Fic: Soldier's Heart Part 8 of 15
Jan. 6th, 2011 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piploverTitle: Soldier's Heart Part 8
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 09 and Canon
Rating: This chapter PG-13
Wordcount: 85,307
Parings: Holmes/Watson
Summary: After Holmes returns from his three years' absence, not everything is as it should be.
Warnings: Deals with the physical and mental aspects of PTSD
Beta and Brit-picker: Beta'ed by the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jenlee1 and Brit-picked by the wonderful nodbear
Author's notes: Thanks always forenkiduts ' help, encouragement, and brainstorming .
The train departed at 9:37 the next morning. Due to their preparations the day before they were able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before making it to the station on time. The journey would take several hours, and each man had brought along reading material to keep them occupied, should their talk falter or the swaying of the car prove too much.
Loath as he was to admit it, Holmes suffered from motion sickness sometimes, and reading seemed to help steady his stomach when little else would.
Gladstone, curled up on the floor next to Watson’s feet, grumbled and sighed as the train lurched into motion, the steady rhythm and clacking already easing a tension in his shoulders Holmes had not been aware of.
“Now that I have you to myself with no distractions,” Watson said after a comfortable several minutes had passed, “tell me of your misadventures. Not all of them,” he assured at Holmes’ scowl, waving down the other man’s ire with a calming hand. “The ones that had a direct bearing on your health. Surely there were not so many that you cannot relate a few.”
“Really, Watson,” Holmes sighed, crossing his legs primly and glaring out the window. His good cheer of before had not completely vanished, but Watson could tell it had been dimmed.
“I am not asking for a complete history, Holmes,” Watson soothed, daring to lean forward and put a hand on the other’s knee. “But I think you left quite a lot out of the telling the other day, and if I had known some of what I do now - it would have been easier to come to a diagnosis.”
Another sigh, this one resigned, and then Holmes said, “Very well. But remember, there is three years’ worth of misadventure,” he warned. At Watson’s nod, he continued.
“Shortly after I left the falls, I was not in the best of conditions. I was exhausted and slightly battered from the fight, but nothing a few days of rest in a local hay barn didn’t cure. Truly, Watson,” he huffed in exasperation, scowling down at his feet. “Asking me to recount every broken finger or sprained ankle is like asking me to count the number of petals in a bouquet. I can do it, but it will be long and tedious and not worthy of my time.”
“How about this one, then?” Watson asked, undeterred, pointing to a spot on Holmes’ left side, just below the third rib, where a long, thin scar had caught his attention during his initial examination. He had not asked then, fearing that such an inquiry would cause his friend undue stress, but now was willing to try and assuage his curiosity.
“Ah… that.” Holmes coughed and turned his attention back to the passing landscape, a slight tinge of color appearing on his cheeks. “That was a rather… unique… situation. My attention was not - well, it was not where it should have been, and I blame the damn goat entirely!”
“Goat?” Watson asked incredulously, and Holmes’ blush deepened. “What in the world were you doing that a goat was able to get the better of you?”
“I was bathing in a stream,” Holmes said with as much dignity as he could muster. “It was something that I had not had a chance to do for quite some time - well, I was rather - I was enjoying the water,” he finished, and Watson observed in fascination as the blush crept further down Holmes’ neck.
“Enjoying the water?” he asked skeptically, his own voice dropping an octave as he tried to picture the scene. Disturbingly, he found it all too easy to imagine a naked, wet Holmes enjoying more than just the water during his bath, and if the blush was any indication, that was exactly what his friend had been doing.
“Yes,” Holmes said shortly, clearing his throat. By the way he avoided Watson’s gaze, the doctor was nearly certain his guess was correct. “It was August, and the creek was quite comfortable. I admit I was not paying as - strict attention - as I should have been.”
Holmes felt his blush deepen as he remembered exactly what had caused his distraction. He closed his eyes in remembrance, picturing the small brook in his mind‘s eye. The sun had been nearly too warm, he thought fondly, and he had scrubbed a week’s worth of grime from his body before taking himself in hand and stroking off to the gentle current which had lapped around his thighs.
Even before his perilous flight, it had been an activity in which he rarely indulged, but for some reason, free from pursuit for the first time in months and with no greater place to be than wherever he chose that night, he had allowed himself to relax his guard enough to enjoy the experience.
“Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat with a discreet cough. He met Watson’s gaze briefly before turning his attention once more to the view outside. By the look he had seen in the doctor’s eyes, however, Holmes was certain he had guessed as to his actions. “I was attempting to dress when I heard a rustling in the reeds. My revolver was nowhere to be found, and I feared I had made a grave error when…”
Holmes covered his eyes with his hand as he felt his blush deepen for an entirely different reason.
“When?” Watson prompted, leaning forward in his seat.
“When a goat presented itself where the rustling had been. I thought at once that I could relax my guard and turned my back to try and find my gun. Well, damnit, there were two of the blasted beasts and the second one pushed me from behind into a pile of deadwood.”
Watson’s surprised laughter was warm and rich, and Holmes found himself smiling ruefully despite himself as he continued.
“I cut myself on one of the larger pieces, had to stitch myself up. And the stupid creature tried to eat my shirt!“ he added indignantly. “Let me assure you, Watson, the very next village I came to, I dined on goat!”
