A Golden Pocket Watch: Amelia Watson and Sherlock Holmes fanfiction/crossover

Prologue / Chapter 1

Clack

He firmly set the old, chainless gold pocket watch face down on his desk.

That was the fifth time today, that John H. