So this popped into my head as I was talking to Troonye (who is a young, talented writer; feel free to check out her short fic For The Better). Originally I was trying to write an example of how Holmes could express his feelings for Watson while keeping him in character, and this essentially wrote itself (the kind of fic I like best). I hope I've succeeded in my attempts and that my version of this plot is not that cliché.

Oh who am I kidding. It is. And I don't regret it.

Why does this fandom keep throwing ideas in my face?

Holmes was thinking.

Not about a case, no. It was something else, something much more complicated that busied his mind.

Something that he's been unable to figure out for a long time now.

The sound of a door slamming shut behind him made him turn his head, brow furrowed at the sudden noise.

"Ah, good to see you, Watson."

"You too, Holmes. Are you ready?"

"What, I don't look ready?"

Watson pointedly stared at him. "You're not wearing that to The Royale. Go on, just put on the clothes I laid down for you."

"I don't like them."

"You're wearing them."

"I couldn't find them."

"Because you left them in my room. They're on your bed, Holmes. Now hurry up or we're going to be late."

Sighing he turned around to fetch the articles of clothing. He didn't show it, but he felt like smiling. Anyone else might see the doctor's behavior as annoying but to Holmes, in wanting him to look his best, it showed he cared.

The wheels kept turning in his head as he opened the door to his room. He immediately spotted his attire, lying neatly folded on his bed. Watson seemed to have tidied up a bit on his way out, because the floor wasn't completely cluttered with his mess for once.

His heart started racing as he noticed the small book covered in brown leather next to his jacket, the bookmark sticking straight out of it.

Not slightly askew, the way he'd left it on the floor.

As the smile broke through on his face he picked up the cravat, placing it around his neck. A noise by the door caused him to turn around, his hands absentmindedly tying it as his eyes fell on his friend leaning on the door frame.

Watson stared at him from under his bowler, a pensive look on his face.

"You left them there on purpose."

"I see no reason to deny that."

"You knew I'd bring them to you."

"That I did."

"How could you have foreseen me picking up that journal?"

"I didn't. I was hoping you would though."

A gentle smile tugged on the corners of the doctor's lips. "Look what you're doing to that cravat."

Holmes paused in his movements and glanced down. He was right, it looked terrible. As if the detective was still learning how to tie one.

Watson walked over to him and pulled it loose in a few swift tugs of his elegant fingers. Then he proceeded to tie it properly around his neck, his warm hands brushing against his skin every so often. He didn't respond to Holmes' eyes on his face, but said man knew he was aware of them. He just chose not to act now. That was fine, they had all afternoon to discuss the matter.

When he finished he pointed to the bed. "Now. Jacket. Come on."

Holmes put it on and laid the journal on his nightstand, knowing that Watson's eyes were tracking his every movement. Then he turned around and followed his good friend out the door. Putting his arm around his he felt a pleasant tension overcoming him.

This seemed promising.

Once they were outside they stopped a carriage. Holmes was first to enter. Holding out his hand for Watson to hold onto as he climbed in - he didn't any need any help but still accepted it - he thought back to the words written on the marked pages.

Tonight, I have decided. Tonight I will tell him. Tell him what's been occupying my thoughts lately. Why I haven't been as good a companion as I should have been. I know it hurts him, and knowing that has hurt me in return. But I have been subdued by an unidentifiable feeling. I believe it has been there for a long time now, but him leaving has only intensified its strength. I don't know what it is, for I have never felt this way about someone before. But with him, things are different. Better. I miss him more than I dare say, even if I'm the only one to hear. Tonight I will voice my thoughts. Not just to me, but to him. Even if I don't know what it is, he has to know. And if my deductions are sound as usual, he may just feel the same.

Yes, he thought, smiling as he glanced at the man sitting in front of him, looking out the window but with an identical smile simmering just underneath the surface.

Tonight he'd find his answer.

Happy Holidays everybody! As always, reviews are much appreciated. :)