New Fic: A Study in Doubles 9/? part 2 of 2
A Study in Doubles
9/? - part 2
Previous part
*
“And welcome back to Centre Court where in just a matter of minutes the last of today’s games will be starting, the quarter final singles match of Sherlock Holmes verses Sebastian Moran. Both players are out on the court finishing their final warm up, knocking balls over the net to each other. Holmes is in grey and white, while Moran is in green. Holmes has, of course, already played once today, in the semi-final of the men’s doubles where he and his partner, John Watson, beat Frantisek Cermak and Michal Mertinak in a gruelling three set thriller over on Court One. In contrast, Moran’s last match was yesterday afternoon when he beat local boy D.I. Dimmock in straight sets, 6-3, 6-1, a match that lasted only half the time it took Holmes and Watson to win this morning. Will that make a difference? Well, we will be finding out shortly, but first a brief reminder of the rest of the results today.
“First, World Number One, Jim Moriarty defeated Novak Djokovic in what turned out to be a rather straight forward match. He’ll be facing Roger Federer in the first of tomorrow’s semi-finals, Federer who earlier today beat Berdych in straight sets. The winner of Holmes verses Moran will be playing Rafael Nadal in the second of tomorrow’s semi-final matches. Nadal having won today against Kohlschreiber.
“So, can all four of the top seeds make it through to the semi-final, or are we about to witness an upset? Tim?”
“Well, of all the matches this was always going to have the potential for an upset. Moran’s meteoric rise in the past six months has taken him from the wrong side of the top fifty to breathing down the necks of the top six. He’s a big, strong, hard hitting player who has added a new layer of tactics and intelligence to his game which is not easy to beat.”
“So, can he beat Holmes here?”
“He did knock Nadal out of Wimbledon, so anything is possible. Holmes will be going into this match more fatigued than usual and knowing that even if he does win, a semi-final match against Nadal is booked for tomorrow.”
“Let’s talk about Holmes and the doubles then. He said in an interview earlier that he wants to win both the doubles and the singles. Do you see that as a possibility?”
“No.”
“That’s a very firm answer.”
“And pretty much the only time you’ll get a firm one from me. I honestly can’t see how Holmes can win both, because even if he and Watson somehow manage to beat the Bryan Brothers in the final of the doubles, and even if he did beat Moran here tonight, he would still need to face Nadal and then probably Moriarty and he doesn’t have a good record against either of them even when he’s at his fittest and most rested.”
“So you’re saying probably a Nadal Moriarty final then.”
“Most probably. I would be incredibly surprised if Holmes made it through to the final at all let alone win it.”
“And what about the match that is about to begin in literally a few minutes? Do you think Holmes will win?”
“I think that Moran will never have a better chance of beating Holmes than he does now.”
“That’s not exactly the same as saying that Moran will win.”
“No, it’s not, but that’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Thanks, Tim. Below us the players have just been called for the start of the match. It’s the last quarter final match of the men’s singles here in Toronto and Moran has won the toss.”
*
Sebastian Moran was as opposite to Sherlock as was pretty much physically possible, John realised as he looked down at the two players. At six foot three, Moran was a huge, powerfully built blond with broad shoulders and muscles stacked on his muscles, who specialised in strength and brute force. He remembered all too well what it was like to face him across a court, to see those fast, accurate serves zooming over the net towards him. He didn’t envy Sherlock one bit.
In comparison, Sherlock looked slight and fragile, even though, as John knew from personal experience, he was more than strong enough to face anything that came his way. At least he hoped so in this case.
Please let Sherlock win. Please, please, please, please!
It was Moran to start.
*
“Game, Moran. Moran leads one game to love.”
“Solid start there from Moran. A couple of good returns from Holmes but Moran was unmoveable at the net. Now it’s Holmes’ turn to serve.”
*
“Game, Holmes. One game all.”
Alright. That was more like it. Calmly executed, Sherlock’s forehand could be a sight of beauty and that one had been the perfect example of how to do it. Kept low, pushed wide, Moran had had no chance of returning it.
Good, Sherlock was settling in well. That was good.
*
“…backhand driven down the line by Holmes and Moran’s return goes into the net.”
“Game, Holmes. Three games all.”
“Six games gone so far and no sign of a break yet.”
“It’s still pretty even. Holmes has played the better tennis in terms of shots and placement, but Moran’s serve continues to cause problems.”
“Five aces so far for Moran, compared to Holmes’ two, and Holmes is by no means a poor returner of serves. He has a knack of reading them correcting.”
“He does indeed, it’s one of his strengths but sometimes, with serves of Moran’s power and speed there is very little that can be done.”
“And we’re now back with Moran’s serve.”
*
Come on, Sherlock! Good, yes, good, yes… yes… damn! So close.
“Game, Moran. Moran leads six games to five.”
Close. It had been a good idea, but you’ve got to put that out of your mind because now you need to hold your serve again. Come on, Sherlock! Come on!
*
“Thirty - All.”
“Good recovery there from Holmes, wrong footing Moran with that second backhand in the corner. Both times the ball landed within six inches of the line and that speaks of just how confident Holmes is in his abilities in such an important point. If he’d gotten it wrong he would have been fifteen-forty down with Moran having two set points. As it is it’s thirty-all and Holmes lines up to serve, but it’s into the net. Settles himself, pauses, then serves. Backhand return Moran, forehand Holmes, backhand Moran and Holmes closes with a neat little forehand volley to take the points.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Holmes is really trying to take advantage of Moran’s weaker backhand now, forcing Moran to make shots he’s less comfortable with to good effect.”
“Holmes collects two more balls and makes his way to the baseline. Bounces the balls and serves. Moran returns but it’s into the net.”
“Game, Holmes. Six games all.”
Holmes hangs on and we’re into a tie-break in the first set.”
*
Tie-break, great. So much for hoping for a quick and easy match.
Running a hand over his face, John slumped back in his seat. Moran was about to open the serving which technically gave him the slight upper hand, but he also had the stronger serve. So far, Sherlock had taken fewer points off Moran’s serve than Moran had off Sherlock’s, and that was a problem when it came to the nail-biting closeness of a tie-break.
Come on, Sherlock. To lose this set would be, well it would be terrible for Sherlock’s chances. Not only would it mean three sets if Sherlock wanted to win, but the longer the match went on for, the more tired Sherlock would get, increasing his likelihood of losing.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
Come on, Sherlock.
Moran served.
*
“…volley, Moran, Holmes returns but it goes long.”
“Out!”
“Three - Two. Holmes to serve.”
“Another unforced error there from Holmes. Those really are shots he should be burying if he wants to win this match, let alone this tournament.”
“Holmes to serve, but it clips the net and a let is called. Holmes to serve again… it’s good, Moran forehand, Holmes drives down the line, Moran backhand, Holmes crosscourt, Moran, but he pushes it wide.”
“Three - All.”
“Back to all level here, the serve still with Holmes as he lines himself up once, but he pulls it wide.”
“Second serve.”
“Holmes’ first serve rate hasn’t been his best and the tiredness from the doubles match may now be starting to show as Moran belts back Holmes’ second serve, burying it deep in the far corner as Holmes can only look on.”
“Four - Three. Moran to serve.”
“And there’s the break of serve. Moran goes a point up, leaving him with just three more points to get in order to win. He lines himself up, serves. Holmes returns but it’s into the net.”
“Five - Three.”
“Holmes doesn’t look pleased with himself, head down, muttering as he makes his way to the next receiving position. Moran prepares to serve, bounces the ball once, serves. Holmes backhand, Moran volley, Holmes and a truly excellent forehand from Holmes, perfectly placed, sneaking it round Moran to land inch perfect at the back of the court to rescue the point and break back.”
“Five - Four.”
“Listen to the crowd, they know what sort of shot that was, just how vitally important it was and just look at Holmes, he knows it too.”
