Just a little fluffy fic about Holmes, Watson and strawberries
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, pre-slash
I have been away for only three days, but Holmes has not been losing any time:
“Is Mr. Holmes in?” – I enquire.
“Oh, yes, Doctor, but I’m afraid he has another of his black moods coming on. He has not eaten anything for two days”, - says Mrs. Hudson taking my coat. I cannot help but sigh. Although I have lived for almost one and half years with Holmes, I still cannot get used to his mood swings, or to his abuse of his own body. I trudge upstairs, not looking forward to the scene that is about to greet me.
The living room is filled with smoke, which hangs like a thick fog over the furniture. Holmes is reclining on the settee wearing only a nightshirt with a dressing gown over it. He does not pay any attention to my entrance, or my subsequent actions which are opening the window and lighting a fire in the long neglected fireplace. I am on the verge of asking him to have some food, but I know it is going to be useless, so – feeling rather tired after my journey- I wash and decide to turn in for the day. I’m already drifting off into the arms of Morpheus, when a recollection strikes me. What was that Mr. Parker said by way of making small talk? The first strawberries are in? Immediately a plan hatches in my mind.
As many people know now, thanks to my novel, Holmes can be almost ascetic in his needs, indeed he neglects his body to a horrifying – to a doctor – extent, especially when it comes to nutrition. My constant battle is to make him eat, especially when he’s in a black mood. The man enjoys good food, yet he has only one weakness in that area, that I have recently learnt of. Strawberries. You may laugh, but Holmes fights his craving for strawberries as I wish he would fight his cocaine habit. He probably thinks it would spoil his image if he shows how much he enjoys that simple fruit. I fall asleep with a smile.
Thankfully, Holmes is sleeping when I wake up, which is not surprising as it is only six in the morning. I go through my morning toilette quickly and hurry downstairs. Mrs. Hudson is awake and a little annoyed at my intention of going out this early.
“Doctor, can’t you wait a little? I’ll have your breakfast upstairs in no time, or have you succumbed to Mr. Holmes’s ways?”
I chuckle at that and calm her by saying that I shall be back presently and if she could please set about making a sumptuous breakfast enough for two. I rush to the closest market wanting to be there just as the stalls open. I almost start praising Heavens when I see that Mr. Parker was right: strawberries season has started. There are only a couple of stalls selling them and the prices are quite high, but that does not stop me. I buy four pounds of strawberries.
When I come back to Baker Street, Holmes is still asleep and the breakfast is almost ready. I hand the strawberries to Mrs. Hudson and wait for her to wash them.
- Would you like me to bring them up with the breakfast, Doctor? – asks our landlady trying to find a bowl big enough to hold all the strawberries.
- No, keep them here. I’ll come and fetch them myself.
There is a slightly confused look on her face, as I find a small dish and place a few strawberries on it.
- Just bring the breakfast up when it’s ready.
I carry the dish with me upstairs. Knocking on Holmes’s bedroom door I enter, but he does not stir. Placing the dish on the bedside table, I draw a chair next to his bed and shake him awake.
I heard a knock on my door, but I cannot bring myself to wake up. The world can go to hell as far as I am concerned. But then someone’s hand is on my shoulder, and I am forced to wake up if only to curse at the owner of the damned limb. When I do open my eyes, it is all I can do not to gasp. Watson is sitting next to my bed, and there is a positively mischievous smile on his face. I am about to enquire whether we have a client, when he reaches for something and suddenly there is a strawberry hovering just out of the reach of my lips. Oh, it’s a dream. One of those dreams, which would undoubtedly soil my sheets were I a teenager. Watson and strawberries. I part my lips and the fruit slides in suggestively. I practically moan as I feel the taste of it and the tingling sensation where Watson’s finger brushed over my lip. I swallow, and there is another strawberry waiting for me. I think I consume about four or five more of them, when suddenly the sweet torture stops.
- Watson, why did you stop? Aren’t there more?
- Oh, you want more?
- Oh, for Christ’s sake, you know I do!
- Well, you’ll have to do something for me, if you want them, Holmes.
I am all anticipation as I ask what is it that he wants, but the answer is very far from what I expected.
- Holmes, you will get up and eat your share of the breakfast, - states Watson firmly and leaves.
I shut my eyes and groan. I should have realised it was not a dream.