“Oh, Holmes,” Watson managed to gasp between his chuckles, wiping his eyes as he tried to calm himself. “It truly must have been a wonderful creek for you to become so… distracted.”
“Yes, well.” Holmes shifted slightly in his seat, thankful his legs were crossed. He had not thought of that creek - or his actions- in a long while. “It had been too long since I had…enjoyed… such a luxury.”
“ I am sorry your enjoyment of such a rare moment was ruined,” Watson said regretfully, his mirth faded as he gazed at his friend, eyes becoming more serious, though his smile remained firmly fixed in place, and a touch of color had appeared on his cheeks. “Perhaps you may find other such moments at the Estate.”
Holmes blinked, staring at Watson uncertainly as the meaning in his words sank in. He had been fairly certain that Watson had understood what had distracted him, but surely the doctor couldn’t be suggesting…. Could he?
“Yes, well, perhaps,” he agreed, daring to meet the other’s gaze for the first time since the embarrassing tale had begun. “It has been far too long since… well, since such moments have presented themselves. Maybe it is time I - well, I try to enjoy them more, now that I’m back.”
“Yes,” Watson agreed, and Holmes had never quite heard that tone before. It was deep, and filled with something that he could not quite place, but sounded suspiciously like longing. “Perhaps a similar creek may be found at your brother's estate, and you may show it to me."
Unwillingly his gaze dropped to Watson’s lap, and he was startled to see a bulge in the otherwise perfectly tailored trousers.
So he was not the only one affected by the discussion, Holmes thought to himself, and shifted slightly in his seat to ease his own discomfort. Suddenly uncertain as to where things were going or what was happening between them, he turned his attention once more to the window.
“Holmes, forgive me,” Watson murmured softly. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. Please tell me that such... moments... were not so very rare for you while you were away."
The doctor’s voice had returned to normal, losing the deep quality that had sent a shiver down Holmes’ back. Surprising himself, Holmes realized he missed it. He looked back to his friend and tried to smile reassuringly.
"Watson, I don't...." he began, only to cut himself off. He took a deep breath and continued with only a slight hesitation. "Such moments in my life have always been rare."
Watson frowned at the implication, and the teasing, playful mood of before vanished. When he spoke next, it was slowly, as though trying to find the correct words without insulting the other man. "Holmes, I ask this next question purely as your doctor. Have you had any such moments since your return?"
Holmes sputtered, staring in horror at his friend and the straightforward question. "I - Watson- you can't just - I am not going to answer that! It is not your business!”
“Holmes,” Watson sighed, ran a hand over his face, and then moved to sit beside him. He tried not to smile as Holmes turned his back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Holmes. I am not asking to embarrass you. It is a perfectly natural function in any male. The - lack - of such a function could have a medical reason."
“You keep reminding me that bodily functions are perfectly natural,” Holmes growled, his self defensive position easing slightly. “Yet that does not excuse your bringing them up all the time! Let it go, Watson!”
"No, Holmes,“ Watson insisted, daring to place a hand on one tensed shoulder. “I am not going to let this go because it may embarrass you. We have been through far too much. You should know that in this, as in all things, you have my discretion and my support."
"Oh, for God's sake, Watson! Yes, I have had - I have - Yes! " Holmes snapped, pulling away from his friend to stand up, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cigarette case and lighting one with quick, agitated motions.
As he did so, Watson could not help but notice the outline of a budding erection through his friend’s trousers, and studiously turned his attention to the floor to preserve Holmes’ dignity. He felt a smile twitch his lips, though, as he realized that he had not been the only one affected by the conversation and what it entailed.
“Was there anything else I should be made aware of?” he finally asked as Holmes continued to pace, though his movements had calmed down to a steady rhythm, as though he were contemplating things rather than just reacting. At his words, Holmes looked up, confused by the subject change. “A missing limb, perhaps, that you had reattached without telling me?” Watson elaborated.
He was rewarded by one of Holmes’ rare, brilliant smiles, and found himself grinning in return.
“Alas, not even the mystics of Kathmandu have that level of medical magic, my dearest Doctor," Holmes assured him, taking a final drag on his cigarette before moving to throw it out the window, resuming his seat easily and even going so far as to bump their shoulders.
“Well then, were there any other embarrassing tales I should be made aware of?” Watson teased, moving so his knee brushed Holmes’ companionably. The detective did not pull away.
“Well, there was that time I fell down the stairs and broke a rib. Very clumsy of me, I must admit,” Holmes sighed dramatically.
“You fell down the stairs?” Watson asked, incredulous. He had never known anyone to be as graceful as Holmes, and the thought was almost inconceivable.
“I had been running rather low on sleep, Watson, and I fear was not at my best,” Holmes admitted with a sheepish grin.
“I should imagine not!” Watson agreed. “What then?”
The rest of the train ride passed in easy conversation, their shoulders and legs touching as they talked. Neither man acknowledged what had passed between them, but when the train began to slow at their destination, it was with reluctance that they moved from their comfortable positions.
***
The Chichester Estate was a massive, sprawling compound that seemed to loom above them as the cart jostled along the well worn lane. Watson could feel his eyes widen as the true extent of his friend’s wealth and background rose before him.
