Good God, his voice. He hadn't heard that voice in far too long but he knew it like he knew his own soul.
Watson coughed and spluttered on the brandy a little; consciousness returned quickly to him. Finding himself moved to the sofa, and Holmes -- mirculously, impossibly Holmes -- peering anxiously over him. This was real. Holmes was alive, against all odds or sense, and here with him.
"Holmes," Watson said, half perplexed, half disbelieving. As he pulled himself up into a half-seated position, two thoughts occurred to him: first, Sherlock Holmes was not and had never been dead; second, Sherlock Holmes had let him believe in his death anyway. The injustice of that stung. It had all been some damned game, some planned deception, for all the talk of always there was no truth behind it at all.
Suddenly furious with the release of three years worth of grief and pain, Watson drew back his fist and flung a punch at Holmes's face; the brandy went flying, but he hardly cared.
no subject
Watson coughed and spluttered on the brandy a little; consciousness returned quickly to him. Finding himself moved to the sofa, and Holmes -- mirculously, impossibly Holmes -- peering anxiously over him. This was real. Holmes was alive, against all odds or sense, and here with him.
"Holmes," Watson said, half perplexed, half disbelieving. As he pulled himself up into a half-seated position, two thoughts occurred to him: first, Sherlock Holmes was not and had never been dead; second, Sherlock Holmes had let him believe in his death anyway. The injustice of that stung. It had all been some damned game, some planned deception, for all the talk of always there was no truth behind it at all.
Suddenly furious with the release of three years worth of grief and pain, Watson drew back his fist and flung a punch at Holmes's face; the brandy went flying, but he hardly cared.