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The Benefits of Letting Go	By : sissouthernink1994 Category: S through Z > Sherlock Holmes (2009) > Sherlock Holmes (2009) Views: 1402 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I don't own Sherlock Holmes (books or movies) especially the movies featuring Robert Downey Jr & Jude Law. This story is written in fun & I'm not getting paid.

Chapter List
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Preview: So I've finally done it; I let Dr. John Watson go, put him out of my life. Madame Sabrina says either he will come back or someone new will come in. Fine. But she didn't tell me what to do with the lonely nights and lonely feelings while I wait for fate to decide what is next for me. I want him next to me, holding me. I miss his voice, his touch, his kisses. I miss him. Fate, please hurry and decide. Are you sending John back to me or are you sending me someone new? I'm trying hard to fight the loneliness. My mind keeps telling me that I can spend the time passed out. The supplier has even been to see me because I've not purchased anything in a while. However, I promised- no drugs and must remain true to my word. So Fate, dear girl, how about a helping hand?

A/N: The detective’s thoughts are in italics.

Chapter 1: The first night is the hardest- Sherlock

                Detective Sherlock Holmes arrived back at his home in the most melancholy mood. It matched the weather perfectly as it had started to rain on the ride back. Blended in perfectly with his tears. Mrs. Hudson met him at the door, taking his coat and hat.
“There you are. I was hoping you would be back for the storm clouds came.”
“I’m fine Mrs. Hudson.” She looked closely at the detective’s face.
“You most certainly are not. Are you feeling well? You look awful. Perhaps I should call for Dr. Watson-”
“No!” He shouted at her. She jumped at his response. “I mean…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled Mrs. Hudson, but I’ve just left him and Mrs. Watson. Dr. Watson is no longer welcome here as long as I am a resident.” He started walking up to his apartment. She decided to follow.
“I don’t understand.” He opened the door and held it open for her to enter.
“I’ll explain everything if you can do something for me first.”
“Of course. What do you need me to do?” He looked at her and then walked into his bedroom. He went to the cabinet in the bathroom and removed a black case from its “hiding” place. He came back in the room and handed it to her.
“Would you please destroy this for me?”
“What is it?”
“It’s the last bit of drugs that I purchased. I need the case and all of the contents completely destroyed. Burn it if you have to; I can’t be anywhere near it.” Mrs. Hudson was confused and worried at the same time but she thought it best to wait for the man’s explanation.
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.” She turned to leave. “I’ll bring some tea and the pie from dinner. Then perhaps you can tell me what’s going on.”
Sherlock listened as her skirts rustled and he heard her footsteps on the back stairs. He felt a sense of pride in himself by giving her the case. It was a small sense, but pride nonetheless. He trusted her and he trusted that she would destroy it as she promised. He was going to try his best to make sure he kept his end of the conditions. He was sure he could find some other things to replace them- the drugs and John. After all, John was his main distraction from the drugs. It has been quite a few years since I’ve seriously taken anything, he thought in reflection. Whatever was left inside the case may not have been potent enough to do anything. But with so much riding on his ability to stay sober, he couldn’t trust it.
Mrs. Hudson came back upstairs with a tray holding tea and a plate for Sherlock. She placed the tray on the table and he invited her to sit with him.
“Now, Mr. Holmes, what in the world could be going on for you to say Dr. Watson is no longer welcome here? He used to live here.”
“I know.” He said after sipping his tea. “You know what has been going on between the doctor and I. I thank you for not telling anyone. His wife didn’t know what was going on between us until she walked in on us a few nights ago.”
“Is that what happened to the chair cushion?” He blushed as he nodded.
“She came to me last night and asked me to leave John alone, to let him be married. I hated her for that and probably will until the day I die. However, after Madame Sabrina’s visit, I decided that I should. I should have let him go when he decided he wanted to marry her. But I couldn’t; I love him. And probably will until the day I die.”
“So you’ve chosen to leave him?”
“Yes. These…” He pulled out the papers and passed them to her. “…are the conditions for me leaving him alone. I have to stay away from him. He can’t help me on any cases; he can’t patch up my wounds. He can’t even come here because I live here.” She read the papers while Sherlock attempted to eat something.
“Now I see why you needed me to destroy your case. But if you decide you want the drugs you can always go and buy them.”
“Yes, however if I choose that route, I have to get dressed and catch a cab. Plus risk embarrassment and possible arrest. That’s why I would always have the supplier come here. By not having anything close to me, it should give me enough time to talk myself out of it. Which I hope I always do.”
“So what should I do when you are ill and have done something where you need a doctor?”
“If I’m ill enough to go to hospital, contact Mycroft and Sherringford. That is if either of them is available. But for general stuff and my needing patching, call whoever will come. Besides Dr. Watson, of course.”
“Is there no one else I can contact?”
“If you’re looking for people who truly care about me, unfortunately no. Just those two.”
“These conditions are so…serious.” She said handing the papers back to him.
“Mary Watson was very clear in what she expected. If figured if she’s going to put demands on me then she should have demands as well.”
“Did she have problems signing it?”
“Not at all. She was ready to sign before I had the chance to explain it all. John was the one who hesitated. He really didn’t want to do it, but I begged him to.”
“Well, Mr. Holmes, I must say I’m proud of you and surprised at the same time. Those are not two things that I never thought I’d say about you and in the same sentence no less. It’s very brave to do what you’re doing. I know how much the two of you mean to each other. I’ve heard just as many of your conversations as much as I have your… activities.” Sherlock smiled at her politeness. “But I must say you have really surprised me. I was so sure that you would make Mary Watson’s life a living hell by continuing the relationship.”
“We can’t really; it wouldn’t be fair to any of us. Any time that we could spend together, I would cherish of course, but it would be the same thing for her. John has been through enough, going back and forth between us. And besides,” he paused “she’s expecting, or so she says. And I know deep down John has thought about being a father. I know he has the capacity for it; look at how he has taken care of me. The only thing I despise about it is that she is using it against him. And he is too good of a man to divorce her.”
“So he doesn’t know for sure if she is with child?”
“Unfortunately no. So until she begins to show, it’s her word.”
“Mr. Holmes, do you think she would do something as evil as that? If she wasn’t pregnant, in nine months time she’d have to produce a child.”
“Or say it died.”
“Detective Holmes!”
“Well, Mrs. Hudson I certainly wouldn’t put it past her. I have heard of instances where this has happened. The doctor was bribed to say the child had died. However, if it turns out that she is not, John will be devastated; it would most certainly break his heart. He would have given up our relationship for his child only to find out said child doesn’t exist, maybe never existed.” Mrs. Hudson shook her head in disbelief.
“What a tangled web some people weave.”
“Yes, and she has made a messy but efficient one.”