“It is not as grand as you think,” Holmes murmured in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring voice. “It was a gift from a very well to do member of the royal household for a service fulfilled by my great -great grandfather.”
“You said you were country squires, once,” Watson managed to mumble, unable to tear his gaze away from the house.
“We were,” Holmes agreed, placing a hand on the other’s arm to draw his attention away from the building. “Trust me, Watson, if there was any wealth to be had in my family, it has long since been squandered until all that remains is what you see before you. Mycroft inherited it as the eldest son, but in truth neither one of us can abide the place for longer than a few months, and so it remains mostly in the hands of the servants.”
Here the detective smiled, a faint, almost wistful expression on his worn face. “They have been with the family for as long as the Estate, and a more loyal group you will never find.”
“If that is the case I can see why neither of you visit very often,” Watson murmured, grinning at the fond expression. “I can’t picture either of you having the patience to be waited on.”
“Indeed,” Holmes agreed, his smile growing. “I remember Mrs. Everman tending me when I was a child, every bit a nanny to me as my own,” he added distastefully. “I’m afraid she never quite outgrew the habit.”
The two fell silent, Watson’s eyes once more returning to the house as they continued toward their destination. It was a large, peach colored affair with many windows and a solid framework, and he could not help but wonder about the service performed to earn such a marvelous estate. The trees which lined the lane were old growth, their branches blocking out the Spring sun as they swayed and creaked in the breeze.
“They do know we are coming, correct?” Watson could not help ask, turning a slightly worried frown to his friend. “It was such a short notice, will they -”
“Mycroft will have informed them, and they are always prepared for one of us to visit. With his services in such demand, it is not very often that my brother can leave work for any length of time, and when he does, it is at a moment’s notice. The servants have come to expect such things, and there are at least three rooms always prepared for guests.” At Watson’s raised eyebrow, Holmes rolled his eyes. “Mycroft cannot always leave his work behind him, and will often drag it along.”
The doctor chuckled at the image this simple statement produced, and Holmes found his grin widening at the sound. Truly, the doctor did not laugh nearly enough.
“We will have the house to ourselves for the most part. The servants sleep in their own quarters, with Mrs. Everman keeping an eye on things to keep order and mischief to a minimum,” Holmes added, eyes glinting. “Her husband is the groundskeeper, and her son lives in the little cottage just behind the house with his family. They maintain the property and take care of the day to day business. I believe Norton has a daughter, six or seven, but she is very well behaved and minds her manners. The family knows that Mycroft does not like to be disturbed, so she’s mostly kept out of the way.”
“You speak of her as though she were a kept pet,” Watson reproached, tapping Holmes’ knee.
“Watson, when have I ever given any indication that a child is anything more, save for when they can be of use as one of my little army?” Holmes asked, his expression honestly confused. “They tend to be pampered, sticky little things who make the most appalling sounds at inconvenient hours.”
“Oh, Holmes,” Watson sighed, closing his eyes as he covered his face with his hand, though it was mostly an act to keep the detective from seeing his amused smile.
“Truly, Watson, you act as though this is a surprise,” Holmes continued, sitting back and eying his friend narrowly. “If I didn’t know better I would say you were even…enamored of the species.”
“They’re not -” Watson protested, but gave up the argument immediately as he dissolved into helpless laughter.
Holmes sniffed his disdain and turned his attention back to their approach, dismissing his friend’s obvious insanity as a momentary lapse.
***
Mrs. Everman was a stout, gray-haired woman with kindly eyes who reminded Watson at once of every grandmother he had ever met. She was waiting for them upon the steps to the giant front door, her plain blue dress half hidden by a white apron. When the cart pulled to a stop and the two men dismounted, she called out a happy greeting and surged forward, wrapping Holmes in a hug so large Watson could not help but be impressed.
“Oh, Mr. Holmes, I’m so happy to see you again!” she cried.
“Thank you, Mrs. Everman,” Holmes managed, and to Watson’s amusement enfolded her in an awkward embrace of his own.
“You gave me a right fright, you did!” she suddenly snapped, shoving him away and slapping his arm reproachfully. “Turned the rest of my hair gray!”
She did not give Holmes a chance to respond, turning her attention instead to Watson and giving him the same enthusiastic greeting. He was a bit astounded at her strength as he struggled to take a deep breath, patting her back a bit gingerly.
“And you must be Mr. Holmes’ doctor I’ve heard so much about!” she said, finally pushing him back far enough to observe him at arm’s length. “Good on you, sir, for bringing him here. I was about to head up and grab him by the ear if I didn't hear from him soon, I was!"
“Mrs. Everman -” Holmes started to protest, only to be silenced when she turned a steely gaze his way, poking him in the chest with a thick finger.
“And don’t you be narrowing your eyes at me, young man. Goodness, what have you been doing to yourself? You're skin and bones still! Come in, come in, I've had the pot boiling all day, the stew should be ready soon and I have tea all set out!”
She turned, leading the way inside and gesturing for them to follow.
“That, my dear Watson, is Mrs. Everman,” Holmes sighed before looping his arm through the other man’s and urging him forward. “Trust me, it is far easier to do as she says than to fight.”
“You, giving up?” Watson asked incredulously, looking around the well lit entrance way as he did so.
