Prompt 15: Miles to Go
Title: Miles to Go
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (implied), Mike Stamford
Word Count: 824
Summary: "How long do you mean to keep this up?"
Author's Notes: For prompt 15 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was "Miles to go before we sleep."
Stamford is looking at him uncomfortably. John swiftly kicks him under the table. The poor man nearly has a heart attack from the unexpected assault. "If you're going to look uncomfortable you should at least have a proper reason for it." John reaches for his coffee. It's still strange to be using his right hand so much. He looks at the tally Sherlock has been keeping on his cast: six more days with the bloody thing and that would be it. Until the next time, at least. Hopefully in his non dominant hand. And not the arm that was attached to the bad shoulder.
Stamford still doesn't look well. "Coffee off?" he tries. Wouldn't be the first time. Stamford's stomach has not been the most accepting in his old age.
Finally the man shakes his head. "How long do you mean to keep this up?"
"What up?" Stamford's eyes keep arching from his nose to the environs of John's broken arm. "Six more days, mate. Didn't know it was bothering you so much."
"I don't mean that," Stamford tries to get out. "I mean the whole thing ."
John knows full well but feigns ignorance until the man finally manages to say it plainly. "You're fifty-six, John."
"Fifty-five," he corrects. "Birthday's not for another two weeks."
"Whatever," Stamford huffs. "How much longer do you plan to keep following him?"
John raises an eyebrow. "Forever. I seem to remember you being at the wedding."
"I don't mean leave him!" Stamford is rightfully apalled now. Now just get him the rest of the way there.
"That's more or less what you're suggesting."
"You can stay home and he can do the running."
"Sherlock is fifty-three," John points out. "He's not exactly young and spry either if that is what we're actually talking about." He manages to keep his voice calm and matter of fact. Stamford is being fair and rational and John is sitting here with a broken arm. This was also an improvement from the last time Stamford had seen him after the Tupper case.
"Shouldn't you both stop?" Should they? Yes, perhaps. Eventually. Not yet. John's not done yet and he knows that Sherlock is not done yet. Even after a case that had managed to land them both in hospital. Nothing overly serious but that didn't mean the next thing wouldn't be. Instead of actually answer Stamford he ends up quoting some Robert Frost at him. Stamford doesn't quite catch it so John repeats it in a slightly more sane tone of voice.
"I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep."
Stamford wants to ask him what promises but thinks better of it. John wouldn't have told him anyway. Some are frankly not his business while others cannot be put into words. "One day we'll retire," John tells him. "We're not morons, believe it or not, and we'll settle down and age nicely writing memoirs and keeping bees but that time is not now."
"I just don't want the retirement to be one of you getting badly hurt or worse."
"It might," John allows. "But I've know that the end for me could come with the work since the first day. It nearly has been for both of us. We both know that and I'll say right now, for the record, that if I die tomorrow or on the next case I still wouldn't regret a moment of it. I'll go out fighting while we're still working. I'll probably go out fighting once we're retired too." John refuses to die in his sleep. He'll face death with his eyes wide open and he will be able to say his goodbyes and hold and kiss Sherlock one last time before he goes.
Stamford, back in the real world, apologizes for overstepping. John's kick is gentler this time. "You're just worried and you're not the first one to wonder. Don't fret. You'll feel better once you see me without the cast."
His friend nods, pleased to be forgiven. "Where's Sherlock anyway? He's past his time."
"Probably best I go find him," John rises, stiffly. "If only to make sure that cane hasn't snapped and he's not barking at anyone who tries to help him up."
"Isn't he fine without the cane?"
John sighs. "He is but I think he's just pretending to need it until my cast is off. That way we'll both be ready to get back at it."
"You really aren't tired of it are you? Either of you?"
John smiles. "Not at bit. I think I'll never properly tire of it and neither will he. It'll just come down to the transport failing us in the end." Stamford doesn't get the terminology but that's just fine. It doesn't matter that he doesn't or that anyone does. This will be their lives until it isn't and that's the way of things . But there's miles to go for that discussion yet.
