Title: Nothing So Ordinary

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Holmes/Watson

Genre: slash, pre-movie'verse

Rating: PG-13

Words: 2,241

Summary: A trip. A sit. A waltz.

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Five cases in three months was a huge endeavor, at least for a man who'd never expected more out of his adult life than a quiet practice and evenings by the fire, interrupted only on Saturdays by a walk through the park.

Upon finding myself violently disarming the eighth villain in so many days, I was forced to admit to a certain loss of control.

A loss that Holmes immediately noticed.

"He's down, old boy. You no longer have to kick him."

Realizing my eccentric partner was now acting as a voice of reason only made me kick the lifeless lump all that much harder. Two more swift boots and I finally stopped, breathing hard, the sweat trickling down my cheeks. "Are we done here, Holmes?"

His eyes were open slightly wider than usual. I'm sure he would have been able to infer much more from that observation than I ever would, but I could tell that perhaps ... just perhaps ... my behavior had made him a little nervous.

"I hope so," he said, gently pulling me away from the corpse of our latest henchman. "Maybe we should return home. I believe I hear Lestrade and his ballerinas dancing down the stairs."

Normally, this would have made me chuckle. Not that day. I was too tired for laughter, too exhausted for anything but throwing myself into a carriage and heading home to bed for the remainder of the night, perhaps longer. To be very frank about the matter ...

I never wanted to hear about another case again.

I didn't tell Holmes this but when had that ever meant anything?

However, being as dull as I am, I was still surprised the next morning when I found an open valise outside of Holmes' door which contained an eclectic collection of wrinkled trousers, three sets of braces, one rather soiled shirt, Gladstone's ball, two syringes and his violin. Leaning against the door was a pole with a net attached, designed to catch - well, I had no idea what it was supposed to catch, but it was there, sitting in our shared hall.

"Are you packed yet, Watson?" he called out from his study. He was wearing an approximation of a hunting outfit, albeit one with a bright yellow waistcoat. "The carriage has been ordered for nine sharp."

There was a part of me that wanted to rail against him, tell him that I had no bloody idea what he was talking about and I would be returning to the wilds of the east directly because the camels made more sense than he ever would but I was too tired to bother. In my exhaustion I did the only thing I could do ...

I packed a bag and joined him on the curb.

I don't think I've ever seen him more pleased. "Watson, you are a military man through and through. Ready to move at a moment's notice. You are full of nothing but the most pleasant surprises. Do you have everything you need?"

"I have no idea. I don't know where we're going."

"So the answer is undoubtedly 'yes' because you will have packed only universal essentials. You are a credit to your training. Now, I'll hold Gladstone's leash as he's quite feisty today and you look a tad sleepy."

I glanced down and saw Gladstone. He was standing quietly at Holmes' feet, panting, his pink tongue lolling lazily over his chin. "That's your idea of feisty?"

"He might bolt at any minute. I'd rather not be chasing him through London at the moment."

"Of course. By the by, why are we taking the dog again?"

"Ah, here's our carriage. Go in, Watson. You too, you stubby hound."

With some confusion and much whining from Gladstone who was not built to hop up stairs of any kind, we eventually settled in the hansom and took off in a northern direction. We traveled in silence for a good quarter of an hour, leaving the most congested portions of London behind.

Finally, Holmes graced me with some conversation. "Your natural curiosity seems a bit stunted today."

"I'm very tired, Holmes." With a sigh, I leaned my head back against the cushions. "Even you can't say we've lacked for business."

"No, but I thrive on such activity." He peered at me thoughtfully. "My energy only increases during a case and its fruitful resolution is as good a restorative as a month's rest."

Bully for you, I thought uncharitably, but at least I was able to keep my mouth shut. "So where are we going?"

"North."

"I figured that much. What is the name of our destination?"

"I'm not sure the residence has a name but it's on the outskirts of a town called St. Neots. Have you heard of it?"

Surprised, I sat up and nodded. "Of course I have. I was raised nearby. Why are we going there? Has something happened?"

"Yes." He looked out the window, craning to see over Gladstone who had his paws on the sill, his huge head hanging outside. "The roads are in some need of repair. Remind me to write a letter."

Exasperated, I appealed to him again. "What's happened in St. Neots, Holmes?"

"Nothing has happened in St. Neots. When I said that something has happened, I didn't specify where this something has taken place merely that it is the reason for our trip. Now if you'll let me point out some of these sights we're passing by ..."

My teeth grit, but I merely closed my eyes and feigned sleep for the rest of the way. Holmes took the hint with better grace than I thought he would and I'd actually dozed off when the carriage jolted to a stop.

Holmes shook my shoulder gently. "We're here, Watson."

I almost refused to uncurl from my sleep, but another squeeze and a nudge from Gladstone changed my mind. When I finally took stock of my surroundings I couldn't help but gaze in wonder.

We had stopped in front of a small cottage near the Great Ouse, which ran a distance away. It had a well-tended garden and looked so cozy and quiet, I had to turn to Holmes and make sure we were in the right place. "This?"

"This is it." He breathed deeply, then coughed a little. "Smells a bit odd. Perhaps it's the lack of odors that's strange."

