// Much ado` about n o t h i n g~ [sherlock]

[Dr. John Watson]

It was a fine morning on Baker Street as Dr. John Watson ascended the stairs and entered one of his shared rooms with the well renounced Sherlock Holmes. At the moment, Watson didn’t know where Holmes had gone off to or if he was hiding in the darkness of another room, but he was rather sure Holmes was lurking somewhere nearby after having starved himself the entirety of the day. Placing his coat down upon a chair, Dr. Watson surveyed the room and spotted the daily newspaper just where Mrs. Hudson had left it. Reaching to pick it up, the doctor settled himself in his chair as per usual and began to scan the headlines. Across his memory flit numerous cases he and the infamous detective, with which he was so well acquainted, had solved. Many of them had landed both Holmes and the doctor a place in the paper, often the front page, and despite the fact that Holmes disregarded much of the credit he duly deserved and attempted to avoid pictures at any cost, the two of them managed to become recognizable faces when it came to the solving of crime. Enough so that Holmes was often hired, or rather asked, to aid a family when a particular crime did so come about.

As of late, there hadn’t been much going on and it was no surprise to the doctor that London had been relatively peaceful. It might as well drive Holmes mad but was best for the general public. Watson knew there would be evil brewing somewhere, there always was, but for now there was nothing and it was best to think of the positive and not dwell on any possible negative until it came about. It might be the next step for Holmes, to solve a crime before the offense has even been committed, but until that revolutionary stand has been reached -- London is in peace and Holmes, possibly going bonkers. Whether he was or not though, the doctor could not tell for he had not seen Holmes yet.

Flipping the pages of the paper, Watson found nothing of interest popping out at him. It seemed the crime rate even when it came to the simplicities of Scotland Yard hadn’t been acting up much either. This could only give Watson a lingering sense of foreboding that something was bound to happen soon. London never slept, no city -- ever slept, with crime always running amok in its streets and plots constantly brewing in the twisted minds of villainous people. A sudden crash and small curse caught Watson’s attentions right then and the doctor looked up momentarily from his paper. Mrs. Hudson’s apologetic voice sounded below as she excused herself to someone that must have been pumped or bruised. With a shrug, Watson dismissed it as the careless trash boy they’d recently acquired. That young lad had broken two tea cups, smashed three xxx and lost Holmes’ rugby ball which looked suspiciously like Watson’s own -- all in the past three day’s he’d been all but properly employed. There had been a reason Mrs. Hudson had agreed to take him on half time, and now Watson was aware of it.

Flipping another page in his paper, the doctor continued to gaze at the small black print as his mind wandered elsewhere. The night before. He’d had it again. Another one of those war dreams. The terrorizing images that had plagued him since the first days in battle resurfaced every once in awhile haunting, taunting, and torturing the poor doctor until he would jolt awake in bed, covered in sweat from head to toe, shaking and sometimes, if the dream was nasty enough, even whimpering to himself. He would then reach for a glass of water, chug it and stumble to the sink before hanging his head and gazing at the white basin. It would gaze back innocently as if to say, ‘why are you here?’ Still shaking, it would only be when the sound of Holmes’ violin reached his ears that the doctor would find himself again and sit on the bed with a sense of slight composure. The familiar, eerie yet homely and welcome tune that he was so accustomed to hearing would be the only release for the doctor. Nothing aside from those notes could calm him besides Holmes’ presence or the detectives chiding words in themselves. On the nights Watson was caught having a nightmare or the rare times when Holmes was not practicing his violin late in the evening, the visage of that other familiar face would bring the doctor back to his senses, alert him to his real surroundings and let him release the dream as nothing more than the images his mind had conjured. Like a father, or more so an elder brother, Holmes’ presence released Watson of his fears like a child and sent him off to bed once more if only with nothing more than a bewildered or knowing glance.

Last night it had happened again. A horrible time it had been. Whimpering had ensued if only slightly and he was almost positive Holmes’ had caught a whisper of it. The basin had stared back same as always but the image in the mirror when Watson had looked up hadn’t been his own presently, sweating, shaking visage. It had been that of a younger John Watson, blood stained, torn and ragged - terrorized but calm much the way it had been during those weeks in the army just before and then later throughout the nearly fatal Battle of Maiwand. Startled nearly out of his wits, the doctor had splashed water on his face and looked up to see the strange vision gone only to be replaced once more by the modern, sweaty and dripping version. That was when he suspected Holmes’ had caught onto him for, stumbling back to his bedside, the doctor had tripped in his stupor and nearly crashed into the bed frame. The bed springs squeaked, he’d laid down and then the violin notes had started up right out of nowhere. Mere coincidence? It may have been - but experience had taught Watson that nothing was a mere coincidence when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

With a sigh, the doctor set aside his newspaper and rubbed his temples. What would he ever do with or without Holmes?


[Gah I’m so sorry about the delay. Life has been craaazy hectic. I just got back from a trip then preparations started for my voyage to France for my birthday and everything snowballed pushing the post further away. >.< Anyways, here it is. I wrote it on the 6 and a half hour plane ride along with some other posts on my way to Paris. I had just watched the movie again so the muse was running away a little. xD Anyways here you go and, again, soooo sorry for the crazy delay. I left things open ended too so you can use the crash and violin stuff as Sherlock or you can take a new approach. I didn’t want to power play. >> If you need anything more added, changed, ect -- just PM me. ^^]