If Only
So I'm getting into the Sherlock fandom and I wrote this little fic. Hope it sounds good
Name: If Only
Characters: Sherlock, John, Watson, Holmes
Warnings: Crossover
Categories: Romance, Angst
So John is looking at himself. No, correction, he's looking at Watson because he would not possibly wear such old fashioned clothes nowadays. And he doesn't have a mustache, which he is not jealous of in the least. At least he tells himself that. Yet, it is definitely him, there's no doubt about that. Even when he really couldn't believe that it was time-travel or dimension-travel, something or-the-other, even after watching all that Doctor Who, he never had his doubts about the man that was his almost perfect twin, right down to his limp, cane and mannerisms. Although those things could be faked, they convinced him. It also helped that he heard that he was the only one to have followed Sherlock. It would only make sense, if it really was Holmes, that he would have invariably followed. Who else would follow the madman but himself?
Right now, His Sherlock had that subtle spark in his eyes that he always got on an interesting case. He was talking to Holmes trying to recreate the accident that had plunged them here. He even let Holmes look through his precious experiments which only he could touch. Casually explaining in odd bits of phrases only he would understand. Sherlock shows Holmes cell phones and other modern appliances years from being created in the other time-line, yet the double nods and continues on the random threads of thought.
“You see here how these wires connect...” and Sherlock points to a section of a photograph.
“Ah, I see. Then this...” Holmes grabs a notebook and opens to a page.
“Yes, that's it,” They smile devilishly at each other.
John couldn't help staring at their conversations. They understood each other perfectly.
“Don't forget what you are supposed to be doing!” John shouts.
Shaking his head, John then did the only sensible thing and went to make tea for himself and well, himself. Hoping to understand his own personality a bit more, he smiles enthusiastically.
“So, it is certainly fine outside today,” he attempts and they both wince at a sharp screech from Sherlock's room. Bright-eyed, Sherlock and Holmes come bounding out with ink-stained hands and papers trailing behind them.
“John, We found an answer!”“Watson, We found an answer!” the two cry out.
The two John's glance at one another, “Yes, and did this answer involve cluttering the flat?” Watson pips.
The two geniuses seem to have the decency to look sheepish. Sighing again, the Watsons simply point to the broom. Grumbling, the Sherlocks grab it and head back.
“It'll be done by tomorrow night!” they carol.
After making sure they left, the remaining John and Watson laugh uncontrollably. It had been so long since he could share Sherlock's eccentricities with such a non-judgmental person as themselves. They fall easily into rhythm of reminiscing on past cases and finding the eery similarities.
“Really, the Study in Pink?”
“It was a good case,” John laughs.
“Hmph, scarlet is a much more masculine color I think.”
They giggle.
“John,” Watson began, “Have you met James Moriarty?”
“Unfortunately,” he puts in stonily, “he was insane and he will always be, no matter the circumstances. It should just be etched in stone somewhere.”
“He hurt Holmes.”
There was silence. “How did you manage?” Watson asks.
“Manage?”
“Of course. I just want to know how you coped when you thought your Sherlock had been dead for three years.”
“Three years!” John exclaimed, “That's impossible!”
Watson looks deflated. His voice is a little hoarse when he replies, “No John it isn't.”
John sits there. Shell shocked.
Sherlock wouldn't fake his death.
Sherlock wouldn't leave him like that.
Wouldn't leave him to go back to his old boring life all alone.
It was impossible. He wouldn't!
That was when John was hit with a picture of him and Sherlock. It's just the two of them at 221B. John would be sitting by the fire and Sherlock would be there and they'd grow old together. He feels a little bit of him tearing at the thought of losing that forever. It breaks when he realizes it would never happen anyway.
“You know, I was married. Twice” Watson says unexpectedly.
John's eyes widen impossibly larger, “To who?”
“My first wife was named Mary,” he lets out hesitantly, like he's baring his deepest secret to the world, “She was a widow and a governess. We met on a case. She was one of our clients,” he sighs, “She was very beautiful, so gentle and caring. She was such a wonderful woman ,John, but she wasn't...”
There was that pause. “My second wife, Sarah, was more headstrong and she was a nurse. She helped me through the Reichenbach years.” Watson looked uneasy. “ I used them both. Mary loved her husband before me and we understood each other better, but Sarah always loathed Sherlock and never wanted me to visit him. It killed her to know she didn't have my heart. That's why we divorced.”
