Dr. John H. Watson, M.D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightconductor) wrote2010-10-17 10:31 pm
lightconductor) wrote2010-10-17 10:31 pm
Entry tags:
The Mysterious Case of Dr. Verner
More AU, following up on this scene here.
The purchase of Watson's old practice was done with, and it was a strange thing to be free like this again. It was one more way it was like the old days, before the island, before Switzerland, before Mary... he and Holmes and the cases and nothing else. Except, of course, this was better now. And the sale had gone surprisingly well, too. Watson had feared that it would not sell, that he would be stuck with the practice for weeks and months, had wondered whether frequent nights spent at Baker street while he was supposed to be living elsewhere would look suspicious, and what his housekeeper might think of his sudden decision to abandon his career for a return to his bachelor days.
He was at least a little sorry to say goodbye to it, actually. That he would no longer come into a room and be caught in an intense, painful sense of memory, remembering Mary and her illness in late pregnancy and how horribly empty the house and his life had been after he'd lost her... it was both a blessing and a tragedy, to no longer have that.
But the sale had, after all, gone well. Extremely so. It hadn't been long at all before a young doctor, name of Verner, had inquired. Watson had named a price, had set it as high as he dared, too high to be acceptable, and had fully expected Verner to barter him down. That was the done thing. Instead, Verner had shrugged and considered it and accepted the price without further delay.
It was lucky, it was a great windfall, and Watson knew better than to question it too much.
Some weeks after he had abandoned his practice to the care of young Dr. Verner, though, Watson had found himself in that neighbourhood running errands, and thought to check in and see if a book he had been unable to locate had merely been left behind. This had, in fact, been the case, and Verner had the book ready, commenting that he had intended to send it round to Watson at the soonest opportunity.
Watson liked Verner, thin and Gallic-featured and witty, and he'd stopped to chat for a minute or two before continuing home. At last, he said, "I fear I've taken too much of your time, Doctor. I should be getting along, at any rate. It was a pleasure speaking with you."
"Take care of yourself, Dr. Watson," Verner answered. "And do pass my regards along to Sherlock."
Watson had been almost out the door, but he stopped suddenly at this, and turned. He was well-used to people passing greeting along to Holmes through him, and not necessarily from people who even knew the famed detective. There was nothing unusual about that. But no one referred to Holmes that way, with the notable exception of Mycroft Holmes, because what else was he to call his brother?
"I beg your pardon," Watson said, frowning faintly and attempting not to, "but are you acquainted with Holmes?"
Verner had immediately realised he had uttered an indiscretion, and had gone quite pale. He had stuttered a little and stammered, but had at last, under pressure, confessed the entire story.
Roughly a half hour later, Watson was climbing the seventeen steps up to their rooms in Baker street, fighting waves of anger and failing. He burst into the sitting room, gave a small exhalation of satisfaction to see Holmes there at his desk, and he shut the door behind him before stalking over. He laid his hand heavily on Holmes's shoulder. "Holmes," he growled out. "I do believe we need to talk."
The purchase of Watson's old practice was done with, and it was a strange thing to be free like this again. It was one more way it was like the old days, before the island, before Switzerland, before Mary... he and Holmes and the cases and nothing else. Except, of course, this was better now. And the sale had gone surprisingly well, too. Watson had feared that it would not sell, that he would be stuck with the practice for weeks and months, had wondered whether frequent nights spent at Baker street while he was supposed to be living elsewhere would look suspicious, and what his housekeeper might think of his sudden decision to abandon his career for a return to his bachelor days.
He was at least a little sorry to say goodbye to it, actually. That he would no longer come into a room and be caught in an intense, painful sense of memory, remembering Mary and her illness in late pregnancy and how horribly empty the house and his life had been after he'd lost her... it was both a blessing and a tragedy, to no longer have that.
But the sale had, after all, gone well. Extremely so. It hadn't been long at all before a young doctor, name of Verner, had inquired. Watson had named a price, had set it as high as he dared, too high to be acceptable, and had fully expected Verner to barter him down. That was the done thing. Instead, Verner had shrugged and considered it and accepted the price without further delay.
It was lucky, it was a great windfall, and Watson knew better than to question it too much.
Some weeks after he had abandoned his practice to the care of young Dr. Verner, though, Watson had found himself in that neighbourhood running errands, and thought to check in and see if a book he had been unable to locate had merely been left behind. This had, in fact, been the case, and Verner had the book ready, commenting that he had intended to send it round to Watson at the soonest opportunity.
