While bridges still burn : X

It was quite true that the previous evening's activity had, in fact, happened. It made no difference how many times Watson told him self it hadn't. He was still tangled within the arms of Holmes and the evidence was spread across their skin and the ill-fated sheets.

Neither of the men had slept but it made good to pretend. Holmes had lay with his arm draped around Watson's shoulders and Watson had his head nestled on the detective's chest. But no matter how wonderful the sensation was Watson couldn't sake his feeling of dread.

Holmes stroked at his hair, absent-mindedly staring at the wall and no doubt deducing the situation. But he was relaxed, his whole body falling against Watson's in an all to familiar way and it was the closest thing to bliss the detective had experienced since the man had left.

He deserves something after all of this, just a little of something.

“I need to use the lavatory.” Watson whispered struggling from the man's grasp.

He ignored the protests as he lifted a shirt, not caring whether it belonged to him or Holmes, and ducked into the small en- suite. Once the door was closed he slid against it and allowed every little thought to crowd him. What had happened shouldn't have, that was clear, but he hadn't exactly stopped it and Holmes certainly wouldn't have. The man was in distress and sex had been away to feel close to someone; especially if it was sex with the man he still loved.

Watson ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. He had taken advantage despite Holmes making him perfectly clear that it was okay. Quite frankly, it was not okay.

There was a steady knock on the door. Watson promptly bounced to his feet, stood before the mirror with a wash cloth and proceeded to wipe away the evidence of last night.

“Yes?”

Holmes poked his head around the door.

“Good morning, my love, would you care for breakfast?” The man grinned.

“No thank you, Holmes. You may eat with out me.” Watson answered.

“Oh come now,” Holmes strode into the bathroom, as naked as the day he was born, “Of course you'll eat with me.”

Watson blushed, “No, I assure you that I am fine,” he watched as Holmes leisurely draped himself against the door frame, “ You should get dressed before Mrs Hudson finds you flaunting yourself around like that.”

The detective smirked and suggestively ran a hand down his torso. It stopped just before his half hard cock. No matter how much Watson tried, he couldn't pry his eyes away.

“Holmes, must you?” he sighed.

“You clearly want it.”

Watson acknowledged his hardening member for just a moment before cursing beneath his breath.

“My bodies natural reaction is nothing to go by.”

“Oh, so you're say that last night's fornication was a mistake?” Holmes frowned.

“Yes. I am.”

The detective fell silent. He stared at Watson, doe eyed and crestfallen. Watson sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose; could he say nothing right?

“Holmes I - “

“No, it's quite alright mother hen. I understand.”

Holmes quickly retreated back into the bedroom and covered himself in his ratty dressing gown. Watson, now wearing only a shirt which clearly belonged to the detective, stood in the door way of the lavatory. He was torn between apologizing to the man or breaking his heart entirely and admitting that last night meant nothing to him. However, the latter wouldn't entirely be true.

“If that's how it is, perhaps you should leave.” Holmes stood with his back to the doctor, hands in pockets and head bowed,still Watson could tell he was close to weeping.

“It was not meant to come out like that, old cock, I assure you. I didn't mean -”

“You've made yourself clear. Now, please, leave.” he spoke as if the very words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“If that's what you want.”

“I don't have a choice.”

Watson reluctantly lifted the remainder of his clothing and shuffled from the room. He made a quick dash to his own quarters as to avoid an embarrassing encounter with his landlady. The room felt cold and much too big. His bed was still covered in a variety of case notes from their previous case and amongst them were some of Holmes own musings. Watson was tired, his head was throbbing and every limp in his body ached. He threw the garments upon a chair, pushed the papers carelessly onto the floor and decided the best plan of action was no plan.

**

“I know you're upset.”

Watson almost jumped from his bed. The presence was unexpected, especially in a darkened room. The doctor was usually a very light sleeper, which had been a delight in Afghanistan where if you didn't move fast you were dead, but it was a curse here in busy London. However, Sherlock Holmes was a lighter step than most.

“H-holmes?” Watson asked, trying to focus on the outline of the man sitting next to him upon the bed, “Good God man, you can't just barge in here and -”

“I can leave.”

“No.” Watson sat up, “No, don't. Please stay.”

Holmes rested his forehead on his knees.

“I haven't stopped thinking.”

“About what?”

“

“I never fail to be amazed by your deductions, old cock.” Watson sighed. He reached forward for the man's hand but was gently pushed away, “I'm sorry Holmes. I truly am.”

“And I am sorry to you also.”

“You have changed me in the last few weeks. I can not tell if I love you still as just a friend or if I am in love with you. It doesn't feel like it did before.”

“How so?”

“It feels slightly more mournful.”

Holmes looked at me but through the darkness his expression was hidden. The silence was heartbreaking in itself, never before had it felt so uneasy.

“I should of anticipated this. In my fragile state I had someone convinced myself that you would come back to me eventually. For that I am sorry.” Holmes whispered. It was obvious break in his voice that made Watson pull him into a vice like hug, “I do apologize again, my old friend, for my raw emotion.”

“You will do no such thing. Please, go on. I'm here to listen.”

Watson felt Holmes relax against his body and he cursed himself; once again he was taking advantage of the delicate situation.

“What is this? What are doing?” Holmes asked, “You don't want me, you don't love me like your used to and yet, here you are, holding me like some sort of damsel in distress.”

“I can barely tell one feeling from the next, thanks to you. I am all a mess.”

“That's just one more thing I have to apologize for. I not only have confused your mind, but I have ruined mine. If only I had seen the flaw -”

“We discussed this. It was a mistake anyone could have made.”

“I'm not anyone. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. I am the one the police go to when our of their depth, I am the relied upon to solve the most cunning of cases. With out that I am nothing.” He buried his head into the fabric of Watson's nightshirt, “ I can not just be another man. And last night you tried to take me away from that fact, and you were successful. With you I feel alive. With you I am never bored. The hardest of things in life suddenly become simple. But it can not be and why should it? After all I was a complete fool and chased away the one thing I ever would need.”

Watson rested his cheek atop of Holmes head and slowly rubbed circles into his back. The man was shaking with cold, after all the starvation had led to massive drop in muscle and body fat, his knees were drawn up against Watson's stomach and his arms were protectively clutched to his own chest.

There was nothing the doctor could say to retaliate. He had promised once to try and love the detective again and it wouldn't do to create more false hope.

“Don't do anything rash, old cock.” Watson kissed his forehead, “No matter what you think, London needs you.”

“I fear I will never find my way out of this, Watson. Despite what you think, I can no wish this depression away. I have tried.”

“I know. I should never have suggested such a thing. But, please know, that I am here to help you from it.”

“I don't understand you any more, my dear. This whole situation is confusing as hell but, I trust you entirely. I am certain of that if nothing else.”