“Trust me, Watson. Only a fool fights a losing battle with any expectation of winning. Mrs. Everman would have made many a general proud, had she ever deigned to give them her advice.”
“Come along!” The woman in question’s voice floated out to them from the first room to the left, an elegant sitting room with several wing-back chairs and a table already prepared with tea and several plates of sweets.
“You poor things, you both look done in!” she cooed, bustling about the room as she did so, righting pillows and grabbing an afghan off the back of the couch. “Sit down, Mr. Holmes, and enjoy a cup. You’re looking peaked!”
“Truly, Mrs. Everman, I am fine!” Holmes protested as his arm was taken and he was led to a chair. Watson had to fight to keep from laughing at his expression when the blanket was thrown over his shoulders. “Watson is an excellent doctor and has been taking very good care of me!”
“Yes, and I can see just how exhausting that must have been!” she scolded, patting Holmes’ cheek gently. “Poor thing is just about as worn as you. Sit down, Doctor, sit down! There’s cream and sugar, and sugar is always good after a long journey.”
Watson did as instructed, though he was thankfully spared having a blanket of his own, and was allowed to pour the tea for himself.
“You boys enjoy yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Just call out and one of the girls will be in shortly,” she said brusquely. She wiped her hands on her apron and cast her gaze around the room once more before heading out. “I expect to see at least two of those sweets eaten!” her voice called from the hallway.
“Well.” Watson cleared his throat as he took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes at the rich flavor. “She is certainly…”
“Yes, she is,” Holmes sighed, and reached for one of the pastries. “I did try to warn you.”
“Yes, yes you did,” Watson agreed, laughing slightly at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Truly, Holmes, you never cease to surprise me.” At his friend’s questioning eyebrows, Watson continued. “You’ve escaped thieves, murderers, and assassins. But escaping her? My hat is off to you!”
“Oh, hush!” Holmes scowled, and sipped delicately from his cup. “She may hear you,” he added a moment later.
The both of them could not refrain from their laughter anymore, and they sat snickering like two little school boys throughout the rest of their tea.
***
After they had eaten enough to assuage Mrs. Everman, they set out for a leisurely stroll around the house, Holmes pointing out things of interest and Watson trying to take everything in.
The property was not as large as it had first appeared, though it was so meticulously groomed and laid out that it gave the appearance of a much larger estate. The paths wound around in such a way that it was several hours later when they returned to the house, flushed from the chill spring air and each other’s company.
“You two go get dressed for dinner. Edwin has taken your bags to your rooms and all should be put away,” Mrs. Everman greeted them as they walked back inside, grinning at their appearance. “Go on, now, and dinner will be ready as soon as you are.”
The two of them climbed the stairs, Holmes leading the way as he ventured down a short hallway to a suite of rooms. He motioned for Watson to follow him in and indicated a door on the far right.
“That will be your room, old cock. I know it’s a bit unusual to have rooms attached, but since it is usually only Mycroft, or Mycroft and his business associate that stays here, these were already prepared. I hope you don’t -”
“Hush, Holmes,” Watson murmured, smiling at his friend fondly. “It’s fine. This way I can keep an eye on you,” he added teasingly.
“Oh, yes,” Holmes sighed, scrunching his face up in distaste. “Wouldn’t do for me to be on my own, would it?”
“Hush,” Watson scolded again absently, making a quick circuit of the room before heading towards his. “You’re being silly.”
Before Holmes could form an appropriate response, the other man was already through the door and exploring his own room. Feeling put upon and wearied, Holmes acquiesced to the inevitable and set about changing his clothes. With the both of them against him, he knew a battle would be useless.
***
Dinner was a thick stew with a warm, chewy bread. It was a simple affair, though with such short notice Watson could not blame the housekeeper for choosing a simple yet filling meal.
The two men ate alone in the dining room, the large table which could comfortably sit eight elegantly placed for two. The meal was delicious, and shortly after they retired to the library for brandies and cigars.
They had just sat down before the roaring fire, Holmes with a random book pulled from the shelf, when Mrs. Everman came in, for once not bustling about and doing a handful of things at once.
“If you’ll not be needing me for the night, I’m going to turn in, Mr. Holmes,” she said.
“Of course, Mrs. Everman. We should be fine, thank you! Dinner was fabulous, as always!” Holmes assured her, smiling gently.
“Thank you,” was the simple reply before she turned her attention to Watson. “This is for your leg, Doctor. My William swears by it, says it’s the only thing allowing him to keep up with the boys these days. It will ease what aches have settled in,” she assured, handing Watson a thick towel which smelled faintly herbal.
“Thank you,” Watson hastened to say, eying the towel in confusion. “Truly, there was no need, I assure you. I am a doctor -”
“Oh, tish,” she said, waving away his complaint. “I’ll see you boys in the morning.”
She left them to their evening, and despite his reservations, Watson placed the warmed towel over his leg with a shrug at Holmes amused look.
“It probably works better on the flesh, but you can see to that tonight,” was Holmes only comment.
After that, there as no more talk of Mrs. Everman or her poultices, but rather a rambling, lengthy discussion about whatever crossed their minds. From ship building to rare flowers which were cultivated on the grounds to various pieces of music, the two men talked late into the night until, yawning, they headed up to their rooms and the promise of sleep.