Watson liked Verner, thin and Gallic-featured and witty, and he'd stopped to chat for a minute or two before continuing home. At last, he said, "I fear I've taken too much of your time, Doctor. I should be getting along, at any rate. It was a pleasure speaking with you."
"Take care of yourself, Dr. Watson," Verner answered. "And do pass my regards along to Sherlock."
Watson had been almost out the door, but he stopped suddenly at this, and turned. He was well-used to people passing greeting along to Holmes through him, and not necessarily from people who even knew the famed detective. There was nothing unusual about that. But no one referred to Holmes that way, with the notable exception of Mycroft Holmes, because what else was he to call his brother?
"I beg your pardon," Watson said, frowning faintly and attempting not to, "but are you acquainted with Holmes?"
Verner had immediately realised he had uttered an indiscretion, and had gone quite pale. He had stuttered a little and stammered, but had at last, under pressure, confessed the entire story.
Roughly a half hour later, Watson was climbing the seventeen steps up to their rooms in Baker street, fighting waves of anger and failing. He burst into the sitting room, gave a small exhalation of satisfaction to see Holmes there at his desk, and he shut the door behind him before stalking over. He laid his hand heavily on Holmes's shoulder. "Holmes," he growled out. "I do believe we need to talk."
no subject
"I had no idea... It never occurred to me that that... might matter to you." He stops there and takes a small breath, frowning at the floor. Is Watson unhappy, regretful? What does he think of their life together? Certainly it's problematic on legal levels, but... not emotional ones, right? And shouldn't that mean more than other peoples' opinions?
"You are, still, my partner, and that is no little accomplishment," he says, very quietly. "Bohemian I may be, but you are at least the most respectable half of our little operation. And you have already written some, and in a little while you can return to that. You'll gain quite a bit more than just respectability from that. We know that for a fact." He gives a small, humorless smile.
no subject
He shook his head, leaving his thought unfinished, and turned back to the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the coals. "It shouldn't matter," he said. "I know it shouldn't. I have everyhing right here that I need to be perfectly happy. I know that's true. And yet I sometimes -- I cannot have this disregard for society that you manage. I envy you."
no subject
"No, you cannot," he agrees, stepping forward again. "Because, as you said once, I am a cold, calculating machine." He half-smiles, half-flinches; that detail had particularly upset him when he read it, for many reasons, but perhaps most because he knows himself how deeply he has felt for the men in his life, but at the time was convinced that he must forever hide that depth of emotion from Watson.
"My disregard for society is not entirely voluntary; I am brash and harsh and impatient much too often than I should be, and I cannot always control it. Much as you can't control being caring and considerate and so wholly engaged in the people around you to the point where not one person I have ever met has had a negative word to say about you." He smiles again, a small and self-conscious one. "I do not think it very wise to envy me, in this regard. Envy my brilliance, my perception, my skills at the violin... but I don't recommend envying this, in particular."
no subject
He turned back to Holmes again, and extended an arm hopefully, not sure whether he was hoping for Holmes to take his hand or offer his entire self in an embrace. His temper was quick, and fierce at times, but it did generally tend to run itself out fairly quickly. That was a small blessing.
"You must be exaggerating," he said, with a small and self-deprecating smile. "Surely there must have been one person of your acquaintance who has looked at me tagging along after you like some poor spaniel, and remarked upon me unfavourably."
no subject
He gives Watson a more sincere smile, his gaze falling on his lips briefly before he lifts it again; he doesn't know exactly where he stands with Watson now, if it would be okay to kiss him.
"So you see, Watson, I win you favor and sympathy to your good credit. I am more asset than detriment."
Suddenly, his expression shifts as Watson's words fully sink in. "Surely you don't think of yourself as some poor spaniel," he says with a frown.
no subject
But Holmes question sobered him a little. Watson slid his hand over the small of Holmes's back, trailing his fingers gently. "No," he said, although there was hesitation in his voice. "I don't, not usually. Especially now. I did sometimes, though, especially in our early days. I could not, for the life of me, work out why you would want me along, invalid that I was."
no subject
"Allow me to reassure you that if I had wanted a spaniel to follow me at my heels, I would have actually acquired a spaniel." This is difficult to explain, as he is not entirely capable of putting into words very easily the process by which he fell in love with Watson.
"I admit that when you came into my life, I had not expected or even entertained the idea that I would truly be gaining a companion, but I quickly realized that you were, and are, the perfect compliment to my own nature. There is romantic talk of finding your other half in another person, and I had thought it all very idyllic and untrue. Until I met you."
