Even now, there is hardly a corner of London that does not remind of my old friend. I never walk down Baker Street where we shared rooms for so many eventful years without it reminding me only too keenly of the past and the loss of one I shall ever regard as the best and wisest man I have ever known. - The Empty House, Sherlock Holmes Granada
The Granada promo photo shoots are like an article for middle aged married men, sharing their happiness. So, I…. Um….
Many years ago, a young doctor found himself alone in London, without kith nor kin to turn to in his disillusion and loneliness. A detective struggling to create his own private consulting practice found himself unable to afford lodgings in the City. A chance encounter, a few glossed over confessions, and a murder investigation later, saw the beginning of a devoted and loving ‘intimate companionship’ that has spanned decades.
I sat down with Mr Sherlock Holmes and his beloved Boswell, Dr John Watson in one of the Speaking Rooms at the club of Holmes’ brother. The Diogenes, with its silence and secrets allowed us the opportunity to speak frankly and openly with one another.
[Young love. Holmes and Watson shortly after they began sharing their rooms in Baker Street. Even while trying to keep their bond a secret, they were less than discreet.]
More than thirty years, including fifty-six short stories, and four novels. How can you explain the strength of your relationship?
Holmes gives a cheeky, sly smile, shared with his Watson. “He is nothing, if not eager. Enthusiastic. After all this time, he is still an excited boy when it comes to me and my skills.“
Eyeing his partner, Watson snickers. “You’re six years younger than I am, my dear.”
“In years, yes. In cynicism? Never.” He pats Watson’s knee, earning an eye roll.
[Hard At Work. Holmes and Watson: partners in every sense of the word.]
Do you find it difficult to separate the different halves of your life? Keeping servant and chronicler apart from partner and friend?
Holmes snorts and claps his hands together in his amusement. “When he takes up his pen, it as my other half, rather than my chronicler. It is what leads him to so greatly embellish my skills. He thinks he is doing me a service.“ he hums, squirming in his seat. Beside him, Watson gives me a long suffering look and raises his eyebrows towards Holmes, as if to say ‘You see what I live with?’
“He has always been like this.” Watson mutters. “The man positively wallows is false modesty.“ His voice is flat, but there is an obvious look of mirth about his eyes.
[Beekeeping In Sussex. Even in retirement, Holmes tries to keep his mind active.]
“We bought a small cottage with the fee Holmes charged for a case involving a-”
“Hush, Watson!“
“Ah, yes. I’m sorry. This case hasn’t been put into print yet. It’s not important. Allow me to simply say, we were financially secure for the first time in our lives. Holmes had given his life savings to a distant cousin of his, in order that he might purchase my practice.” The look Watson gives Holmes is half deep love, half annoyed resignation.
“You were trying to sell.” Holmes chimes in, lighting a cigarette. For the rest of our interview, he only inhales it once, but uses it the gesture wildly to make his points. “I thought it best to keep the practice in the family. And besides, since the money went to you in the first place, and I maintain your finances, it was little more than just taking it from one place to the other.“
“You just wanted me to move back home.”
“Yes.”
[Doctor, writer, soldier, surgeon. Watson is just as impressive as his more analytical companion. Here we find them in Watson’s consulting room.]
Was it ever intimidating, working along such a great mind?
Before Watson can even open his mouth, Holmes leaps in with a reply. “Yes, I did find it so, on occasion.“ This earns him a kiss on the temple, and an elbow in the ribs. At the same time. “When I first met Watson, I was little more than a boy. Still in my twenties, and rather embarrassingly innocent.” he continues, rubbing his side.
“You make me sound like some sort of deviant, Holmes. I was hardly older than you.”
“You thought I was a student.” The detective’s grey eyes twinkle as he laughs.
“I hadn’t learnt your methods yet. I found you in a school laboratory, mixing chemicals. What was I meant to think? I was soon corrected.”
“When I told you your own circumstances. Recently home from the war.” Holmes rests his hand on Watson’s knee.
“Friendless, and alone.” Watson murmurs, covering Holmes’ fingers with his own.