Part 9
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 09 and Canon
Rating: This chapter PG-13
Wordcount: 85,307
Parings: Holmes/Watson
Summary: After Holmes returns from his three years' absence, not everything is as it should be.
Warnings: Deals with the physical and mental aspects of PTSD
Beta and Brit-picker: Beta'ed by the lovely
jenlee1 and Brit-picked by the wonderful nodbear Author's notes: Thanks always for
enkiduts ' help, encouragement, and brainstorming .The train departed at 9:37 the next morning. Due to their preparations the day before they were able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before making it to the station on time. The journey would take several hours, and each man had brought along reading material to keep them occupied, should their talk falter or the swaying of the car prove too much.
Loath as he was to admit it, Holmes suffered from motion sickness sometimes, and reading seemed to help steady his stomach when little else would.
Gladstone, curled up on the floor next to Watson’s feet, grumbled and sighed as the train lurched into motion, the steady rhythm and clacking already easing a tension in his shoulders Holmes had not been aware of.
“Now that I have you to myself with no distractions,” Watson said after a comfortable several minutes had passed, “tell me of your misadventures. Not all of them,” he assured at Holmes’ scowl, waving down the other man’s ire with a calming hand. “The ones that had a direct bearing on your health. Surely there were not so many that you cannot relate a few.”
“Really, Watson,” Holmes sighed, crossing his legs primly and glaring out the window. His good cheer of before had not completely vanished, but Watson could tell it had been dimmed.
“I am not asking for a complete history, Holmes,” Watson soothed, daring to lean forward and put a hand on the other’s knee. “But I think you left quite a lot out of the telling the other day, and if I had known some of what I do now - it would have been easier to come to a diagnosis.”
Another sigh, this one resigned, and then Holmes said, “Very well. But remember, there is three years’ worth of misadventure,” he warned. At Watson’s nod, he continued.
“Shortly after I left the falls, I was not in the best of conditions. I was exhausted and slightly battered from the fight, but nothing a few days of rest in a local hay barn didn’t cure. Truly, Watson,” he huffed in exasperation, scowling down at his feet. “Asking me to recount every broken finger or sprained ankle is like asking me to count the number of petals in a bouquet. I can do it, but it will be long and tedious and not worthy of my time.”
“How about this one, then?” Watson asked, undeterred, pointing to a spot on Holmes’ left side, just below the third rib, where a long, thin scar had caught his attention during his initial examination. He had not asked then, fearing that such an inquiry would cause his friend undue stress, but now was willing to try and assuage his curiosity.
“Ah… that.” Holmes coughed and turned his attention back to the passing landscape, a slight tinge of color appearing on his cheeks. “That was a rather… unique… situation. My attention was not - well, it was not where it should have been, and I blame the damn goat entirely!”
“Goat?” Watson asked incredulously, and Holmes’ blush deepened. “What in the world were you doing that a goat was able to get the better of you?”
“I was bathing in a stream,” Holmes said with as much dignity as he could muster. “It was something that I had not had a chance to do for quite some time - well, I was rather - I was enjoying the water,” he finished, and Watson observed in fascination as the blush crept further down Holmes’ neck.
“Enjoying the water?” he asked skeptically, his own voice dropping an octave as he tried to picture the scene. Disturbingly, he found it all too easy to imagine a naked, wet Holmes enjoying more than just the water during his bath, and if the blush was any indication, that was exactly what his friend had been doing.
“Yes,” Holmes said shortly, clearing his throat. By the way he avoided Watson’s gaze, the doctor was nearly certain his guess was correct. “It was August, and the creek was quite comfortable. I admit I was not paying as - strict attention - as I should have been.”
Holmes felt his blush deepen as he remembered exactly what had caused his distraction. He closed his eyes in remembrance, picturing the small brook in his mind‘s eye. The sun had been nearly too warm, he thought fondly, and he had scrubbed a week’s worth of grime from his body before taking himself in hand and stroking off to the gentle current which had lapped around his thighs.
Even before his perilous flight, it had been an activity in which he rarely indulged, but for some reason, free from pursuit for the first time in months and with no greater place to be than wherever he chose that night, he had allowed himself to relax his guard enough to enjoy the experience.
“Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat with a discreet cough. He met Watson’s gaze briefly before turning his attention once more to the view outside. By the look he had seen in the doctor’s eyes, however, Holmes was certain he had guessed as to his actions. “I was attempting to dress when I heard a rustling in the reeds. My revolver was nowhere to be found, and I feared I had made a grave error when…”
Holmes covered his eyes with his hand as he felt his blush deepen for an entirely different reason.
“When?” Watson prompted, leaning forward in his seat.
“When a goat presented itself where the rustling had been. I thought at once that I could relax my guard and turned my back to try and find my gun. Well, damnit, there were two of the blasted beasts and the second one pushed me from behind into a pile of deadwood.”
Watson’s surprised laughter was warm and rich, and Holmes found himself smiling ruefully despite himself as he continued.
“I cut myself on one of the larger pieces, had to stitch myself up. And the stupid creature tried to eat my shirt!“ he added indignantly. “Let me assure you, Watson, the very next village I came to, I dined on goat!”
“Oh, Holmes,” Watson managed to gasp between his chuckles, wiping his eyes as he tried to calm himself. “It truly must have been a wonderful creek for you to become so… distracted.”