“Five - four here in the tie-break at the end of the first set and it’s Holmes’ turn to serve. The serve is good. Moran with the backhand, Holmes forehand, Moran forehand, Holmes with the slice, Moran backhand, but the spin takes it out and Holmes has somehow managed to claw his way back into this set.”
“Five - All.”
“Lovely slice there from Holmes to Moran’s weaker backhand, basically forcing him into error.”
“Holmes tests the ball for his next serve, bouncing it a few times before getting into position. He pauses, serves… and it’s an ace.”
“Five - Six.”
“What a time to pull out such a serve.”
“Holmes literally threw everything at that and look at the result.”
“Now that’s the sort of serve top players have in their repertoire, there to be pulled out when most needed.”
“Moran’s turn to serve again, and oh, he replies with an ace of his own. His ninth of the match so far in fact.”
“Six - All.”
“Neither of them are giving an inch.”
“We just wait as the players change ends. Tim, how are you seeing this match?”
“Well, it’s certainly tight. Moran is holding Holmes here, and despite some flashes of brilliance from Holmes, he hasn’t yet managed to control the match.”
“Holmes doesn’t look entirely comfortable out there.”
“Certainly the easy, flowing game that he tends to favour hasn’t been particularly present, but that’s partly because of the nature of playing a serve and volley opponent. The key thing is that Holmes’ usual killer finish hasn’t been there.”
“Thanks, Tim. Moran is now at the baseline ready to serve. He serves. Holmes forehand, Moran volley, backhand Holmes, Moran volley, Holmes… and it bounces in.”
“Six - Seven.”
“Beautiful shot there from Holmes from a difficult angle. Two handed backhand slice, low, fast and just out Moran’s long reach. Finally Holmes gets the break and goes a point up.”
“Good choice of shot there from Holmes. He saw Moran wasn’t quite centre at the net and he drove home the shot to beat him. That’s the killer instinct he’s been missing so far.”
“Back to Holmes to serve now and it’s set point. He tests the ball, bounces it, holds it and takes up his position. The whole stadium is waiting… he serves. Moran backhand, Holmes forehand, Moran returns, Holmes, but it goes wide. Can you believe it?”
“Seven - All.”
“From the brilliant to the bad.”
“Holmes has his hands on his head. He cannot believe it either. Match point and his forehand that is usually so precise and sure lets him down.”
“You’ve got to be wondering what’s going through his mind right now.”
“Holmes is called to resume play and he finally turns to collect another ball.”
“He’s got to make sure he holds it together now, get that first serve in and look to break Moran again when he has the chance. He can’t afford to lose this next serve also.”
“Holmes prepares to serve, it’s good. Moran returns, Holmes forehand volley, Moran, Holmes volley and it’s good.”
“Seven - Eight.”
“Something a little different there by Holmes, coming in at the net to play his own serve and volley game to good effect.”
“Back to Moran for the serve. He lines up… and what a serve.”
“Eight - All.”
“His tenth ace of the match, second of this tie-break alone and Holmes didn’t even move for it.”
“Moran’s serve is by far his best weapon and no wonder with serves like that.”
“A hundred and forty-seven miles an hour for that last serve and Moran’s ready to serve again, but it ends up in the net. He collects a second ball, settles, serve is good. Forehand Holmes, volley Moran, Holmes forehand, returned by Moran, forehand and Moran’s returned backhand goes into the net and what an outcome from Holmes.”
“Eight - Nine.”
“Set point for Holmes, his second in this opening set and all he has to do is hold is serve.”
“The crowd fall silent in anticipation. Can Holmes keep his nerve and finally take this set? He tests the ball and then discards it, bounces the second ball, seems satisfied, takes his position and pauses… he serves. Returned by Moran, forehand slice Holmes, Moran backhand, Holmes powers it back, Moran backhand, Holmes down the line, Moran and Holmes with the smash. Perfectly timed, perfectly executed and the perfect shot.”
“Game and set, Holmes, seven games to six. Holmes leads one set to love.”
*
Oh thank god!
Watching was even worse than being the one out there making the shots. Watching meant having to accept there was nothing you could do to influence the outcome and he certainly wasn’t the sort of person who was good at just sitting.
“All a bit tense, isn’t it?” Lestrade said from beside him, looking far, far too relaxed for his liking. How did the man do it? Wasn’t he watching the same match he was?
“Oh, come on. Cheer up,” Lestrade continued. “Just think, one way or another it’ll be all over in a few hours. Plenty of time to worry about the fallout then.”
Christ, he didn’t want to think about what might happen should Sherlock lose.
“Look on the bright side, at least he’s winning. One set up, one more to go and then tomorrow, Nadal.”
Oh god, it just got worse, didn’t it?
“He’s going to be unbearable if he loses, isn’t he?” he said, his gaze still fixed on where Sherlock was running a towel over his face.
“Yup,” Lestrade said, “but you know what the best part for me is though?”
He had a feeling he could guess.
“With you around at least it means I’m not the only one who will have to deal with a stroppy post-defeat Frenchman.”
Great, just great.
“Time.”
And not they were about to start the second set. Come on, Sherlock. Please, please don’t lose.
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran crosscourt, Holmes backhand and it goes long!”
“Game, Moran.”
“And there it is!”
“Moran leads three games to two.”
“There’s the break we could all see was coming and Holmes throws his racket down in disgust, his face a picture of anger and frustration.”
“It was pretty much inevitable. He was lucky with his last service game, but that luck was always going to run out sometime and now it has.”
“Holmes receives a warning from the court umpire, but picks up his racket and stalks over to his bag to pull out a new one.”
“Everything has been a little off for him this set; his forehand, his timing, his serve in particular have been all over the place.”
“A sixty-four percentage first serve error rate in this set, two doubles faults and only the one ace, that’s not the form of a top world class player.”
“No, it’s not and from his reaction he really knows it.”
“Is it stress? Tiredness? Pressure?”
“Tiredness, I’d say. He’s lacking the crisp, clean shots we’ve come to expect from him. I would say the match this morning is finally catching up on him. I don’t care how good he is, or how good he thinks he is, that number of high pressured, high energy matches is going to take it out of anyone.”
“So Holmes is now a break down in this second set having won the first on the tie-break. Moran is looking strong and imposing. Can Holmes come back or is this going to three sets?”
*
“…and it’s good and Sebastian Moran has done it again, he’s broken Sherlock Holmes for the second time this set and he gets his reward.”
“Game, Moran. Moran leads five games to two.”
“Holmes looks furious, mainly at himself.”
“He knows he lost that game on basic errors and he has no one to blame but himself. He also knows that he’s unlikely to come back in this set now which means we’re going to three sets and the longer this match goes on for, the more tired he will become. His chance of winning is literally slipping from his grasp with each passing second.”
“It’s now Moran’s turn to serve in what is most likely to be the last game of this set.”
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran volley and that’s the one.”
“Game and set, Moran, six games to two. One set all.”
“Can you remember the last time Holmes was broken twice in the same set, let alone by someone not ranked higher than he is?”
“It does seem so highly unlikely. We know that at times Holmes is prone to collapse. He certainly collapsed in the final of the French Open earlier this year against Moriarty, but this is a completely different situation. Moran is a lot of things but he’s not Moriarty. Holmes should be all over Moran’s serve and volley game. As a high ranking baseline hitter with a reputation for making the impossible shots he should be tearing Moran’s game apart, and yet he’s struggling to even keep his own serve. Suddenly a complete collapse does in fact seem plausible and possibly even probable.”
*
Oh for fuck sake. It was like watching a huge car crash in slow motion. You knew exactly what was going to happen, that it was going to be horrible in the extreme, that the fallout was going to be painful, horrific and catastrophic, but regardless, despite all of that there was no way you were ever going to be able to force yourself to look away.
