SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Morning Kiss

John tossed and turned himself awake. Flashes of the war had woken him up in a sweat. “Sherlock?” John called out in a whisper. He had forgotten that his friend had left during the night. “Sherlock?” John threw the covers off of him and slipped out of bed, his feet landing perfectly into his slippers. Quietly, the doctor made his way out of the room and found the staircase.

He needed a cup of tea, or warm milk to settle his soul. Even though he did miss the excitement and chaos of the war, he didn’t miss the vivid and graphic dreams that stalked him in the night. If war didn’t come with memories, he would still be fighting over in the East. John tip-toed down the steps and the closer he descended, the more he could smell the sweet scent of a burning hearth. Liking the thought of cozying up by the fire, John wandered into the dimly lit room and took a seat by the glowing flames.

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock brooded over his microscope and webpage. As he worked, he documented everything he was learning onto his blog, Science of Deduction. Shoving his equipment away from him, he ruffled his hair and passed his hands vigorously over his face. Once he had stirred up some energy, he walked over to the broom closet and pulled out a body bag. With no difficulty at all, he flung the covered carcass onto the sofa and zipped it open.

As if the object was still alive, Sherlock carefully slipped his hands underneath the limp body and pulled it out. It was the poor collie. He hauled it over to his workspace and laid it on the kitchen floor. He grabbed a few instruments from a drawer and sat down beside the body. There, he slowly inserted tubes into the veins and carefully removed layers of skin. He did this for hours, making sure to stop for a glass of water or nibble on a few biscuits.

The fire danced slowly, sending John off into a nodding sleep. However, before he could completely drift off, he heard the passing of a person behind him and an elongated shadow swept over him. Startled, John twisted around and met eyes with Alana. Frightened by their closeness, the two jumped a few feet back from each other with a gasp.

With her hand over her chest, Alana panted, “I’m so sorry, Doctor Watson, I didn’t know who was down here.”

“That’s all right, Your Grace, I didn’t know it would be you. Sorry to have disturbed you. Meant to come down for a cuppa tea, but, liked the idea of a fire instead.” John gave her a gentle smile and began making his way back to his room.

“You don’t need to go,” Alana said quickly. “Please, don’t let me bother you.”

“It’s all right,” John said, putting his hands into his robe’s pockets. “It’s awfully early in the morning. You shouldn’t be up, Your Grace. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to lose any sleep over me.”

Looking up from the ground, the duchess broke out into a warm smile. Shaking her head, she replied, “Oh no, no moment is being wasted!” Her smile softened into regret and turned her face away. A hand came up to her lips and John could see she had embarrassed herself. 

Easing the tension between them, John came up beside her and said informatively, “Sherlock’s out gathering information. We were able to put more pieces together, so, hopefully we’ll pin the ol’ sod before,” John swallowed and finished his sentence in a caring tone, “before something bad happens to you.”

Alana glanced up at him and didn’t take her eyes off the doctor. She couldn’t tell if it was her lack of sleep or the fire that made the doctor look so handsome. She didn’t understand why her feelings were drawn to him—he was twice her age and he probably had no interest in a ‘rich girl’. Alana’s eyes drifted away to the fire and she began picking nervously at the fabric on one of the chairs.

“Well, I should shove off,” John said, clicking his heels together. He gave the duchess a polite bow and turned to leave.

Closing her eyes at the paining words, Alana sighed and called out in a pleading tone. “Please, Doctor Watson, please—,” she stopped and tried to find an excuse for him to stay longer. “I would like to know how long this case might take.”

“I don’t know, Your Grace. It can take months. But Sherlock and his brother seem to have made me your bodyguard. So, you don’t have to worry too much. I’ll take care of you.” His arms stiffened and he tapped them rhythmically by his sides. “And, I mean that in a genuine, bodyguard like manner.”

Not being able to keep her emotions to herself anymore, Alana rushed forward and took the doctor’s hands.

Sherlock placed his tools on the ground and dripped a bead of the dog’s blood on a slide. He slid the glass plate underneath his microscope and began studying it. Sherlock’s hands squeezed the controls in excitement and he looked up in revelation. “A chemical. A chemical drove the dog to suicide.” He looked back at the blood and performed several tests on it before he identified the cause. “How strange. A mixture of snake venom and corticosteroids. This animal lover is vicious!”

The detective typed his hypothesis into his blog and the moment he hit enter, a thick piece of cloth was flung around his neck and he was jerked to the ground. On his way to the floor, Sherlock’s hand managed to pull down a scalpel.  He felt the intruder’s hands grapple at his feet and then the uncomfortable pressure of twine wrapping around his ankles. Sherlock struck out with his scalpel, but it was blocked and knocked out of his hands.

John gazed into the duchess’s eyes and couldn’t help but close his hands over hers. Shuddering, John closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. He carefully slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her closer.

Alana looked up and whispered, “I should go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It is morning,” John said through a smile. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and leaned down to meet her lips.

The duchess didn’t hesitate to close the space between them. She placed a hand on the back of John’s neck and allowed a gentle sensation overwhelm her. Her heart glowed at the feeling she had dreamed of all her innocent years. Normally, she never liked the idea of exchanging intimacy with just anyone. But, when she was so close to him and so far from reality, she believed she could trust John Watson with everything.

John broke the kiss and pulled away from her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alana said, stroking his cheek. “Please don’t.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for an embrace.

John accepted her affections and closed his eyes softly, letting the silence bind them together.

Sherlock’s hand scrambled for his phone as the attacker continued to wrestle him into submission. The detective couldn’t identify the figure at all in the dim light, and even if he could catch a glance, the figure was masked in black. Sherlock’s fingers brushed the slick surface of his phone before he was pulled back and his hands were wrapped securely together. Swearing and yelling for Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock tried to make it to his feet, but a strong blow on the head sent him crashing to the ground. The last thing Sherlock remembered before blackening out were the golden letters outside his apartment: 221. The intruder pulled out a pouch and shook out a syringe. With thorough but quick hands, he inserted the needle into Sherlock’s neck and then vanished as silently as he had appeared.