“Yes, well.” Holmes shifted slightly in his seat, thankful his legs were crossed. He had not thought of that creek - or his actions- in a long while. “It had been too long since I had…enjoyed… such a luxury.”
“ I am sorry your enjoyment of such a rare moment was ruined,” Watson said regretfully, his mirth faded as he gazed at his friend, eyes becoming more serious, though his smile remained firmly fixed in place, and a touch of color had appeared on his cheeks. “Perhaps you may find other such moments at the Estate.”
Holmes blinked, staring at Watson uncertainly as the meaning in his words sank in. He had been fairly certain that Watson had understood what had distracted him, but surely the doctor couldn’t be suggesting…. Could he?
“Yes, well, perhaps,” he agreed, daring to meet the other’s gaze for the first time since the embarrassing tale had begun. “It has been far too long since… well, since such moments have presented themselves. Maybe it is time I - well, I try to enjoy them more, now that I’m back.”
“Yes,” Watson agreed, and Holmes had never quite heard that tone before. It was deep, and filled with something that he could not quite place, but sounded suspiciously like longing. “Perhaps a similar creek may be found at your brother's estate, and you may show it to me."
Unwillingly his gaze dropped to Watson’s lap, and he was startled to see a bulge in the otherwise perfectly tailored trousers.
So he was not the only one affected by the discussion, Holmes thought to himself, and shifted slightly in his seat to ease his own discomfort. Suddenly uncertain as to where things were going or what was happening between them, he turned his attention once more to the window.
“Holmes, forgive me,” Watson murmured softly. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. Please tell me that such... moments... were not so very rare for you while you were away."
The doctor’s voice had returned to normal, losing the deep quality that had sent a shiver down Holmes’ back. Surprising himself, Holmes realized he missed it. He looked back to his friend and tried to smile reassuringly.
"Watson, I don't...." he began, only to cut himself off. He took a deep breath and continued with only a slight hesitation. "Such moments in my life have always been rare."
Watson frowned at the implication, and the teasing, playful mood of before vanished. When he spoke next, it was slowly, as though trying to find the correct words without insulting the other man. "Holmes, I ask this next question purely as your doctor. Have you had any such moments since your return?"
Holmes sputtered, staring in horror at his friend and the straightforward question. "I - Watson- you can't just - I am not going to answer that! It is not your business!”
“Holmes,” Watson sighed, ran a hand over his face, and then moved to sit beside him. He tried not to smile as Holmes turned his back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Holmes. I am not asking to embarrass you. It is a perfectly natural function in any male. The - lack - of such a function could have a medical reason."
“You keep reminding me that bodily functions are perfectly natural,” Holmes growled, his self defensive position easing slightly. “Yet that does not excuse your bringing them up all the time! Let it go, Watson!”
"No, Holmes,“ Watson insisted, daring to place a hand on one tensed shoulder. “I am not going to let this go because it may embarrass you. We have been through far too much. You should know that in this, as in all things, you have my discretion and my support."
"Oh, for God's sake, Watson! Yes, I have had - I have - Yes! " Holmes snapped, pulling away from his friend to stand up, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cigarette case and lighting one with quick, agitated motions.
As he did so, Watson could not help but notice the outline of a budding erection through his friend’s trousers, and studiously turned his attention to the floor to preserve Holmes’ dignity. He felt a smile twitch his lips, though, as he realized that he had not been the only one affected by the conversation and what it entailed.
“Was there anything else I should be made aware of?” he finally asked as Holmes continued to pace, though his movements had calmed down to a steady rhythm, as though he were contemplating things rather than just reacting. At his words, Holmes looked up, confused by the subject change. “A missing limb, perhaps, that you had reattached without telling me?” Watson elaborated.
He was rewarded by one of Holmes’ rare, brilliant smiles, and found himself grinning in return.
“Alas, not even the mystics of Kathmandu have that level of medical magic, my dearest Doctor," Holmes assured him, taking a final drag on his cigarette before moving to throw it out the window, resuming his seat easily and even going so far as to bump their shoulders.
“Well then, were there any other embarrassing tales I should be made aware of?” Watson teased, moving so his knee brushed Holmes’ companionably. The detective did not pull away.
“Well, there was that time I fell down the stairs and broke a rib. Very clumsy of me, I must admit,” Holmes sighed dramatically.
“You fell down the stairs?” Watson asked, incredulous. He had never known anyone to be as graceful as Holmes, and the thought was almost inconceivable.
“I had been running rather low on sleep, Watson, and I fear was not at my best,” Holmes admitted with a sheepish grin.
“I should imagine not!” Watson agreed. “What then?”
The rest of the train ride passed in easy conversation, their shoulders and legs touching as they talked. Neither man acknowledged what had passed between them, but when the train began to slow at their destination, it was with reluctance that they moved from their comfortable positions.
***
The Chichester Estate was a massive, sprawling compound that seemed to loom above them as the cart jostled along the well worn lane. Watson could feel his eyes widen as the true extent of his friend’s wealth and background rose before him.
“It is not as grand as you think,” Holmes murmured in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring voice. “It was a gift from a very well to do member of the royal household for a service fulfilled by my great -great grandfather.”
“You said you were country squires, once,” Watson managed to mumble, unable to tear his gaze away from the house.
“We were,” Holmes agreed, placing a hand on the other’s arm to draw his attention away from the building. “Trust me, Watson, if there was any wealth to be had in my family, it has long since been squandered until all that remains is what you see before you. Mycroft inherited it as the eldest son, but in truth neither one of us can abide the place for longer than a few months, and so it remains mostly in the hands of the servants.”
Here the detective smiled, a faint, almost wistful expression on his worn face. “They have been with the family for as long as the Estate, and a more loyal group you will never find.”
“If that is the case I can see why neither of you visit very often,” Watson murmured, grinning at the fond expression. “I can’t picture either of you having the patience to be waited on.”
“Indeed,” Holmes agreed, his smile growing. “I remember Mrs. Everman tending me when I was a child, every bit a nanny to me as my own,” he added distastefully. “I’m afraid she never quite outgrew the habit.”
The two fell silent, Watson’s eyes once more returning to the house as they continued toward their destination. It was a large, peach colored affair with many windows and a solid framework, and he could not help but wonder about the service performed to earn such a marvelous estate. The trees which lined the lane were old growth, their branches blocking out the Spring sun as they swayed and creaked in the breeze.
“They do know we are coming, correct?” Watson could not help ask, turning a slightly worried frown to his friend. “It was such a short notice, will they -”
“Mycroft will have informed them, and they are always prepared for one of us to visit. With his services in such demand, it is not very often that my brother can leave work for any length of time, and when he does, it is at a moment’s notice. The servants have come to expect such things, and there are at least three rooms always prepared for guests.” At Watson’s raised eyebrow, Holmes rolled his eyes. “Mycroft cannot always leave his work behind him, and will often drag it along.”
The doctor chuckled at the image this simple statement produced, and Holmes found his grin widening at the sound. Truly, the doctor did not laugh nearly enough.
“We will have the house to ourselves for the most part. The servants sleep in their own quarters, with Mrs. Everman keeping an eye on things to keep order and mischief to a minimum,” Holmes added, eyes glinting. “Her husband is the groundskeeper, and her son lives in the little cottage just behind the house with his family. They maintain the property and take care of the day to day business. I believe Norton has a daughter, six or seven, but she is very well behaved and minds her manners. The family knows that Mycroft does not like to be disturbed, so she’s mostly kept out of the way.”
“You speak of her as though she were a kept pet,” Watson reproached, tapping Holmes’ knee.
“Watson, when have I ever given any indication that a child is anything more, save for when they can be of use as one of my little army?” Holmes asked, his expression honestly confused. “They tend to be pampered, sticky little things who make the most appalling sounds at inconvenient hours.”
“Oh, Holmes,” Watson sighed, closing his eyes as he covered his face with his hand, though it was mostly an act to keep the detective from seeing his amused smile.
“Truly, Watson, you act as though this is a surprise,” Holmes continued, sitting back and eying his friend narrowly. “If I didn’t know better I would say you were even…enamored of the species.”
“They’re not -” Watson protested, but gave up the argument immediately as he dissolved into helpless laughter.
Holmes sniffed his disdain and turned his attention back to their approach, dismissing his friend’s obvious insanity as a momentary lapse.
***
Mrs. Everman was a stout, gray-haired woman with kindly eyes who reminded Watson at once of every grandmother he had ever met. She was waiting for them upon the steps to the giant front door, her plain blue dress half hidden by a white apron. When the cart pulled to a stop and the two men dismounted, she called out a happy greeting and surged forward, wrapping Holmes in a hug so large Watson could not help but be impressed.
“Oh, Mr. Holmes, I’m so happy to see you again!” she cried.
“Thank you, Mrs. Everman,” Holmes managed, and to Watson’s amusement enfolded her in an awkward embrace of his own.
“You gave me a right fright, you did!” she suddenly snapped, shoving him away and slapping his arm reproachfully. “Turned the rest of my hair gray!”
She did not give Holmes a chance to respond, turning her attention instead to Watson and giving him the same enthusiastic greeting. He was a bit astounded at her strength as he struggled to take a deep breath, patting her back a bit gingerly.
“And you must be Mr. Holmes’ doctor I’ve heard so much about!” she said, finally pushing him back far enough to observe him at arm’s length. “Good on you, sir, for bringing him here. I was about to head up and grab him by the ear if I didn't hear from him soon, I was!"
“Mrs. Everman -” Holmes started to protest, only to be silenced when she turned a steely gaze his way, poking him in the chest with a thick finger.
“And don’t you be narrowing your eyes at me, young man. Goodness, what have you been doing to yourself? You're skin and bones still! Come in, come in, I've had the pot boiling all day, the stew should be ready soon and I have tea all set out!”
She turned, leading the way inside and gesturing for them to follow.
“That, my dear Watson, is Mrs. Everman,” Holmes sighed before looping his arm through the other man’s and urging him forward. “Trust me, it is far easier to do as she says than to fight.”
“You, giving up?” Watson asked incredulously, looking around the well lit entrance way as he did so.
“Trust me, Watson. Only a fool fights a losing battle with any expectation of winning. Mrs. Everman would have made many a general proud, had she ever deigned to give them her advice.”
“Come along!” The woman in question’s voice floated out to them from the first room to the left, an elegant sitting room with several wing-back chairs and a table already prepared with tea and several plates of sweets.