Holy mother fucking hell, this was… this was….
Biting his lip, John continued to stare blankly as Sherlock dropped his racket and angrily slammed himself down on his chair. Yeah, he thought watching Sherlock’s barely contained rage as he grabbed his water bottle, he knew what he was feeling. How many times had he played like absolute crap, collapsing while playing an inferior player? At that moment, though, his prevailing feeling was one of nervous nausea and slowly building anger. Nausea because his stomach refused to stay still as he watches his lover miss shots he would normally make in his sleep, and building anger because he had known this would happen. He had fucking well known, and Sherlock had ignored him, or made out that he was quite clearly wrong.
Wrong was he? Well, he wasn’t the one who had just been twice broken by Sebastian bloody Moran and dragged into a third and deciding set.
It was painful, so painful to watch because with every stroke he could see Sherlock’s energy draining away. Stroke after stroke, forehand, backhand, volley, serve, smash, he could see the toll that their earlier match had wrought. Like a tattoo on pale skin, it was inked clearly, the message legible to anyone who cared to read it. Sherlock Holmes had met his match and it wasn’t Sebastian Moran, he was just the killing blow. No, Sherlock Holmes’ match was his own sodding ego. Win both the doubles and the singles? Not like this he wasn’t. Like this he was going to be battered, bruised and beaten without mercy and all because he was too bloody arrogant to recognise his own physical limitations.
Fuck this.
John slumped back in his seat as the players were once more called to resume their match. The third and final set. Fuck this, this couldn’t go on. Sherlock couldn’t continue to do both, which meant that the doubles couldn’t go on. The singles was more important, which means the doubles would just have to go.
He rubbed his hand absently against his weak shoulder. Enough was enough. He just had to make sure that he could get Sherlock to see sense too.
*
“Holmes forehand, Moran backhand, Holmes, Moran, but he pushes it too long.”
“Game, Holmes. Holmes leads two games to one.”
“Well, Holmes manages to hold on once again, fighting back from love-thirty down to take the game and keep himself in this match.”
“For a moment there it seemed as if Moran was going to get another break, but Holmes pulled himself together to play both some solid basic tennis and some lovely more technical shots.”
“He certainly surprised Moran with that chip in the previous point.”
“He’s still looking tired though. Is it just a matter of time before Moran pushes his physical and mental advantage and closes out the game?”
“Moran winning is still the most likely outcome, but I wouldn’t write off Holmes just yet. After being broken in his last two service games in the previous set it took great courage and presence of mind to come out and hold his serve in this set. He may yet surprise us.”
“Well it’s now Moran’s turn to serve.”
*
“Game, Holmes. Holmes leads four games to three.”
“Another held serve game there from Holmes. He’s still very much in this set, but the question is for how much longer?”
“He’s certainly refusing to allow Moran to dominate, but that might not be enough.”
“The doubles match this morning is really taking its toll then.”
“Absolutely. Compare him to how he was this morning and you can see that he’s lacking the flair, the passion, the energy of the first match.”
“It was a long and hard doubles match.”
“It was, very hard, very tough and he must be feeling every shot in his arms and legs at the moment.”
“Well the players have no changed ends and it’s Moran’s turn to serve.”
*
“…Moran with the volley, Holmes forehand, another volley Moran, and oh, somehow Holmes manages to fling himself at the ball, racket outstretched and it bounces past Moran into the empty back of the court and he’s taken it to deuce.”
“Deuce.”
“The expression on Moran’s face says it all really. He obviously wasn’t expecting that one to be returned.”
“I don’t think any of us was expecting that.”
“Holmes picks himself up and makes his way over to the receiver position but not before checking that his racket is alright. Moran turns away to collect the next balls and it’s Moran to serve once more. He does, returned by Holmes, volley Moran, Holmes, but it clips the net and rolls back.”
“Advantage, Moran.”
“Holmes was a little unlucky there. Another time that ball would have flipped over the net and he would have the advantage.”
“Moran ready to serve once more. Holmes forehand and what a shot, it shoots past Moran, low and fast and Holmes takes the point.”
“Deuce.”
“Excellent shot there from Holmes, uncharacteristically resorting to a two handed forehand but expertly played.”
“The two hands, was that a power issue?”
“More likely a precision choice. You generate less power with the two hands but you get more control. Holmes needed that shot to land exactly where he wanted it to and in his tired state he wold get that little more control with the second hand.”
“Well it certainly worked and it’s Moran again with the serve. Moran, but it goes long. Collecting himself, Moran returns to the baseline. Serves… Holmes, Moran volley, forehand, Holmes returns pushing deep, Moran forehand, Holmes down the line, Moran backhand and an excellent driving forehand from Holmes to take the point.”
“Advantage, Holmes.”
“Now that’s the play of a top class tennis player. Holmes drove Moran back away from the net, forcing him onto his weaker backhand before driving home the sort of precision shot we’re used to seeing from Holmes.”
“Holmes now has break point as he calmly takes his place.”
“Moran isn’t looking too happy.”
“No, he’s not. Moran serves and it’s a big one. Holmes barely had time to react and no chance of returning it.”
“Deuce.”
“How fast was that one?”
“Computer is reading a hundred and forty-six miles an hour.”
“That’s what makes Moran so dangerous. Just when you start to think you’ve got him, he throws in a serve like that and you’re back to square one.”
“I don’t know about square one here, but we’re certainly back to deuce with Moran serving. He serves. Holmes backhand, Moran volley, Holmes well read, Moran half volley, Holmes driving it back, Moran volley and it’s into the net.”
“Advantage, Holmes.”
“Not a good time to be making mistakes like that, but just listen to the crowd, they know exactly what that means. That means that for the second time in this game, Holmes has advantage and break point.”
“It was a poor volley from Moran. If you’re going to play the serve and volley game then those are the sorts of shots you really do need to make.”
“Another chance for Holmes and you get the impression that he’ll never get a better chance in this set to go a break up.”
“All credit to Holmes, after the disaster of the second set he’s come out here and stood his ground. He just needs that little bit extra now.”
“Moran serves, Holmes forehand, Moran volley, Holmes backhand, Moran half volley, Holmes pushing deep, Moran forehand, Holmes whips it back, Moran down the line, Holmes gets there, Moran, Holmes and it bounces in.”
“Game, Holmes.”
“Somehow it bounces past Moran and in.”
“Holmes leads five games to three.”
“What a shot there from Holmes. Wrong foots Moran and then nails the ball in the far corner.”
“And Holmes takes the break. We’re in the third and deciding set and it is Sherlock Holmes who finally manages to get that all important break and just look at the expressions on each of the player’s faces. Moran looks like he can’t believe it and Holmes’ face is set in sheer, grim determination.”
“Holmes really wanted that.”
“He sure did and he dug in deep to get it.”
“What a match this is turning into. One set all between Holmes and Moran and after what can only be described as a collapse in the second set, Sherlock Holmes, the world number three is now a break up in this final set and it’s his turn to serve.”
*
Oh god it was almost unbearable.
He had an idea of what state Sherlock was in, but up here in the stands it was almost as bad. The tension was almost palatable.
Come on, Sherlock, John found himself willing. Just don’t lose it now.
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran backhand, returned by Holmes, Moran chasing the forehand and Holmes with the drop shot to take the all-important point.”
“Thirty - All.”
“And Holmes has pulled it back level having lost the previous two points and he is now only the next two points away from taking the set and with it, the match.”
“Good play there from Holmes, but he must keep his composure now. He can’t afford to let Moran back in this game.”
“Holmes is ready to serve, but it hits the net.”
“His tiredness is showing again. Although his first serve accuracy isn’t nearly as bad as it was in the second set, it’s still not as good as it should be or he would like.”