                After his dinner, Sherlock looked about the apartment for something to do. He had a few messages from people who were trying to procure his services. Right then didn’t seem to be a good time to look at them. He didn’t feel like looking at the paper. The idea of music in his ears and under his fingers didn’t even appeal to him so his violin stayed in the case.
                He glanced around the room at his many volumes of books, writings and crazy experiments. Nothing seemed to soothe the detective’s restless behavior. He sat in the chair, John’s chair and his thoughts immediately turned toward him. Around this time, John would probably be getting ready for bed. He would have had his bath and relaxed himself. He would have gone over his patient notes and list for the following day. His clothes would be hanging and ironed, ready to wear. Then to bed.
                Sherlock decided to turn in himself. Rarely done this early in the evening. It was just after 10:30. He hung up his suit in the wardrobe. He had only worn it a few hours today, so it was still clean. As he did so, he found a surprise- a shirt of John’s. No doubt, the detective borrowed it and forgot he had it. John probably thought the shirt a lost cause. Sherlock took it out of its hiding place and smiled as he inhaled the scent of Dr. John Watson. He hugged the shirt close to him, wishing it were the man instead of material.
                He did manage to make it to the bed before the tears started. I thought I had cried it all out at the house; I guess I didn’t. He tucked himself under the covers, knowing that the sheets were the only things that would be keeping him warm tonight. The shirt had a similar scent to that of John’s pillow. Sherlock’s thoughts when back to when they first discovered their feelings for each other.
                They had been friends, odd friends at that. They fought, argued all the time. Friends fought and Holmes thought nothing of it. But they fought like a married couple. They had seen each other naked at some point in time through changing clothes, fixing wounds, changing wounds. They had long conversations, some saw the sun come up before they saw resolutions. They would go to the boxing matches, often coming home arm-in-arm too drunk to walk or stand alone. It was nothing for them to share a bed. The apartments and rooms would be cold, freezing sometimes. It was for warmth, they never thought anything of it.
                Then one day, while John was changing the dressing on one of Sherlock’s wounds, he felt his body tingle. He felt his face flush, as if John had told him a dirty joke. And indeed, if Dr. John Watson had told a dirty joke, he would have made anyone blush. Those men who served in the Armed Forces heard and said so many uncensored things. Sherlock begin to think about their conversations, how they were there for each other, how they cared. And his feelings toward John began to change, but he dare not tell him. It would ruin his reputation as a great doctor if people thought ill of him. And he couldn’t have that.
                He even asked John what he thought about homosexuality. He didn’t want the church’s view or the law’s; he wanted John’s. John didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or the other. And usually he did. Sherlock realized that he was falling in love with John, but didn’t know how to tell him. He figured it out when the jealousy crept in. He was jealous of the ladies who asked John to accompany them to the opera or symphony. He was jealous of the ones that John asked out on dates. Oh, he and Sherlock went on “dates”- dinner, opera sometimes. But they could never be what he really wanted. They couldn’t dance together in public; they certainly couldn’t kiss in public.
                Ah, the kiss. Sherlock remembered the first one between them. They had been to the pub, celebrating something. What were we doing there? Oh yes, Chester Hawthorne’s birthday. He was mainly a friend of John’s but when John was stumped medically about something (which was rare), he would ask Chester. They were both drunk beyond any level that either of them had experienced before. Neither of them was able to remember how they got home. Sherlock had nearly passed out on the stairs. John picked him up and carried him bridal style to the apartment, both men laughing the whole time. Once inside, the detective attempted to stand on his own two feet, but leaned on John for support. Their lips bumped together for a moment as he did. The kiss was very sloppy probably lasted about three seconds.
“Watson, d’you know you kiss like a fish?” Came the slurred words from the detective.
“Yeah, probably a drinken one.”
“Drunken.”
“What?”
