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Title: A Special Night
Author: Cicero
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Morstan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Holmes has a surprise for Watson. Unfortunately, Watson has one for Holmes, too.
Email Address: Cicerothewriter@livejournal.com
Categories: Drama, Angst
Feedback notes: Any kind of feedback will be appreciated, even if you just write me a one-line email telling me that you've read the story, and I will be happy.
Warnings: Depressing.
Notes: I wrote this a long time ago, and I think that it's supposed to be part of a bigger story, which arose from a brief conversation back in 2000 with some fellow female Sherlockians as to who would be a good Holmes and Watson if a movie were to be made today. We could not decide on a Holmes, but we decided that Ewan McGregor would be a great Watson. My Holmes will always be Jeremy Brett. Eventually I will merge the two stories. I am very fond of Ewan!Watson.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or his Granada reincarnation. I am writing this for fun, not profit.

Since our meeting, I had been working hard to overcome my shyness and uncertainty towards my dear Watson. It took me a long time to realize that in him, I found the love that I had secretly hoped for. I had found my ideal companion and partner.

My loneliness was becoming an acute pain, and I was scared into haste by the arrival of Miss Morstan. She was very attracted to my handsome Watson, and had been working quickly to steal him away from me. He, in turn, was smitten by her.

I had everything planned for that night. I spent the entire day cleaning the sitting room. I took extra care with my appearance, my hair and my clothes. I prepared my bedroom, making sure I had everything that we would need, if in fact, I did succeed. Dinner was composed of his favorite dishes and a couple bottles of expensive wine. I had also set myself to the embarrassing task of gaining knowledge of those techniques whereby I could seduce my Watson into loving me.

I was also forced to ask Mrs. Hudson for assistance in choosing and preparing the food. She found it greatly amusing and agreed to have everything ready. Despite her humor, I found Mrs. Hudson sympathy and understanding. I am not sure how much she understood about my intentions, however I am sure that she was not fooled by my uneasy explanations in requesting her help.

I spent the few minutes before his arrival fidgeting with my tie and collar and smoking cigarette after cigarette in an attempt to calm myself. Finally, I heard him ascending the stairs, and rang the bell signaling to Mrs. Hudson that she should bring up the first course. I was standing in front of the fire when Watson came through the door.

As he entered the sitting room, I made sure that I was smiling gently, as I knew he liked me to do. He returned my smile, and I felt my heart swell with love and contentment. This was right, and I knew it. I could trust Watson. He would never hurt me if I put my heart into his strong hands.

"I've got a surprise for you, my dear Watson," I said. "A special dinner for you."

"Oh, so you've heard the good news already?"

"The good news?" I asked, a slow flair of pain working its way from the pit of my abdomen to the ends of my body.

It was then that Mrs. Hudson came up, as scheduled, with her carefully prepared feast. She looked up at me expectantly, and I motioned for her to go ahead.

"I am glad that you are here, Mrs. Hudson. Now I can tell you both." He stopped to take a deep breath, and then he smiled broadly, the force of its intense happiness slapping me sharply across my face.

"Miss Morstan has consented to be my bride."

I felt a throb of anguish strum through my body before a cold numbness set in. I vaguely heard Mrs. Hudson gasp and drop the tray of food. Watson apologized and helped her pick up the pieces. She turned to me, questioning what she should do next.

I was immensely proud of myself for my voice was as calm and unemotional as if nothing had upset me. "It is all right, Mrs. Hudson. Just bring up the rest of the food."

She nodded and left quickly, returning soon with the rest of dinner. I sat down, dejected, and somehow managed to choke down a few morsels of food while Watson gave me a detailed account of his proposal and her acceptance. I became so depressed and angry that I wanted to hit him, her, myself, or anyone who came within striking distance.

At last Watson stopped talking. He was wrapped in his happiness, blissfully unaware of my misery. Mrs. Hudson came up to take away the food, and she looked sharply at me. I must have looked up at her in such despair that she actually flinched.

"Shall I pour us a brandy, Holmes?" Watson asked.

"Yes, Watson, that will be nice."

I stood up and stumbled a bit.

Somehow I managed to sit through more of Watson's painfully high-spirited conversation. When he finally ran down, he looked over to me and said, "You don't look to happy, my dear fellow. What is the matter?"

"I've got a new case that has just been presented to me. It has several points that are extremely puzzling. I find my mind going over them continuously. I apologize for my preoccupation."

Watson smiled.



Behind my closed bedroom door, I sat on my lonely bed. It's new, soft covers called to me, reminding me of my failure. As always, it was hard to come to terms with, harder than failure to solve a case and a thousand times more painful than allowing a client to be murdered. I lost my friend because of my carefully constructed shields.

I could let Watson go with quiet dignity. He deserves as much from me for putting up with my swaying moods and erratic style of life. He deserved to be loved and Mary can give him that as well as a quiet lifestyle necessitous to the development of his practice, which is something that he has longed for so long. I can only give him love that is considered vile, disgusting, an abomination before the eyes of god, so much that it must be outlawed. While he is married to her, I can still give him friendly comradeship, which is what he expects from me anyway.

I want to leave, to disappear, but to leave him is unthinkable for the moment. Maybe when I see that he is secure in his life, and he is happy, then I can think about my options. But for now, I am at a stalemate.

I stay awake, listening to his movements above as he readies for bed. Such sounds are welcome to me, and I want to relish them before he leaves, so that I have my memories to comfort me when he is gone.



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