“Holmes lines himself up again, safe serve, Moran hammers it back, Holmes forehand, Moran returns, slice from Holmes, backhand Moran, returned by Holmes, another backhand and well-read there from Holmes, he knew exactly where Moran was going to put it and it was a good finish from him.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Match point for Holmes. Who would have thought during the second half of that second set that we would get to this point?”
“Holmes looked heavy and tired then, but he’s managed to find something more and he’s come back fighting.”
“Holmes is calmly bouncing the ball, keeping his gaze on it, not looking at anyone or anything else. He’s at the baseline and he’s about to serve for what could be the match. He composes himself, pauses and serves. Moran returns but it’s into the net and Holmes has done it.”
“Game, set, match, Holmes - 7-6, 2-6, 6-3.”
“Sherlock Holmes proves once more why he’s the third in the world. Forced to a tie-break in the first set, broken twice in the second, he’s come back in the third to show just why he’s one of the best playing the circuit today. Through to the final of the doubles this afternoon, through to the semi-finals of the singles this evening, Sherlock Holmes proves his critics wrong in two hard matches and this is his reward. Victory against the sixth seed, Sebastian Moran, and a semi-final place booked to meet Rafael Nadal tomorrow evening. He had to dig deep but he managed it and Sherlock Holmes goes marching on.”
*
“We need to talk.”
Sherlock had barely said a word since his second press conference of the day to anyone, including to him. They had spent the ride back to the hotel in silence; John trying to figure out what to say, Sherlock, well god knows what had been going through Sherlock’s head. One thing he was certain about though was that this couldn’t go on. They couldn’t go on, not like this. He had been putting it off for days now, but no longer. He was going to confront it head on and as the door to their suite clicked shut he had taken a deep breath and forced the words out.
For a moment Sherlock froze from where he was in the kitchen area hunting for a drink, but then he continued to reach forward, extracting a smoothie from the fridge. There was no other reaction.
Letting his bags slide to the floor, John frowned. Okay, so that hadn’t gone exactly as he had expected, but at least Sherlock hadn’t disappeared on him.
“Did you hear what I said,” he said raising his voice a touch, but keeping his words steady and firm. “We need to talk.”
There was another pause as the words seemed to hang in the air finding nowhere to go to.
John’s frown deepened.
“Sherlock!”
“I heard you,” came the snapped reply, the tone cooler than he had been expecting.
“Right, good,” he said and swallowed. “In that case you should probably….”
“No.”
The single word, spoken with finality and calmness cut off whatever it was he had been about to say. He mentally stumbled for a moment having neither expected it or knowing what exactly it was for.
“No?” he asked carefully.
“No.” The word repeated, Sherlock turned to face him for the first time since they had entered the room. His jaw was tense, his cheekbones even more pronounced than usual and above them his eyes appeared both hard and unyielding. In his hand he tightly clutched the smoothie bottle, which was otherwise all but forgotten in the moment. Despite all of this there was an overall sense of weariness about him, as if he was a man on the edge - exhaustion, collapse, breakdown - but somehow still standing upright and firm, staring down a foe with all he had.
“Sherlock, what-”
“I said no,” he repeated and then he was crossing over to the window, flicking aside the curtain, staring out and ignoring everything else.
“Sherlock-”
“No!” The curtain dropped and the face turned back to him, pale and hard and unmoving. “No, I don’t wish to talk.”
What the hell? What the hell was going on? Had he missed something here? Was there something going on? Why would Sherlock be like this? Unless this is what happens. What always happens. Was this normal? Was this how Sherlock reacted to things that he didn’t like? He pushed them aside, ignored them, evaded them? Was this what it was going to be like every time?
No. Squaring his shoulders, John clenched his jaw. No, he was not going to back down. Not this time. He had had enough of pussyfooting around the issues.
“Well tough,” he said sharply, “because we’re going to talk whether you want to or not because this simply cannot go on.”
There was a flash of something in Sherlock’s eyes but then the hardness was back and it was almost as if the chasm between them had widened impossibly further.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock threw back. “Of course it can.”
“Ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous?” He gaped and then shook his head. “For fuck sake, Sherlock, look at you. Look at you! Open your bloody eyes and take a good look around. This can’t go on. You… you can’t go on.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sodding well not fine. You’re exhausted, you’re clearly over playing and you nearly lost today to Sebastian Moran. Sebastian fucking Moran!”
“You might have noticed but I didn’t actually lose.”
“You bloody well almost did. I was there remember. I watched every shot, every unforced error, every netted serve. There is no way in hell that you can claim you went out there and played your best tennis. You were sloppy, you made mistakes, you only won by the skin of your teeth. You are clearly very much not fine.”
“I won and that’s all that matters.”
“No. No, it’s not,” he threw back before remembering that actually, yes, to Sherlock, playing and winning was all that mattered. Christ. “Fine,” he snapped. “Fine. If you’re not going to see sense and discuss this in a rational grown up way then let me make something very clear to you; you cannot continue to play both the doubles and the singles in competitions like this. It is destroying you and I bloody well won’t let that happen, alright?”
“I don’t believe it has ever been up to you.” The words were cold, the face expressionless. Did he actually really know this man? Did he really know him at all?
“No, and that’s the bloody problem right there, isn’t it, Sherlock. It has never been bloody well up to me, because you’ve been manipulating me from the start. You’ve been taking the decision out of my hands right from the moment you first entered us in this competition.” It was all coming clear now. How had missed it? “Oh god, you even announced to the world that we’ll be continuing with the doubles before you had even spoken to me about it because you knew it would be harder for me to say no. You planned this. It has all been about you and what you want, but now I’m making the decision, alright. After this tournament, the doubles stop, finished, no more.”
“John-”
“No. Just no, Sherlock. It stops and no arguments. I don’t care if it destroys some epic game plan of yours or means you can’t prove just how brilliant you are as a player, I’m not letting this go any further.”
There was a pause. It was a long pause and then it only seemed to get longer. Head turned towards him, Sherlock stared until finally his lips parted and the reply came.
“You can’t do that.”
Really? Really, that was how Sherlock was going to respond?
He let out a small laugh. “I think you’ll find I can,” he said. “I know it doesn’t necessarily need to be me, but it’s hard to play doubles without a partner you know. You can find someone else to hold the second racket. I won’t continue to be the enabler of your own self destruction.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can and I will. Trust me, on this I am like Everest, I will not be moved.”
“You can’t do that!”
The bottle of smoothie bounced off the wall with a hollow thud before rolling unbroken to a halt on the floor. They both looked at it for a moment, Sherlock with more expression on his face than in the previous five minutes put together; eyes wide and wild looking, lips parted as he sucked in breath after breath.
Who was this man?
“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock. Look at you. Just look at you.”
The eyes flickered, the stance relaxed slightly as a hand was raised in mock surrender. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have. I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He shook his head. “You’re a long way from fine.”
“I’m fine and I will be fine.” The hardness was back.
“No, you’re not and no you won’t.”
“Yes, I will!” Sherlock took a step forward. “I beat Moran, and tomorrow I’ll beat Nadal and it will all be fine. Singles and doubles, it will be fine.”
Shit, he actually meant it and because of that he was unreasonable like this. There was just no way of talking with him, reaching him, reasoning with him. They’d been here before, a couple of times in fact, and if there was one thing he knew it was that when Sherlock was like this there could only be two possible outcomes; either he would give in and Sherlock would be placated, or they would argue it out, loudly and viciously until chances are he would give in anyway.
No, this was too important for him to give in on and it was too late and he was tired to argue it out. God knows what either of them might say to the other in this state. What they may come to regret. Which left him with only one other option.
“No,” he said with a calmness he really wasn’t feeling. “No, it won’t,” and without another word, he turned and he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
*
End Part Nine
Author's Note: Next part, next week. Probably.
Yes, I had a lovely birthday, thank you.