John simply sat there in wonder. That couldn't possibly be true. He watched as Watson absentmindedly stroked his war wound. He knew that gesture, Sherlock had pointed it out enough times for him to finally learn his own “tell”. He only did that when he was nervous or insecure.
Bracing himself John looked at Watson head on. He would face the demons.
He commands, “Just tell me what's bothering you.”
With a sigh, Watson bursts out.“Has your Sherlock ever met an Irene Adler?”
There's a tremor in his voice and John knows that if he was worried over a woman than she really must be special to Holmes. Yet, he feel s a small little satisfaction that his Sherlock had never met this Irene. With a cool face, because he simply refuses to show any weakness, especially to himself, he looks up.
“No, no he has not.”
“Oh”
There is more silence. “Who...who was she?”
Watson licked his lips. “She is the only woman Holmes has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in. She is the only one,”His voice gets louder, “She is always, always referred to as The Woman. Do you know how it feels to know that Sherlock is capable of want? Desire? It was fine when he seemed completely asexual...
“married to his work,”John mutters bitterly.
“But when he suddenly shows any interest in the carnal pleasures it is with this WOMAN!”
“WATSON”
“Yes!”
“Drink your tea.”
They drink their tea.
John starts,
“Now I know it's hard and...don't give me that look! I am you after all. Look, Sherlock is your flatmate, right? Your best friend, your idiotic genius, and what makes your life even remotely interesting. We both know that he doesn't want anyone. He doesn't really love people that way. He probably wishes he was just a brain sometimes. Without all the silly inconveniences of a body. He's absolutely frustrating, stubborn, and can outsmart almost everyone he meets, but he can be bloody brilliant all he wants, we know he's an idiot. Oh, and when he smiles, really smiles, he's downright sinfully tempting. But we have no chance in hell of him loving us so we just have to face it, because we both know the truth. Holmes is Holmes, Sherlock is Sherlock and we don't want them to change any time soon.” flushed after his speech John sits down. He hadn't even realized he had gotten up.
Watson seems sheepish. “Yes, yes I know. It's just so hard sometimes.”
“Ï know.” And he knows. He does, he really does.
They drink their tea.
Name: If Only
Characters: Sherlock, John, Watson, Holmes
Warnings: Crossover
Categories: Romance, Angst
So John is looking at himself. No, correction, he's looking at Watson because he would not possibly wear such old fashioned clothes nowadays. And he doesn't have a mustache, which he is not jealous of in the least. At least he tells himself that. Yet, it is definitely him, there's no doubt about that. Even when he really couldn't believe that it was time-travel or dimension-travel, something or-the-other, even after watching all that Doctor Who, he never had his doubts about the man that was his almost perfect twin, right down to his limp, cane and mannerisms. Although those things could be faked, they convinced him. It also helped that he heard that he was the only one to have followed Sherlock. It would only make sense, if it really was Holmes, that he would have invariably followed. Who else would follow the madman but himself?
Right now, His Sherlock had that subtle spark in his eyes that he always got on an interesting case. He was talking to Holmes trying to recreate the accident that had plunged them here. He even let Holmes look through his precious experiments which only he could touch. Casually explaining in odd bits of phrases only he would understand. Sherlock shows Holmes cell phones and other modern appliances years from being created in the other time-line, yet the double nods and continues on the random threads of thought.
“You see here how these wires connect...” and Sherlock points to a section of a photograph.
“Ah, I see. Then this...” Holmes grabs a notebook and opens to a page.
“Yes, that's it,” They smile devilishly at each other.
John couldn't help staring at their conversations. They understood each other perfectly.
“Don't forget what you are supposed to be doing!” John shouts.
Shaking his head, John then did the only sensible thing and went to make tea for himself and well, himself. Hoping to understand his own personality a bit more, he smiles enthusiastically.
“So, it is certainly fine outside today,” he attempts and they both wince at a sharp screech from Sherlock's room. Bright-eyed, Sherlock and Holmes come bounding out with ink-stained hands and papers trailing behind them.
“John, We found an answer!”“Watson, We found an answer!” the two cry out.
The two John's glance at one another, “Yes, and did this answer involve cluttering the flat?” Watson pips.
The two geniuses seem to have the decency to look sheepish. Sighing again, the Watsons simply point to the broom. Grumbling, the Sherlocks grab it and head back.