“You poor things, you both look done in!” she cooed, bustling about the room as she did so, righting pillows and grabbing an afghan off the back of the couch. “Sit down, Mr. Holmes, and enjoy a cup. You’re looking peaked!”
“Truly, Mrs. Everman, I am fine!” Holmes protested as his arm was taken and he was led to a chair. Watson had to fight to keep from laughing at his expression when the blanket was thrown over his shoulders. “Watson is an excellent doctor and has been taking very good care of me!”
“Yes, and I can see just how exhausting that must have been!” she scolded, patting Holmes’ cheek gently. “Poor thing is just about as worn as you. Sit down, Doctor, sit down! There’s cream and sugar, and sugar is always good after a long journey.”
Watson did as instructed, though he was thankfully spared having a blanket of his own, and was allowed to pour the tea for himself.
“You boys enjoy yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Just call out and one of the girls will be in shortly,” she said brusquely. She wiped her hands on her apron and cast her gaze around the room once more before heading out. “I expect to see at least two of those sweets eaten!” her voice called from the hallway.
“Well.” Watson cleared his throat as he took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes at the rich flavor. “She is certainly…”
“Yes, she is,” Holmes sighed, and reached for one of the pastries. “I did try to warn you.”
“Yes, yes you did,” Watson agreed, laughing slightly at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Truly, Holmes, you never cease to surprise me.” At his friend’s questioning eyebrows, Watson continued. “You’ve escaped thieves, murderers, and assassins. But escaping her? My hat is off to you!”
“Oh, hush!” Holmes scowled, and sipped delicately from his cup. “She may hear you,” he added a moment later.
The both of them could not refrain from their laughter anymore, and they sat snickering like two little school boys throughout the rest of their tea.
***
After they had eaten enough to assuage Mrs. Everman, they set out for a leisurely stroll around the house, Holmes pointing out things of interest and Watson trying to take everything in.
The property was not as large as it had first appeared, though it was so meticulously groomed and laid out that it gave the appearance of a much larger estate. The paths wound around in such a way that it was several hours later when they returned to the house, flushed from the chill spring air and each other’s company.
“You two go get dressed for dinner. Edwin has taken your bags to your rooms and all should be put away,” Mrs. Everman greeted them as they walked back inside, grinning at their appearance. “Go on, now, and dinner will be ready as soon as you are.”
The two of them climbed the stairs, Holmes leading the way as he ventured down a short hallway to a suite of rooms. He motioned for Watson to follow him in and indicated a door on the far right.
“That will be your room, old cock. I know it’s a bit unusual to have rooms attached, but since it is usually only Mycroft, or Mycroft and his business associate that stays here, these were already prepared. I hope you don’t -”
“Hush, Holmes,” Watson murmured, smiling at his friend fondly. “It’s fine. This way I can keep an eye on you,” he added teasingly.
“Oh, yes,” Holmes sighed, scrunching his face up in distaste. “Wouldn’t do for me to be on my own, would it?”
“Hush,” Watson scolded again absently, making a quick circuit of the room before heading towards his. “You’re being silly.”
Before Holmes could form an appropriate response, the other man was already through the door and exploring his own room. Feeling put upon and wearied, Holmes acquiesced to the inevitable and set about changing his clothes. With the both of them against him, he knew a battle would be useless.
***
Dinner was a thick stew with a warm, chewy bread. It was a simple affair, though with such short notice Watson could not blame the housekeeper for choosing a simple yet filling meal.
The two men ate alone in the dining room, the large table which could comfortably sit eight elegantly placed for two. The meal was delicious, and shortly after they retired to the library for brandies and cigars.
They had just sat down before the roaring fire, Holmes with a random book pulled from the shelf, when Mrs. Everman came in, for once not bustling about and doing a handful of things at once.
“If you’ll not be needing me for the night, I’m going to turn in, Mr. Holmes,” she said.
“Of course, Mrs. Everman. We should be fine, thank you! Dinner was fabulous, as always!” Holmes assured her, smiling gently.
“Thank you,” was the simple reply before she turned her attention to Watson. “This is for your leg, Doctor. My William swears by it, says it’s the only thing allowing him to keep up with the boys these days. It will ease what aches have settled in,” she assured, handing Watson a thick towel which smelled faintly herbal.
“Thank you,” Watson hastened to say, eying the towel in confusion. “Truly, there was no need, I assure you. I am a doctor -”
“Oh, tish,” she said, waving away his complaint. “I’ll see you boys in the morning.”
She left them to their evening, and despite his reservations, Watson placed the warmed towel over his leg with a shrug at Holmes amused look.
“It probably works better on the flesh, but you can see to that tonight,” was Holmes only comment.
After that, there as no more talk of Mrs. Everman or her poultices, but rather a rambling, lengthy discussion about whatever crossed their minds. From ship building to rare flowers which were cultivated on the grounds to various pieces of music, the two men talked late into the night until, yawning, they headed up to their rooms and the promise of sleep.
Part 9
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Date: 2011-01-07 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-07 07:01 pm (UTC)Thank you for continuing to read and feedback! I'm glad you're still enjoying!
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Date: 2011-03-08 05:39 am (UTC)Youve done it so well!