And congratulations to Rafa Nadal. :)
9/? - part 2
Previous part
*
“And welcome back to Centre Court where in just a matter of minutes the last of today’s games will be starting, the quarter final singles match of Sherlock Holmes verses Sebastian Moran. Both players are out on the court finishing their final warm up, knocking balls over the net to each other. Holmes is in grey and white, while Moran is in green. Holmes has, of course, already played once today, in the semi-final of the men’s doubles where he and his partner, John Watson, beat Frantisek Cermak and Michal Mertinak in a gruelling three set thriller over on Court One. In contrast, Moran’s last match was yesterday afternoon when he beat local boy D.I. Dimmock in straight sets, 6-3, 6-1, a match that lasted only half the time it took Holmes and Watson to win this morning. Will that make a difference? Well, we will be finding out shortly, but first a brief reminder of the rest of the results today.
“First, World Number One, Jim Moriarty defeated Novak Djokovic in what turned out to be a rather straight forward match. He’ll be facing Roger Federer in the first of tomorrow’s semi-finals, Federer who earlier today beat Berdych in straight sets. The winner of Holmes verses Moran will be playing Rafael Nadal in the second of tomorrow’s semi-final matches. Nadal having won today against Kohlschreiber.
“So, can all four of the top seeds make it through to the semi-final, or are we about to witness an upset? Tim?”
“Well, of all the matches this was always going to have the potential for an upset. Moran’s meteoric rise in the past six months has taken him from the wrong side of the top fifty to breathing down the necks of the top six. He’s a big, strong, hard hitting player who has added a new layer of tactics and intelligence to his game which is not easy to beat.”
“So, can he beat Holmes here?”
“He did knock Nadal out of Wimbledon, so anything is possible. Holmes will be going into this match more fatigued than usual and knowing that even if he does win, a semi-final match against Nadal is booked for tomorrow.”
“Let’s talk about Holmes and the doubles then. He said in an interview earlier that he wants to win both the doubles and the singles. Do you see that as a possibility?”
“No.”
“That’s a very firm answer.”
“And pretty much the only time you’ll get a firm one from me. I honestly can’t see how Holmes can win both, because even if he and Watson somehow manage to beat the Bryan Brothers in the final of the doubles, and even if he did beat Moran here tonight, he would still need to face Nadal and then probably Moriarty and he doesn’t have a good record against either of them even when he’s at his fittest and most rested.”
“So you’re saying probably a Nadal Moriarty final then.”
“Most probably. I would be incredibly surprised if Holmes made it through to the final at all let alone win it.”
“And what about the match that is about to begin in literally a few minutes? Do you think Holmes will win?”
“I think that Moran will never have a better chance of beating Holmes than he does now.”
“That’s not exactly the same as saying that Moran will win.”
“No, it’s not, but that’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Thanks, Tim. Below us the players have just been called for the start of the match. It’s the last quarter final match of the men’s singles here in Toronto and Moran has won the toss.”
*
Sebastian Moran was as opposite to Sherlock as was pretty much physically possible, John realised as he looked down at the two players. At six foot three, Moran was a huge, powerfully built blond with broad shoulders and muscles stacked on his muscles, who specialised in strength and brute force. He remembered all too well what it was like to face him across a court, to see those fast, accurate serves zooming over the net towards him. He didn’t envy Sherlock one bit.
In comparison, Sherlock looked slight and fragile, even though, as John knew from personal experience, he was more than strong enough to face anything that came his way. At least he hoped so in this case.
Please let Sherlock win. Please, please, please, please!
It was Moran to start.
*
“Game, Moran. Moran leads one game to love.”
“Solid start there from Moran. A couple of good returns from Holmes but Moran was unmoveable at the net. Now it’s Holmes’ turn to serve.”
*
“Game, Holmes. One game all.”
Alright. That was more like it. Calmly executed, Sherlock’s forehand could be a sight of beauty and that one had been the perfect example of how to do it. Kept low, pushed wide, Moran had had no chance of returning it.
Good, Sherlock was settling in well. That was good.
*
“…backhand driven down the line by Holmes and Moran’s return goes into the net.”
“Game, Holmes. Three games all.”
“Six games gone so far and no sign of a break yet.”
“It’s still pretty even. Holmes has played the better tennis in terms of shots and placement, but Moran’s serve continues to cause problems.”
“Five aces so far for Moran, compared to Holmes’ two, and Holmes is by no means a poor returner of serves. He has a knack of reading them correcting.”
“He does indeed, it’s one of his strengths but sometimes, with serves of Moran’s power and speed there is very little that can be done.”
“And we’re now back with Moran’s serve.”
*
Come on, Sherlock! Good, yes, good, yes… yes… damn! So close.
“Game, Moran. Moran leads six games to five.”
Close. It had been a good idea, but you’ve got to put that out of your mind because now you need to hold your serve again. Come on, Sherlock! Come on!
*
“Thirty - All.”
“Good recovery there from Holmes, wrong footing Moran with that second backhand in the corner. Both times the ball landed within six inches of the line and that speaks of just how confident Holmes is in his abilities in such an important point. If he’d gotten it wrong he would have been fifteen-forty down with Moran having two set points. As it is it’s thirty-all and Holmes lines up to serve, but it’s into the net. Settles himself, pauses, then serves. Backhand return Moran, forehand Holmes, backhand Moran and Holmes closes with a neat little forehand volley to take the points.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Holmes is really trying to take advantage of Moran’s weaker backhand now, forcing Moran to make shots he’s less comfortable with to good effect.”
“Holmes collects two more balls and makes his way to the baseline. Bounces the balls and serves. Moran returns but it’s into the net.”
“Game, Holmes. Six games all.”
Holmes hangs on and we’re into a tie-break in the first set.”
*
Tie-break, great. So much for hoping for a quick and easy match.
Running a hand over his face, John slumped back in his seat. Moran was about to open the serving which technically gave him the slight upper hand, but he also had the stronger serve. So far, Sherlock had taken fewer points off Moran’s serve than Moran had off Sherlock’s, and that was a problem when it came to the nail-biting closeness of a tie-break.
Come on, Sherlock. To lose this set would be, well it would be terrible for Sherlock’s chances. Not only would it mean three sets if Sherlock wanted to win, but the longer the match went on for, the more tired Sherlock would get, increasing his likelihood of losing.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
Come on, Sherlock.
Moran served.
*
“…volley, Moran, Holmes returns but it goes long.”
“Out!”
“Three - Two. Holmes to serve.”
“Another unforced error there from Holmes. Those really are shots he should be burying if he wants to win this match, let alone this tournament.”
“Holmes to serve, but it clips the net and a let is called. Holmes to serve again… it’s good, Moran forehand, Holmes drives down the line, Moran backhand, Holmes crosscourt, Moran, but he pushes it wide.”
“Three - All.”
“Back to all level here, the serve still with Holmes as he lines himself up once, but he pulls it wide.”
“Second serve.”
“Holmes’ first serve rate hasn’t been his best and the tiredness from the doubles match may now be starting to show as Moran belts back Holmes’ second serve, burying it deep in the far corner as Holmes can only look on.”
“Four - Three. Moran to serve.”
“And there’s the break of serve. Moran goes a point up, leaving him with just three more points to get in order to win. He lines himself up, serves. Holmes returns but it’s into the net.”
“Five - Three.”
“Holmes doesn’t look pleased with himself, head down, muttering as he makes his way to the next receiving position. Moran prepares to serve, bounces the ball once, serves. Holmes backhand, Moran volley, Holmes and a truly excellent forehand from Holmes, perfectly placed, sneaking it round Moran to land inch perfect at the back of the court to rescue the point and break back.”
“Five - Four.”
“Listen to the crowd, they know what sort of shot that was, just how vitally important it was and just look at Holmes, he knows it too.”
“Five - four here in the tie-break at the end of the first set and it’s Holmes’ turn to serve. The serve is good. Moran with the backhand, Holmes forehand, Moran forehand, Holmes with the slice, Moran backhand, but the spin takes it out and Holmes has somehow managed to claw his way back into this set.”
“Five - All.”
“Lovely slice there from Holmes to Moran’s weaker backhand, basically forcing him into error.”
“Holmes tests the ball for his next serve, bouncing it a few times before getting into position. He pauses, serves… and it’s an ace.”
“Five - Six.”
“What a time to pull out such a serve.”
“Holmes literally threw everything at that and look at the result.”
“Now that’s the sort of serve top players have in their repertoire, there to be pulled out when most needed.”
“Moran’s turn to serve again, and oh, he replies with an ace of his own. His ninth of the match so far in fact.”
“Six - All.”
“Neither of them are giving an inch.”
“We just wait as the players change ends. Tim, how are you seeing this match?”
“Well, it’s certainly tight. Moran is holding Holmes here, and despite some flashes of brilliance from Holmes, he hasn’t yet managed to control the match.”
“Holmes doesn’t look entirely comfortable out there.”
“Certainly the easy, flowing game that he tends to favour hasn’t been particularly present, but that’s partly because of the nature of playing a serve and volley opponent. The key thing is that Holmes’ usual killer finish hasn’t been there.”
“Thanks, Tim. Moran is now at the baseline ready to serve. He serves. Holmes forehand, Moran volley, backhand Holmes, Moran volley, Holmes… and it bounces in.”
“Six - Seven.”
“Beautiful shot there from Holmes from a difficult angle. Two handed backhand slice, low, fast and just out Moran’s long reach. Finally Holmes gets the break and goes a point up.”
“Good choice of shot there from Holmes. He saw Moran wasn’t quite centre at the net and he drove home the shot to beat him. That’s the killer instinct he’s been missing so far.”
“Back to Holmes to serve now and it’s set point. He tests the ball, bounces it, holds it and takes up his position. The whole stadium is waiting… he serves. Moran backhand, Holmes forehand, Moran returns, Holmes, but it goes wide. Can you believe it?”
“Seven - All.”
“From the brilliant to the bad.”
“Holmes has his hands on his head. He cannot believe it either. Match point and his forehand that is usually so precise and sure lets him down.”
“You’ve got to be wondering what’s going through his mind right now.”
“Holmes is called to resume play and he finally turns to collect another ball.”
“He’s got to make sure he holds it together now, get that first serve in and look to break Moran again when he has the chance. He can’t afford to lose this next serve also.”
“Holmes prepares to serve, it’s good. Moran returns, Holmes forehand volley, Moran, Holmes volley and it’s good.”
“Seven - Eight.”
“Something a little different there by Holmes, coming in at the net to play his own serve and volley game to good effect.”
“Back to Moran for the serve. He lines up… and what a serve.”
“Eight - All.”
“His tenth ace of the match, second of this tie-break alone and Holmes didn’t even move for it.”
“Moran’s serve is by far his best weapon and no wonder with serves like that.”
“A hundred and forty-seven miles an hour for that last serve and Moran’s ready to serve again, but it ends up in the net. He collects a second ball, settles, serve is good. Forehand Holmes, volley Moran, Holmes forehand, returned by Moran, forehand and Moran’s returned backhand goes into the net and what an outcome from Holmes.”
“Eight - Nine.”
“Set point for Holmes, his second in this opening set and all he has to do is hold is serve.”
“The crowd fall silent in anticipation. Can Holmes keep his nerve and finally take this set? He tests the ball and then discards it, bounces the second ball, seems satisfied, takes his position and pauses… he serves. Returned by Moran, forehand slice Holmes, Moran backhand, Holmes powers it back, Moran backhand, Holmes down the line, Moran and Holmes with the smash. Perfectly timed, perfectly executed and the perfect shot.”
“Game and set, Holmes, seven games to six. Holmes leads one set to love.”
*
Oh thank god!
Watching was even worse than being the one out there making the shots. Watching meant having to accept there was nothing you could do to influence the outcome and he certainly wasn’t the sort of person who was good at just sitting.
“All a bit tense, isn’t it?” Lestrade said from beside him, looking far, far too relaxed for his liking. How did the man do it? Wasn’t he watching the same match he was?
“Oh, come on. Cheer up,” Lestrade continued. “Just think, one way or another it’ll be all over in a few hours. Plenty of time to worry about the fallout then.”
Christ, he didn’t want to think about what might happen should Sherlock lose.
“Look on the bright side, at least he’s winning. One set up, one more to go and then tomorrow, Nadal.”
Oh god, it just got worse, didn’t it?
“He’s going to be unbearable if he loses, isn’t he?” he said, his gaze still fixed on where Sherlock was running a towel over his face.
“Yup,” Lestrade said, “but you know what the best part for me is though?”
He had a feeling he could guess.
“With you around at least it means I’m not the only one who will have to deal with a stroppy post-defeat Frenchman.”
Great, just great.
“Time.”
And not they were about to start the second set. Come on, Sherlock. Please, please don’t lose.
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran crosscourt, Holmes backhand and it goes long!”
“Game, Moran.”
“And there it is!”
“Moran leads three games to two.”
“There’s the break we could all see was coming and Holmes throws his racket down in disgust, his face a picture of anger and frustration.”
“It was pretty much inevitable. He was lucky with his last service game, but that luck was always going to run out sometime and now it has.”
“Holmes receives a warning from the court umpire, but picks up his racket and stalks over to his bag to pull out a new one.”
“Everything has been a little off for him this set; his forehand, his timing, his serve in particular have been all over the place.”
“A sixty-four percentage first serve error rate in this set, two doubles faults and only the one ace, that’s not the form of a top world class player.”
“No, it’s not and from his reaction he really knows it.”
“Is it stress? Tiredness? Pressure?”
“Tiredness, I’d say. He’s lacking the crisp, clean shots we’ve come to expect from him. I would say the match this morning is finally catching up on him. I don’t care how good he is, or how good he thinks he is, that number of high pressured, high energy matches is going to take it out of anyone.”
“So Holmes is now a break down in this second set having won the first on the tie-break. Moran is looking strong and imposing. Can Holmes come back or is this going to three sets?”
*
“…and it’s good and Sebastian Moran has done it again, he’s broken Sherlock Holmes for the second time this set and he gets his reward.”
“Game, Moran. Moran leads five games to two.”
“Holmes looks furious, mainly at himself.”
“He knows he lost that game on basic errors and he has no one to blame but himself. He also knows that he’s unlikely to come back in this set now which means we’re going to three sets and the longer this match goes on for, the more tired he will become. His chance of winning is literally slipping from his grasp with each passing second.”
“It’s now Moran’s turn to serve in what is most likely to be the last game of this set.”
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran volley and that’s the one.”
“Game and set, Moran, six games to two. One set all.”
“Can you remember the last time Holmes was broken twice in the same set, let alone by someone not ranked higher than he is?”
“It does seem so highly unlikely. We know that at times Holmes is prone to collapse. He certainly collapsed in the final of the French Open earlier this year against Moriarty, but this is a completely different situation. Moran is a lot of things but he’s not Moriarty. Holmes should be all over Moran’s serve and volley game. As a high ranking baseline hitter with a reputation for making the impossible shots he should be tearing Moran’s game apart, and yet he’s struggling to even keep his own serve. Suddenly a complete collapse does in fact seem plausible and possibly even probable.”
*
Oh for fuck sake. It was like watching a huge car crash in slow motion. You knew exactly what was going to happen, that it was going to be horrible in the extreme, that the fallout was going to be painful, horrific and catastrophic, but regardless, despite all of that there was no way you were ever going to be able to force yourself to look away.
Holy mother fucking hell, this was… this was….