“It'll be done by tomorrow night!” they carol.
After making sure they left, the remaining John and Watson laugh uncontrollably. It had been so long since he could share Sherlock's eccentricities with such a non-judgmental person as themselves. They fall easily into rhythm of reminiscing on past cases and finding the eery similarities.
“Really, the Study in Pink?”
“It was a good case,” John laughs.
“Hmph, scarlet is a much more masculine color I think.”
They giggle.
“John,” Watson began, “Have you met James Moriarty?”
“Unfortunately,” he puts in stonily, “he was insane and he will always be, no matter the circumstances. It should just be etched in stone somewhere.”
“He hurt Holmes.”
There was silence. “How did you manage?” Watson asks.
“Manage?”
“Of course. I just want to know how you coped when you thought your Sherlock had been dead for three years.”
“Three years!” John exclaimed, “That's impossible!”
Watson looks deflated. His voice is a little hoarse when he replies, “No John it isn't.”
John sits there. Shell shocked.
Sherlock wouldn't fake his death.
Sherlock wouldn't leave him like that.
Wouldn't leave him to go back to his old boring life all alone.
It was impossible. He wouldn't!
That was when John was hit with a picture of him and Sherlock. It's just the two of them at 221B. John would be sitting by the fire and Sherlock would be there and they'd grow old together. He feels a little bit of him tearing at the thought of losing that forever. It breaks when he realizes it would never happen anyway.
“You know, I was married. Twice” Watson says unexpectedly.
John's eyes widen impossibly larger, “To who?”
“My first wife was named Mary,” he lets out hesitantly, like he's baring his deepest secret to the world, “She was a widow and a governess. We met on a case. She was one of our clients,” he sighs, “She was very beautiful, so gentle and caring. She was such a wonderful woman ,John, but she wasn't...”
There was that pause. “My second wife, Sarah, was more headstrong and she was a nurse. She helped me through the Reichenbach years.” Watson looked uneasy. “ I used them both. Mary loved her husband before me and we understood each other better, but Sarah always loathed Sherlock and never wanted me to visit him. It killed her to know she didn't have my heart. That's why we divorced.”
John simply sat there in wonder. That couldn't possibly be true. He watched as Watson absentmindedly stroked his war wound. He knew that gesture, Sherlock had pointed it out enough times for him to finally learn his own “tell”. He only did that when he was nervous or insecure.
Bracing himself John looked at Watson head on. He would face the demons.
He commands, “Just tell me what's bothering you.”
With a sigh, Watson bursts out.“Has your Sherlock ever met an Irene Adler?”
There's a tremor in his voice and John knows that if he was worried over a woman than she really must be special to Holmes. Yet, he feel s a small little satisfaction that his Sherlock had never met this Irene. With a cool face, because he simply refuses to show any weakness, especially to himself, he looks up.
“No, no he has not.”
“Oh”
There is more silence. “Who...who was she?”
Watson licked his lips. “She is the only woman Holmes has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in. She is the only one,”His voice gets louder, “She is always, always referred to as The Woman. Do you know how it feels to know that Sherlock is capable of want? Desire? It was fine when he seemed completely asexual...
“married to his work,”John mutters bitterly.
“But when he suddenly shows any interest in the carnal pleasures it is with this WOMAN!”
“WATSON”
“Yes!”
“Drink your tea.”
They drink their tea.
John starts,
“Now I know it's hard and...don't give me that look! I am you after all. Look, Sherlock is your flatmate, right? Your best friend, your idiotic genius, and what makes your life even remotely interesting. We both know that he doesn't want anyone. He doesn't really love people that way. He probably wishes he was just a brain sometimes. Without all the silly inconveniences of a body. He's absolutely frustrating, stubborn, and can outsmart almost everyone he meets, but he can be bloody brilliant all he wants, we know he's an idiot. Oh, and when he smiles, really smiles, he's downright sinfully tempting. But we have no chance in hell of him loving us so we just have to face it, because we both know the truth. Holmes is Holmes, Sherlock is Sherlock and we don't want them to change any time soon.” flushed after his speech John sits down. He hadn't even realized he had gotten up.
Watson seems sheepish. “Yes, yes I know. It's just so hard sometimes.”
“Ï know.” And he knows. He does, he really does.
They drink their tea.