"Yes, that's fresh air. You'll get used to it," I said, examining the residence, liking what I saw very much. "It seems small for visitors."

"That's because we are the only ones who'll be residing here for the next few days. Do you like it?"

I had no idea what to say. He had me baffled. "I like it very much. But why are we here?"

Smiling, Holmes patted me on the back. "Because you need a holiday, Mother Hen. That's why."

My mouth dropped open. "But you hate the country. Especially when there are no distractions at all."

"Consider it a small sacrifice for your restoration and comfort. Now why are we standing here? We should be sitting inside or sitting outside or doing whatever it is people do in places like this." He unhooked Gladstone from his leash. "Run free, dear beast. You are among the wild things now."

Gladstone peered up at him before waddling away. He made it as far as the back stairs where he lie down in a shaft of sunlight, asleep before the key was in the door.

The interior of the cottage was clean and sparse causing Holmes to make a face. I, however, loved it and my effusive expressions of gratitude seemed to soften the worst of Holmes' distaste.

"It could be worse," he said finally, lighting his pipe. "I could be here with Lestrade." He shrugged at my annoyed expression. "Theoretically."

The rest of the afternoon was delightful, hours of sitting outdoors looking out over the countryside, watching the birds fly by. It was late spring, the weather just warm enough to sit comfortably in shirtsleeves and Holmes' violin sounded rich and beautiful in the outdoor air. The tension left me completely and I breathed freely for the first time since the start of the year.

Holmes, however seemed to get more restless as the day went on. The quiet made him nervous, he seemed distracted and strangely enough ... overwhelmed.

"Is everything all right?" I asked him, reaching out to rub his arm. He often claimed he didn't like being touched, but I seemed to be the exception to the rule. "Is it so awful here?"

"No. It's very picturesque. It's just ..." He hesitated. "I have trouble controlling my focus in a place like this, where there is nothing but plants and clouds and rushing water. I end up lost in the motion of the river or counting blades of grass. The details overwhelm me here, with no goal to distract and center me." Holmes laughed, a little sadly. "I, my dearest, literally cannot see the forest for the trees."

My heart sank at this confession which was said in the plainest voice I'd ever heard Holmes use. "Then let's go home, back to Baker Street. It's well and good for me to have time off but not if it makes you ill."

He laughed. "Ill? We've had enough cases in recent weeks to keep me healthy for a month. Don't worry, I'll find something to focus on soon enough. Why, here ... give me your hand." I obeyed and watched as he became lost in examining it, each finger, knuckle, then my palm. "All the things I see here are a dozen mysteries, waiting to be solved. This cut for instance ..."

"Paper cut. Sealing an envelope."

"This bump, then."

"Hit the corner of the table while cleaning."

Homes made an exasperated noise. "It's not a mystery if you keep spoiling me. Now be quiet and let me concentrate."

I couldn't help but laugh aloud and let him examine the puzzle of my right hand, his calloused fingers tracing each scar and line as if it were of utmost importance that he find their origin and meaning. Occasionally, he would stop to think, pressing my palm to his cheek, flustering me. It got much worse when he pressed his lips to my knuckles, staring off as if deep in thought and I squirmed in my chair, my face miserably hot.

Sensing my distress, he put my hand down but not before saying in a quiet voice, "Strange how all the wonders of the world mean less to me than the hand I now hold."

I had never heard him say anything so affectionate, to anyone. Time stood still and I had to regain my balance, lest I fell off my chair. "Holmes?"

He stared at the ground guiltily. "I said that aloud, didn't I? See what this sort of wretched place does to me?"

I had no idea how to respond but for some reason, I thought that a kiss might be appropriate. On the cheek was my intention but good intentions are the paving stones on a less innocent road and by the time my lips had left his, we were wild-eyed and gasping, wishing for more.

The rest of the evening was spent waltzing around each other; two beats of desire followed immediately by two steps of retreat. I couldn't stop kissing him, I couldn't stop saying it was very wrong of us to do so and by the time we'd somehow stumbled to the bedroom, I was crazed with the kind of lust an ordinary person rarely experiences.

Maybe, as Holmes often said, I wasn't such an ordinary person after all.

We spent the night wrapped around each other, spending passions, exchanging expressions of wonder. Or, shall I amend that say that at least I was astonished for most of the experience. Holmes, on the other hand, took things more in stride except when he'd blurt out something so outrageously sentimental and romantic, it irritated him the moment the words left his lips.

But I, who'd been in love with this man possibly from the moment we met, finally understood him like no one else ever would. For every word of adoration followed by an aggravated oath, I think I loved him more.

The sunrise the next morning was one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Holmes was still asleep, draped over me, his head on my chest, murmuring as I combed my fingers through his hair.

Gladstone had wandered in at some point and was sleeping at the bottom of the bed, sprawled over two sets of feet. Maybe we'd all spend the rest of the day by the river or wandering the lanes. Perhaps we'd use that ludicrous net he'd brought, catching insects for Holmes' dusty collection.

Holmes made a little pleased noise against my chest.

Or maybe we'd simply stay put, I thought.

When all was said and done, it was the perfect holiday. All I needed to do afterwards was return to London. To get Holmes back to his cases and myself back to doing what I did best ...

Which was being by his side.

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the end

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