Biting his lip, John continued to stare blankly as Sherlock dropped his racket and angrily slammed himself down on his chair. Yeah, he thought watching Sherlock’s barely contained rage as he grabbed his water bottle, he knew what he was feeling. How many times had he played like absolute crap, collapsing while playing an inferior player? At that moment, though, his prevailing feeling was one of nervous nausea and slowly building anger. Nausea because his stomach refused to stay still as he watches his lover miss shots he would normally make in his sleep, and building anger because he had known this would happen. He had fucking well known, and Sherlock had ignored him, or made out that he was quite clearly wrong.
Wrong was he? Well, he wasn’t the one who had just been twice broken by Sebastian bloody Moran and dragged into a third and deciding set.
It was painful, so painful to watch because with every stroke he could see Sherlock’s energy draining away. Stroke after stroke, forehand, backhand, volley, serve, smash, he could see the toll that their earlier match had wrought. Like a tattoo on pale skin, it was inked clearly, the message legible to anyone who cared to read it. Sherlock Holmes had met his match and it wasn’t Sebastian Moran, he was just the killing blow. No, Sherlock Holmes’ match was his own sodding ego. Win both the doubles and the singles? Not like this he wasn’t. Like this he was going to be battered, bruised and beaten without mercy and all because he was too bloody arrogant to recognise his own physical limitations.
Fuck this.
John slumped back in his seat as the players were once more called to resume their match. The third and final set. Fuck this, this couldn’t go on. Sherlock couldn’t continue to do both, which meant that the doubles couldn’t go on. The singles was more important, which means the doubles would just have to go.
He rubbed his hand absently against his weak shoulder. Enough was enough. He just had to make sure that he could get Sherlock to see sense too.
*
“Holmes forehand, Moran backhand, Holmes, Moran, but he pushes it too long.”
“Game, Holmes. Holmes leads two games to one.”
“Well, Holmes manages to hold on once again, fighting back from love-thirty down to take the game and keep himself in this match.”
“For a moment there it seemed as if Moran was going to get another break, but Holmes pulled himself together to play both some solid basic tennis and some lovely more technical shots.”
“He certainly surprised Moran with that chip in the previous point.”
“He’s still looking tired though. Is it just a matter of time before Moran pushes his physical and mental advantage and closes out the game?”
“Moran winning is still the most likely outcome, but I wouldn’t write off Holmes just yet. After being broken in his last two service games in the previous set it took great courage and presence of mind to come out and hold his serve in this set. He may yet surprise us.”
“Well it’s now Moran’s turn to serve.”
*
“Game, Holmes. Holmes leads four games to three.”
“Another held serve game there from Holmes. He’s still very much in this set, but the question is for how much longer?”
“He’s certainly refusing to allow Moran to dominate, but that might not be enough.”
“The doubles match this morning is really taking its toll then.”
“Absolutely. Compare him to how he was this morning and you can see that he’s lacking the flair, the passion, the energy of the first match.”
“It was a long and hard doubles match.”
“It was, very hard, very tough and he must be feeling every shot in his arms and legs at the moment.”
“Well the players have no changed ends and it’s Moran’s turn to serve.”
*
“…Moran with the volley, Holmes forehand, another volley Moran, and oh, somehow Holmes manages to fling himself at the ball, racket outstretched and it bounces past Moran into the empty back of the court and he’s taken it to deuce.”
“Deuce.”
“The expression on Moran’s face says it all really. He obviously wasn’t expecting that one to be returned.”
“I don’t think any of us was expecting that.”
“Holmes picks himself up and makes his way over to the receiver position but not before checking that his racket is alright. Moran turns away to collect the next balls and it’s Moran to serve once more. He does, returned by Holmes, volley Moran, Holmes, but it clips the net and rolls back.”
“Advantage, Moran.”
“Holmes was a little unlucky there. Another time that ball would have flipped over the net and he would have the advantage.”
“Moran ready to serve once more. Holmes forehand and what a shot, it shoots past Moran, low and fast and Holmes takes the point.”
“Deuce.”
“Excellent shot there from Holmes, uncharacteristically resorting to a two handed forehand but expertly played.”
“The two hands, was that a power issue?”
“More likely a precision choice. You generate less power with the two hands but you get more control. Holmes needed that shot to land exactly where he wanted it to and in his tired state he wold get that little more control with the second hand.”
“Well it certainly worked and it’s Moran again with the serve. Moran, but it goes long. Collecting himself, Moran returns to the baseline. Serves… Holmes, Moran volley, forehand, Holmes returns pushing deep, Moran forehand, Holmes down the line, Moran backhand and an excellent driving forehand from Holmes to take the point.”
“Advantage, Holmes.”
“Now that’s the play of a top class tennis player. Holmes drove Moran back away from the net, forcing him onto his weaker backhand before driving home the sort of precision shot we’re used to seeing from Holmes.”
“Holmes now has break point as he calmly takes his place.”
“Moran isn’t looking too happy.”
“No, he’s not. Moran serves and it’s a big one. Holmes barely had time to react and no chance of returning it.”
“Deuce.”
“How fast was that one?”
“Computer is reading a hundred and forty-six miles an hour.”
“That’s what makes Moran so dangerous. Just when you start to think you’ve got him, he throws in a serve like that and you’re back to square one.”
“I don’t know about square one here, but we’re certainly back to deuce with Moran serving. He serves. Holmes backhand, Moran volley, Holmes well read, Moran half volley, Holmes driving it back, Moran volley and it’s into the net.”
“Advantage, Holmes.”
“Not a good time to be making mistakes like that, but just listen to the crowd, they know exactly what that means. That means that for the second time in this game, Holmes has advantage and break point.”
“It was a poor volley from Moran. If you’re going to play the serve and volley game then those are the sorts of shots you really do need to make.”
“Another chance for Holmes and you get the impression that he’ll never get a better chance in this set to go a break up.”
“All credit to Holmes, after the disaster of the second set he’s come out here and stood his ground. He just needs that little bit extra now.”
“Moran serves, Holmes forehand, Moran volley, Holmes backhand, Moran half volley, Holmes pushing deep, Moran forehand, Holmes whips it back, Moran down the line, Holmes gets there, Moran, Holmes and it bounces in.”
“Game, Holmes.”
“Somehow it bounces past Moran and in.”
“Holmes leads five games to three.”
“What a shot there from Holmes. Wrong foots Moran and then nails the ball in the far corner.”
“And Holmes takes the break. We’re in the third and deciding set and it is Sherlock Holmes who finally manages to get that all important break and just look at the expressions on each of the player’s faces. Moran looks like he can’t believe it and Holmes’ face is set in sheer, grim determination.”
“Holmes really wanted that.”
“He sure did and he dug in deep to get it.”
“What a match this is turning into. One set all between Holmes and Moran and after what can only be described as a collapse in the second set, Sherlock Holmes, the world number three is now a break up in this final set and it’s his turn to serve.”
*
Oh god it was almost unbearable.
He had an idea of what state Sherlock was in, but up here in the stands it was almost as bad. The tension was almost palatable.
Come on, Sherlock, John found himself willing. Just don’t lose it now.
*
“…forehand Holmes, Moran backhand, returned by Holmes, Moran chasing the forehand and Holmes with the drop shot to take the all-important point.”
“Thirty - All.”
“And Holmes has pulled it back level having lost the previous two points and he is now only the next two points away from taking the set and with it, the match.”
“Good play there from Holmes, but he must keep his composure now. He can’t afford to let Moran back in this game.”
“Holmes is ready to serve, but it hits the net.”
“His tiredness is showing again. Although his first serve accuracy isn’t nearly as bad as it was in the second set, it’s still not as good as it should be or he would like.”
