will call him out on it, that he distinctly lacks tact toward a slower intellect: which is ninety-nine percent of the population. He tends to speak Accuracy without thinking of consequences, and this has never bothered him…until now, with an unthinking comment about war being a "ridiculously melodramatic" way of settling disputes.
He curses his insensitivity too late. Apologies are not his forte, but he is duty-bound to attempt.
John Watson is a far too forgiving man, but Holmes is not complaining.
-00-
It is a matter of conspiracy. While he has in times past been the recipient of stalker behavior, each instance has been short-lived due to prompt police and medical action against the deranged party.
"It is your own fault for strewing bits of your sandwich about," Watson observes mildly, as he tries to lose his pursuers 'round the nearest bush-clump. He yelps as one draws too close, much to the doctor's glee. "I could inquire at the Yard regarding restraining orders for ducks?"
John Watson has a devilishly pawky sense of humor, and Holmes is equal parts charmed and terrified.
It is a trifling matter, which finally breaks the dam of self-control he has kept over himself. All through the tragedy, the train back to London, the flock of impersonal reporters at the station, Lestrade's stammered sympathy and Mrs. Hudson's weeping – he had not broken under the pressure.
Until now.
He finds a modest box of cigars marked Bradley's, still sitting on a desk which would never again be used.
Watson –
Welcome back, my dear fellow. If am not present, will return before tea.
SH (1)
John Watson slides down the wall, note in hand, and the tears finally come.
It is a matter of belonging. He has always been one ill-fitting piece in life's jigsaw puzzle, discarded after refusal to snap into place. It is not until he wanders from Tibet through the depths of China, that he discovers a cheap pendant hanging in a shop-window.
He was in the wrong puzzle all along.
Yin and Yang. Complimentary opposites, each unable to exist without the presence of the other. His life is not a jigsaw; it is a simple two-piece puzzle.
John Watson discovers a wooden pendant amongst his relics six months later, and does not need to ask.
-00-
It is a matter of choice. He can only blame himself for three years' deception; he saw that the cross-hairs of Moran's air-rifle were aimed at the ex-soldier standing shell-shocked on the path below. His silence bought life, and the cost was worth paying.
But now, after catching Watson as he crumples, insensible, he cannot be faulted for cradling the man for longer than is strictly necessary. The doctor will be hurt by learning Mycroft's role, but his actions speak for themselves. He could only choose one as confidant…only one to keep safe. At any cost.
He chose John Watson.
(1) "My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow under his feet. I went out about mid-day to transact some business in Oxford Street..." - FINA
"When I see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood." - HOUN
In Granadaverse, Watson was on holiday when the Moriarty case exploded so violently.