Watson and women (Holmes POV) for felicia_angel (100 word drabble)
Women are drawn to Watson. I have known that for years. They are drawn to his charm, his sincerity, and his good looks. They sense his kindness and concern, and they seek out his warmth.
During our cases, I leave the women clients cold and a bit frightened. Instinctively they turn to Watson. They know, or at least sense, that I am the one to solve their problems, while he is the one to soothe their souls.
Yes, women are drawn to Watson. Yet I know a secret that they will never guess.
You see, Watson is drawn to me.
Beachy old Holmes/Watson for spacefall (221b ficlet)
I awoke abruptly the first night I spent after moving to Sussex Downs.
My mind swirled in confusion, from the joy of being here and the sorrow of leaving London, to the uncertainty of where I really stood with Holmes. My decision to move had been based on an impulse, it seemed, and I was not entirely sure my choice was correct.
Sleep was now impossible, so I rose and dressed quietly. The sun was brightening the sky and I found myself, without conscious thought, heading down the steep path toward the sea below.
I reached the pebble and shingle beach and stood there a moment, watching the waves break. I inhaled the salt tang and listened to the cries of the waking gulls. Suddenly I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I turned and looked into worried grey eyes.
The horror of war, the ache of loneliness, my mind’s confusion, all melted away under the warmth of Holmes’ gaze. I smiled at him briefly and looked back out at the sea. I grasped his hand. The waves continued their cycle; their ebb and flow reminding me of my life.
“For the first time in decades,” said I, “I feel that I have finally come home.”
The sudden smile upon Holmes’ face was a bright as the dawn that was breaking.
Young Holmes/Watson: “to watch” for janeturenne (100 word drabble)
I watch him all the time. I first thought it was my boredom, my enforced convalescence, which led me to so closely examine my housemate. I originally suspected I would have scrutinized anyone with which I lived.
I now know that is not true. It is Holmes himself whom I find so compelling.
Holmes knows, he must, the extent of my obsession, yet he smiles benevolently and invites me on his cases. I always accept.
I wonder sometimes, when he breaks the silence with a synopsis of my deepest thoughts, if Holmes watches me as much as I watch him.
Harry Potter / Sherlock Holmes crossover for whatthefuckbenj (100 word drabble)
“Do you mean to say that you do not see it, Watson.”
“See what, Holmes? There is nothing there.”
“There is a pub, Watson, called The Leaky Cauldron. It is right in front of us.”
“Holmes, how much cocaine have you taken?”
“You know very well that it does not cause hallucinations. The problem, Watson, is that you see but do not observe.”
“There is nothing to observe, Holmes!”
“People go into that pub but do not come out. It is a singular problem I plan to solve.”
“I am getting quite worried about you. Now come away from there.”
Holmes/Watson and a little bit of mystery with veratiserum from HP universe for lllazlllong (350 word ficlet)
The young, red-headed man pointed a stick in my face. It should have been ridiculous; instead it was ominous. “Petrificus Totalus!” he exclaimed. I found that I could not move.
“Now Mr. Holmes,” he purred, “What have you learned about The Leaky Cauldron?”
I tried to remain silent, but the compulsion to speak was overwhelming. “I know that it’s a connection to another world,” I heard myself saying through clenched teeth. “Why am I telling you this?” I demanded.
“We gave you veratiserum, a truth potion. You will tell us all we wish to know.”
“This is ridiculous, Dumbledore,” the blond-haired companion muttered. “Why don’t we just Obliviate the Muggle and be done with it.”
“Now don’t be hasty, Grindelwald. This one has an uncanny intelligence and strong perception. I would like to know what he knows and, more importantly, who else he told.”
I felt my breath catch.
The red-haired man, Dumbledore, smiled calmly. I, however, started to shake. “Well, Mr. Holmes. Who did you tell?”
I tried, desperately, to remain silent. I could not. “Watson…”
“Who is Watson?”
“My…” friend, companion, partner, I tried to say. “…lover…” was forced from me.
“You hear that, Grindelwald! Our Mr. Holmes is an invert.”
The blond man sighed and looked bored. “Are you done yet, Dumbledore?”
“So what’s the current punishment for being an invert, Mr. Holmes?”
“Two years hard labor.”
I must admit that they both looked horrified. “I told you the Muggles were barbaric,” the one called Grindelwald muttered.
Dumbledore merely nodded. “How much does this Watson know about your findings?”
I had to protect him. “He did not believe me,” I was able to utter. After all, it was the truth.
“Who else knows?”
The two of them exchanged glances.
“I apologize for this,” the one called Dumbledore said. “You seem like a remarkable man, Mr. Holmes. I wish there was a way for you to retain your memories, but, alas, there is not.”
He raised his stick again. Trapped as I was, I could only await my fate.
“Obliviate!” he cried. The world went black.
Holmes/Watson: springtime for the_callum (200 word double drabble)
The birds were chirping, the flowers blooming, the trees budding. Holmes, however, was in a black mood.
“There are no cases!” he exclaimed.
I sighed. “Holmes, it is a beautiful spring day. Let’s go for a walk.”
“What if a caller comes with a case?”
“Mrs. Hudson can take his calling card.”
“But what if Lestrade comes?”
“But what if…”
“Holmes, put your coat on and let’s walk!”
I noted that he sulked only slightly as he complied.
We went out into the bright sun and made our way down Baker Street. Holmes glared at the couples around us. “Ah, spring,” he said mockingly. “The time when a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” His tone was slightly bitter.
I ignored his sullenness. “Yes,” I agreed instead, and twined my arm with his.
He started and blushed slightly, giving me his awkward half-smile. He then gripped me tighter as we made our way though the sun-warmed London streets, his black mood momentarily forgotten, and our own fancies turned toward each other.
Our walk was successful, and our return home even more so. I breathed a sigh of contentment as I contemplated the joys of spring.