“Holmes lines himself up again, safe serve, Moran hammers it back, Holmes forehand, Moran returns, slice from Holmes, backhand Moran, returned by Holmes, another backhand and well-read there from Holmes, he knew exactly where Moran was going to put it and it was a good finish from him.”
“Forty - Thirty.”
“Match point for Holmes. Who would have thought during the second half of that second set that we would get to this point?”
“Holmes looked heavy and tired then, but he’s managed to find something more and he’s come back fighting.”
“Holmes is calmly bouncing the ball, keeping his gaze on it, not looking at anyone or anything else. He’s at the baseline and he’s about to serve for what could be the match. He composes himself, pauses and serves. Moran returns but it’s into the net and Holmes has done it.”
“Game, set, match, Holmes - 7-6, 2-6, 6-3.”
“Sherlock Holmes proves once more why he’s the third in the world. Forced to a tie-break in the first set, broken twice in the second, he’s come back in the third to show just why he’s one of the best playing the circuit today. Through to the final of the doubles this afternoon, through to the semi-finals of the singles this evening, Sherlock Holmes proves his critics wrong in two hard matches and this is his reward. Victory against the sixth seed, Sebastian Moran, and a semi-final place booked to meet Rafael Nadal tomorrow evening. He had to dig deep but he managed it and Sherlock Holmes goes marching on.”
*
“We need to talk.”
Sherlock had barely said a word since his second press conference of the day to anyone, including to him. They had spent the ride back to the hotel in silence; John trying to figure out what to say, Sherlock, well god knows what had been going through Sherlock’s head. One thing he was certain about though was that this couldn’t go on. They couldn’t go on, not like this. He had been putting it off for days now, but no longer. He was going to confront it head on and as the door to their suite clicked shut he had taken a deep breath and forced the words out.
For a moment Sherlock froze from where he was in the kitchen area hunting for a drink, but then he continued to reach forward, extracting a smoothie from the fridge. There was no other reaction.
Letting his bags slide to the floor, John frowned. Okay, so that hadn’t gone exactly as he had expected, but at least Sherlock hadn’t disappeared on him.
“Did you hear what I said,” he said raising his voice a touch, but keeping his words steady and firm. “We need to talk.”
There was another pause as the words seemed to hang in the air finding nowhere to go to.
John’s frown deepened.
“Sherlock!”
“I heard you,” came the snapped reply, the tone cooler than he had been expecting.
“Right, good,” he said and swallowed. “In that case you should probably….”
“No.”
The single word, spoken with finality and calmness cut off whatever it was he had been about to say. He mentally stumbled for a moment having neither expected it or knowing what exactly it was for.
“No?” he asked carefully.
“No.” The word repeated, Sherlock turned to face him for the first time since they had entered the room. His jaw was tense, his cheekbones even more pronounced than usual and above them his eyes appeared both hard and unyielding. In his hand he tightly clutched the smoothie bottle, which was otherwise all but forgotten in the moment. Despite all of this there was an overall sense of weariness about him, as if he was a man on the edge - exhaustion, collapse, breakdown - but somehow still standing upright and firm, staring down a foe with all he had.
“Sherlock, what-”
“I said no,” he repeated and then he was crossing over to the window, flicking aside the curtain, staring out and ignoring everything else.
“Sherlock-”
“No!” The curtain dropped and the face turned back to him, pale and hard and unmoving. “No, I don’t wish to talk.”
What the hell? What the hell was going on? Had he missed something here? Was there something going on? Why would Sherlock be like this? Unless this is what happens. What always happens. Was this normal? Was this how Sherlock reacted to things that he didn’t like? He pushed them aside, ignored them, evaded them? Was this what it was going to be like every time?
No. Squaring his shoulders, John clenched his jaw. No, he was not going to back down. Not this time. He had had enough of pussyfooting around the issues.
“Well tough,” he said sharply, “because we’re going to talk whether you want to or not because this simply cannot go on.”
There was a flash of something in Sherlock’s eyes but then the hardness was back and it was almost as if the chasm between them had widened impossibly further.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock threw back. “Of course it can.”
“Ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous?” He gaped and then shook his head. “For fuck sake, Sherlock, look at you. Look at you! Open your bloody eyes and take a good look around. This can’t go on. You… you can’t go on.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sodding well not fine. You’re exhausted, you’re clearly over playing and you nearly lost today to Sebastian Moran. Sebastian fucking Moran!”
“You might have noticed but I didn’t actually lose.”
“You bloody well almost did. I was there remember. I watched every shot, every unforced error, every netted serve. There is no way in hell that you can claim you went out there and played your best tennis. You were sloppy, you made mistakes, you only won by the skin of your teeth. You are clearly very much not fine.”
“I won and that’s all that matters.”
“No. No, it’s not,” he threw back before remembering that actually, yes, to Sherlock, playing and winning was all that mattered. Christ. “Fine,” he snapped. “Fine. If you’re not going to see sense and discuss this in a rational grown up way then let me make something very clear to you; you cannot continue to play both the doubles and the singles in competitions like this. It is destroying you and I bloody well won’t let that happen, alright?”
“I don’t believe it has ever been up to you.” The words were cold, the face expressionless. Did he actually really know this man? Did he really know him at all?
“No, and that’s the bloody problem right there, isn’t it, Sherlock. It has never been bloody well up to me, because you’ve been manipulating me from the start. You’ve been taking the decision out of my hands right from the moment you first entered us in this competition.” It was all coming clear now. How had missed it? “Oh god, you even announced to the world that we’ll be continuing with the doubles before you had even spoken to me about it because you knew it would be harder for me to say no. You planned this. It has all been about you and what you want, but now I’m making the decision, alright. After this tournament, the doubles stop, finished, no more.”
“John-”
“No. Just no, Sherlock. It stops and no arguments. I don’t care if it destroys some epic game plan of yours or means you can’t prove just how brilliant you are as a player, I’m not letting this go any further.”
There was a pause. It was a long pause and then it only seemed to get longer. Head turned towards him, Sherlock stared until finally his lips parted and the reply came.
“You can’t do that.”
Really? Really, that was how Sherlock was going to respond?
He let out a small laugh. “I think you’ll find I can,” he said. “I know it doesn’t necessarily need to be me, but it’s hard to play doubles without a partner you know. You can find someone else to hold the second racket. I won’t continue to be the enabler of your own self destruction.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can and I will. Trust me, on this I am like Everest, I will not be moved.”
“You can’t do that!”
The bottle of smoothie bounced off the wall with a hollow thud before rolling unbroken to a halt on the floor. They both looked at it for a moment, Sherlock with more expression on his face than in the previous five minutes put together; eyes wide and wild looking, lips parted as he sucked in breath after breath.
Who was this man?
“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock. Look at you. Just look at you.”
The eyes flickered, the stance relaxed slightly as a hand was raised in mock surrender. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have. I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He shook his head. “You’re a long way from fine.”
“I’m fine and I will be fine.” The hardness was back.
“No, you’re not and no you won’t.”
“Yes, I will!” Sherlock took a step forward. “I beat Moran, and tomorrow I’ll beat Nadal and it will all be fine. Singles and doubles, it will be fine.”
Shit, he actually meant it and because of that he was unreasonable like this. There was just no way of talking with him, reaching him, reasoning with him. They’d been here before, a couple of times in fact, and if there was one thing he knew it was that when Sherlock was like this there could only be two possible outcomes; either he would give in and Sherlock would be placated, or they would argue it out, loudly and viciously until chances are he would give in anyway.
No, this was too important for him to give in on and it was too late and he was tired to argue it out. God knows what either of them might say to the other in this state. What they may come to regret. Which left him with only one other option.
“No,” he said with a calmness he really wasn’t feeling. “No, it won’t,” and without another word, he turned and he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
*
End Part Nine
Author's Note: Next part, next week. Probably.
Yes, I had a lovely birthday, thank you.
And congratulations to Rafa Nadal. :)