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (implied), Mike Stamford
Word Count: 824
Summary: "How long do you mean to keep this up?"
Author's Notes: For prompt 15 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was "Miles to go before we sleep."
Stamford is looking at him uncomfortably. John swiftly kicks him under the table. The poor man nearly has a heart attack from the unexpected assault. "If you're going to look uncomfortable you should at least have a proper reason for it." John reaches for his coffee. It's still strange to be using his right hand so much. He looks at the tally Sherlock has been keeping on his cast: six more days with the bloody thing and that would be it. Until the next time, at least. Hopefully in his non dominant hand. And not the arm that was attached to the bad shoulder.
Stamford still doesn't look well. "Coffee off?" he tries. Wouldn't be the first time. Stamford's stomach has not been the most accepting in his old age.
Finally the man shakes his head. "How long do you mean to keep this up?"
"What up?" Stamford's eyes keep arching from his nose to the environs of John's broken arm. "Six more days, mate. Didn't know it was bothering you so much."
"I don't mean that," Stamford tries to get out. "I mean the whole thing ."
John knows full well but feigns ignorance until the man finally manages to say it plainly. "You're fifty-six, John."
"Fifty-five," he corrects. "Birthday's not for another two weeks."
"Whatever," Stamford huffs. "How much longer do you plan to keep following him?"
John raises an eyebrow. "Forever. I seem to remember you being at the wedding."
"I don't mean leave him!" Stamford is rightfully apalled now. Now just get him the rest of the way there.
"That's more or less what you're suggesting."
"You can stay home and he can do the running."
"Sherlock is fifty-three," John points out. "He's not exactly young and spry either if that is what we're actually talking about." He manages to keep his voice calm and matter of fact. Stamford is being fair and rational and John is sitting here with a broken arm. This was also an improvement from the last time Stamford had seen him after the Tupper case.
"Shouldn't you both stop?" Should they? Yes, perhaps. Eventually. Not yet. John's not done yet and he knows that Sherlock is not done yet. Even after a case that had managed to land them both in hospital. Nothing overly serious but that didn't mean the next thing wouldn't be. Instead of actually answer Stamford he ends up quoting some Robert Frost at him. Stamford doesn't quite catch it so John repeats it in a slightly more sane tone of voice.
"I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep."
Stamford wants to ask him what promises but thinks better of it. John wouldn't have told him anyway. Some are frankly not his business while others cannot be put into words. "One day we'll retire," John tells him. "We're not morons, believe it or not, and we'll settle down and age nicely writing memoirs and keeping bees but that time is not now."
"I just don't want the retirement to be one of you getting badly hurt or worse."
"It might," John allows. "But I've know that the end for me could come with the work since the first day. It nearly has been for both of us. We both know that and I'll say right now, for the record, that if I die tomorrow or on the next case I still wouldn't regret a moment of it. I'll go out fighting while we're still working. I'll probably go out fighting once we're retired too." John refuses to die in his sleep. He'll face death with his eyes wide open and he will be able to say his goodbyes and hold and kiss Sherlock one last time before he goes.
Stamford, back in the real world, apologizes for overstepping. John's kick is gentler this time. "You're just worried and you're not the first one to wonder. Don't fret. You'll feel better once you see me without the cast."
His friend nods, pleased to be forgiven. "Where's Sherlock anyway? He's past his time."
"Probably best I go find him," John rises, stiffly. "If only to make sure that cane hasn't snapped and he's not barking at anyone who tries to help him up."
"Isn't he fine without the cane?"
John sighs. "He is but I think he's just pretending to need it until my cast is off. That way we'll both be ready to get back at it."
"You really aren't tired of it are you? Either of you?"
John smiles. "Not at bit. I think I'll never properly tire of it and neither will he. It'll just come down to the transport failing us in the end." Stamford doesn't get the terminology but that's just fine. It doesn't matter that he doesn't or that anyone does. This will be their lives until it isn't and that's the way of things . But there's miles to go for that discussion yet.