This was magnificent - like all the brilliance in the world rolled into one beautifully written story.
He just looks at Holmes over the rim of his teacup one morning and Holmes grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s in over his head. Or maybe he already was in over his head and only now realized it. I just loved that part beyond words. It's so utterly romantic.
That night he shivers and gasps, acidic tears running down his cheeks, trying to whisper “Watson”, but choking on the vowels, gagging around the consonants. I thought that was one of the most powerful parts - almost physically painful to read.
Watson’s hands shake when he receives a letter addressed to Holmes, his breath hitches when he automatically pours two cups of tea, he chokes when he buries his face in one of Holmes’ shirts, smelling vaguely of tobacco and chemicals and evenings in the sitting room, the fire crackling and the rain pounding against the window. And this was where I actually started crying, especially the part about Watson accidentally pouring two cups of tea, forgetting that Holmes is gone, that he's never coming back (well, as far as he knows). It's a situation I'm all too familiar with, and you expressed it beautifully.
When I got to the part about Watson being filled with loss and emptiness and yearning, I really was hoping that the void would be filled when Holmes finally returned. But then you wrote the part about the hatred, and my heart was shattered into a million pieces by the time you got to this line: They build a life on cracked pillars made of what-once-was and what-should-have-been and close their eyes before what-really-was.
That being said, I wouldn't want you to change this for the world, because your ending is so emotional and meaningful and real.
And now that I've quoted half your fic back to you, I'll just end by saying that this was amazing - one of my absolute favorite things that you've written. ♥
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 04:20 pm (UTC)He just looks at Holmes over the rim of his teacup one morning and Holmes grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s in over his head. Or maybe he already was in over his head and only now realized it.
I just loved that part beyond words. It's so utterly romantic.
That night he shivers and gasps, acidic tears running down his cheeks, trying to whisper “Watson”, but choking on the vowels, gagging around the consonants.
I thought that was one of the most powerful parts - almost physically painful to read.
Watson’s hands shake when he receives a letter addressed to Holmes, his breath hitches when he automatically pours two cups of tea, he chokes when he buries his face in one of Holmes’ shirts, smelling vaguely of tobacco and chemicals and evenings in the sitting room, the fire crackling and the rain pounding against the window.
And this was where I actually started crying, especially the part about Watson accidentally pouring two cups of tea, forgetting that Holmes is gone, that he's never coming back (well, as far as he knows). It's a situation I'm all too familiar with, and you expressed it beautifully.
When I got to the part about Watson being filled with loss and emptiness and yearning, I really was hoping that the void would be filled when Holmes finally returned. But then you wrote the part about the hatred, and my heart was shattered into a million pieces by the time you got to this line:
They build a life on cracked pillars made of what-once-was and what-should-have-been and close their eyes before what-really-was.
That being said, I wouldn't want you to change this for the world, because your ending is so emotional and meaningful and real.
And now that I've quoted half your fic back to you, I'll just end by saying that this was amazing - one of my absolute favorite things that you've written. ♥