Seeming to remember my presence, both men clear their throats and shift in their seats.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?”
[Ever the show man, Holmes shamelessly flirts with our photographer. Watson is less than amused.]
"It took me several years, to be completely comfortable with Holmes. Comfortable enough to speak my mind about certain topics.“
Holmes nudges the doctor, and leans against him for a moment. “Watson is very much a proper gentleman. He is referring of course to my addiction. It had come between us for many years.” He links their fingers together, and I can see that he is squeezing hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
“But you’ve overcome it, my dear."
"With your assistance.” Holmes’ words are low and soothing, obviously trying to comfort Watson over a subject that still smarts him to this day. “Every day, Watson would do what he could to distract me from the black fits and boredom that threatened to drive me mad. Whether it was shuffling me about on walks through the Park, or evenings at the opera house, he staved off the need to poison myself.“
[Philosophy and agriculture. Watson lovingly maintains a garden, which provides Holmes’ bees with something to do.]
"Before, I had thought rusticating in the country would be a punishment. I’ve since learnt how wrong I was.” Watson grins. “The cottage is situated near the sea. Holmes goes swimming nearly every day. I, on the other hand, am lazy and old. I tend our garden, and write when I’m bored. Holmes hasn’t taken to retirement as easily as I have.“
"I believe I have been doing admirably.” Holmes puts in, waving his still smoldering cigarette near Watson’s face. The doctor doesn’t even flinch as it comes dangerously close to his eye.
“You’ve solved four murders, a kidnapping, and a case of mistaken identity.”
“That’s only been this month, though.”
[Looking ahead. Watson is still writing Holmes’ adventures, and Holmes is still amazed that Watson is by his side.]
So what’s next for you?
The pair share a speaking glance. It’s easy to read the exchange.
‘Would you care to?’
‘No, you can go ahead.’
‘Are you sure?’
It’s Watson who speaks first.
“I still have dozens of stories that have been unpublished, for safety reasons. I would like to put them into print. After that?” he looks over at his companion.
Holmes gives me a serene smile, his lashes coming down over his pale eyes almost coquettishly. "Bees, flowers, and honey.“
Thank you! This is the content I needed today. ❤️❤️
There’s nothing that makes my heart melt more than some good old hurt/comfort. Holmes makes sure to thank the man that constantly patches him up for his infinite patience and his steady hands.
First, I am not dead, neither is this blog, but it’s also not alive. Why do I make this post in like 4.5 billion years? Because a message hit me in the morning. One of my followers is searching a Holmes/Watson fanfiction they once read, but can’t find anymore.
After searching the net, I decided to be wise, and ask my followers for help. Maybe one of you knows the fic or the writer or has written this one particular fic, having taken it down.
I asked the person to give me all the clues they have and it’s not less. So chances are, we, together, can find this fic! So, here it goes:
The story is from Watson’s point of view, it’s about Christmas time, and Watson is decorating and they have a conversation about how Sherlock hasn’t fallen victim to the wonders of Christmas since he was a child.
In the beginning Watson mentions how their case load has been slow and he thinks Sherlock may be getting bored and he says he needs to try and distract him from his needle. They end up exchanging gifts and Watson gets Sherlock some violin strings and resin for his violin, and Sherlock gets Watson a leather-bound journal and on the first page of it he wrote Watson a heartfelt note about how he valued his companionship over the years.The only characters it features are Sherlock and Watson. Some exact lines from the story (or as exact as I can remember) are
“The state of tedium was setting in upon him quickly, I would have to find a way to distract him from the needle”, “I admit a pause for a moment to admire his fire lit profile”, “If you’re trying to poison me Watson, you’re doing a very poor job of it.”
There’s like mild slash at the end, basically Sherlock and Watson’s first realizations/admitting they have feelings for each other. I even tried searching by lines in the story but I had even less luck searching that way :(
Anyone? I know how it is to look for a fic, but can’t find it. It’s a moment of despair! If you guys have an idea, please shoot me a message or add a comment/reblog this post.