He smiles down at Watson, feeling suddenly, stupidly sheepish.
"I have high opinions of myself, and among those I include the belief that I could not find my other half in a companion so ineffectual or hapless that he could be considered a dog."
no subject
Holmes was not telling him anything new, exactly, but it was rare for him to hear, and it was gratifying to know. His other half. That was exactly it. Their names went together, one suggested the other, and would for many years to come. "John Watson" was not a particularly remarkable or uncommon name by any stretch of the imagination, and surely there must be other Dr. John Watsons in the world even now, but how many people on the island had immediately asked if he were that Watson, who had worked with Sherlock Holmes?
Watson reached far enough to put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the mantle, and having freed up that hand, he brought it to the side of Holmes's face to kiss him, tenderly.
"I love you too," he said, even if Holmes had not said precisely that.
no subject
"And thank goodness for that. What would a man be without his other half? And what would life be? Unendingly dull and uncomfortably empty," he answers, booking no argument.
no subject
"I would rather have you here and irritating me than anywhere else," he added, with a faintly teasing smile. He kissed him again, to take any sting out of his words. "At least that isn't dull."
no subject
"I am anything but dull, to be sure. And since you rather enjoy me spurring you into action," he says with a light suggestion, drawing himself up again, "we are undoubtedly perfectly matched."
no subject
Something had occurred to him earlier, much earlier, and it now entered his mind again. He sighed. "I did have one question," Watson said. "Your cousin... does he... does he know about your proclivities?"
With what of Holmes's past and family that he knew, it was certainly possible, although by no means for sure. If Verner did know of the incidents in Holmes's past that had been hushed up, then assuming he was even reasonably intelligent, he could certainly work out why Holmes might offer him money to buy Watson's practice.
no subject
"In all likelihood. Either he's heard it or surmised it; I really couldn't say which, if any, because it isn't something we have ever mentioned to each other. Truly I have no idea to what extent my parents may have spread the information, or if my inclinations are the subject of gossip among my family." His tone is dismissive, almost disinterested, but once this is said, his expression softens.
"I do know that Verner likely cares very little, if at all. The general trend among my family is they either cease talking to me, or they don't care, and I believe Verner belongs to the latter category. Whatever assumptions he may have made about us," he says, pausing to smile in an attempt to be comforting, "will not cause problems for us. I would not have approached him if I was not sure of that."
no subject
"By the way," he added after a moment, "he said to send his regards along to Sherlock, and he seemed quite genuine about that, so I doubt he thinks that badly of you." Watson smiled. "So, please, do feel completely welcome to continue squeezing me against the fireplace like this. It's rather enjoyable."
no subject
"I am glad to have the invitation, as I was planning on continuing anyway. Now I may do so without concern." He kisses Watson, sliding his hand up Watson's jacket so that he can leave his hand squarely against his back. "This is fairly cozy. I don't think having you against the fireplace ever occurred to me in the past," he adds, thoughtfully.
no subject
"Tell me. Do you plan on exploring this rather remarkable notion of yours any time in the near future? I haven't any plans."
no subject
"I take it you would prefer this experiment happen sooner rather than later." He lets his hand wander down to work on Watson's buttons. "That seems the most prudent option in my opinion; we had better get it out of the way before Mrs. Hudson so dutifully supplies us with our next meal." His voice has progressively gotten huskier, and he leans down to dust his mouth over Watson's in a ghost of a kiss.
no subject
"Fortunately," he added, "I have the utmost faith in your ability to keep us unsinged."
no subject
"I have no interest in seeing either of us singed." He ducks his mouth, biting gently at the skin of Watson's shoulder. "I would rather see us engulfed in metaphoric flames over actual flames, so have little fear. I will keep you unharmed," he murmurs softly against Watson's ear.
He draws them both back slightly, enough so that he can remove Watson's shirt, waistcoat, and jacket without accidentally dragging them through the fire.
no subject
"I will return the favour," he answered, softly. He wasn't being much help as far as the undressing went, continuing to mouth and kiss along Holmes's throat, unbuttoning as it became necessary for his roving mouth. "I shan't let you come to any harm either."
no subject
no subject
Objectively, this was mad. If someone were to arrive, then, it would be extremely awkward, difficult to find the time to cover themselves up again and pretend nothing was amiss, but somehow, just then, that possibility seemed very remote and unimportant.