spacemutineer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spacemutineer) wrote2018-05-10 11:36 am
spacemutineer) wrote2018-05-10 11:36 am
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Rest
Title: Rest
Author:spacemutineer
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 221B
Summary: The first night in Baker Street after returning from his hiatus and death itself, Holmes settles in and finds what he'd been missing.
I slept for an age. I had forgotten what it felt like to truly sleep, to relax and drift away without mortal tension gnawing at the back of one's mind. Similarly, I had forgotten what being drunk felt like, being well and truly inebriated with a companion long-lost, our inhibitions lowered and our camaraderie as easy as it ever was. Did he know how much I had missed him? Could he tell? In the end, it was unimportant. He had forgiven me. I knew he would and equally I knew he should not. However necessary, some wounds are too deep to ever fully heal. I have been acquainted with a surgeon and an injured man long enough to know that. Patients and friendships can easily perish under such powerful lingering strain.
But my Watson forgave me as I knew he would, and we drank and laughed and I fell asleep in my chair beside him. I left my name and life behind never expecting I would survive to return to them, yet here they were waiting as if I had never left. My friend led me to my own bed in my own home in my own city where I slept that night and all the following day. For the first time in three long years I rested, soul and body.
Author:
spacemutineerRating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 221B
Summary: The first night in Baker Street after returning from his hiatus and death itself, Holmes settles in and finds what he'd been missing.
I slept for an age. I had forgotten what it felt like to truly sleep, to relax and drift away without mortal tension gnawing at the back of one's mind. Similarly, I had forgotten what being drunk felt like, being well and truly inebriated with a companion long-lost, our inhibitions lowered and our camaraderie as easy as it ever was. Did he know how much I had missed him? Could he tell? In the end, it was unimportant. He had forgiven me. I knew he would and equally I knew he should not. However necessary, some wounds are too deep to ever fully heal. I have been acquainted with a surgeon and an injured man long enough to know that. Patients and friendships can easily perish under such powerful lingering strain.
But my Watson forgave me as I knew he would, and we drank and laughed and I fell asleep in my chair beside him. I left my name and life behind never expecting I would survive to return to them, yet here they were waiting as if I had never left. My friend led me to my own bed in my own home in my own city where I slept that night and all the following day. For the first time in three long years I rested, soul and body.