“You said a drinken one. You’re drunk. If you’re drunk then the fish would be drunken too right?”
“Huh? Oh. Right. I guess.”
“Aha! I knew it. He said he wasn’t but I knew better.” The detective swayed again and John caught him.
“Who knew what?” Sherlock gave John confused look.
“Who knew what? Who knew? What? Zat a trick question? ‘Cause you don’t get to ass those when yous moving ‘round like that.”
“I’m not moving ‘round, you are. And you said you knew he wasn’t. Who knew what?”
“Back to that again are we?”
“Oh nevermind. Come on then.”John was almost dragging him to the bedroom.
“John, you know you’re the only person who’s ever loved me. For me. Nobody loves me. For me.” John nodded and chalked it up to drunken chatter. Together, they finally made their way to the bedroom. They managed rather sloppily and slowly to change into sleepwear.
“Oh shove over will you?”John asked. “You’re taking up quite a bit of space.”
“Sorry, old boy.” Sherlock replied. He was laying in a diagonal direction across the bed. He curled himself up on one side of the bed so John would have room. He looked at John who was bathed in moonlight from the window and smiled. John smiled back. “You know, I love you too.” He eyes were shiny. Whether the shininess was alcohol induced or not, John couldn’t tell.
“Yes, love…you…too.” John replied as his words tailed off, indicating that sleep had arrived.
                The few days that followed left Sherlock pondering the kiss. Granted, it wasn’t much of a kiss but a kiss nonetheless. He began to wonder if he should even tell John what he had been feeling. It was the only way to see if they felt the same. What should I ask? How should I ask it? I hope I don’t make a fool of myself. He’ll forgive me if I do; he always does. The doctor had just poured tea for them and was about to offer his friend some when he noticed that Sherlock was strangely quiet. It wasn’t contemplating-a-case- quiet, it was I’m-worried quiet.
“Are you alright?”The detective was in a daze, but John’s concern brought him out of it.
“Hmmm? I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“I asked if you were alright. You seem rather quiet which is unusual for you.”
“I was just thinking.” He said as he rose to walk to the table.
“About what?”
“Our drinking adventure the other night. I kissed you didn’t I?”
“Yes, but you were drunk. And were rambling on about nobody loving you except for me.”
“No, that wasn’t rambling, that was the truth. You are the only person who loves me.”
“And Mycroft and Sherringford?”
“We’re related. They don’t have a choice. You choose to love me. And I choose to love you.” John was taken aback by this statement. He did have feelings for the detective, but he kept them to himself. Now maybe was the time. “Why do you love me?” The question Sherlock asked made him seem, child-like.
“One might say I love you because you are in need of love.”
“That easy?”
“Yes. I can’t really just point out one thing over another. Why do you love me?”
“Because you love me. I know that you are a kind, gentle soul. You are a gentleman; you have deep concern for me. You even stick your neck out for me. No one does that for me.” They were standing eye to eye and Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John’s lips. It was a soft peck but the moment warranted more. He placed a hand on either side of John’s face and kissed him again. This kiss was yearning and gentle. John could feel his hands reach around Sherlock’s waist, bringing the detective closer. The angle of their heads changed and as they did, their tongues met in mutual curiosity. Sensual and sweet are the words Sherlock would have used to describe this moment. The butterflies he felt had released themselves and the warmth of love and acceptance began to fill their space. The kiss continued with a life of it’s own until the two men needed air. Panting, they reluctantly pulled apart.
“John…” Sherlock whispered, looking into John’s blue eyes. The blue eyes looked back with love.
“Yes, my love?”The detective could only smile at those words. He was speechless with emotion and the only way he could express it was the tears that flowed down both cheeks. “It’s ok” was John’s reply as he gently wiped a few tears away with his fingers.
                My Love. My love- those two words meant the world to Detective Sherlock Holmes. And the only person who had ever said them, was now out of his life. His tears flowed at the loss his heart was feeling. Tonight there would be no comfort, save John’s shirt and pillow. No kisses, no warm embrace, no words of love being whispered, no love being made. Just the laments of a lonely detective, crying for his lover’s presence.
“…John…John…I love you…”
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The Benefits of Letting Go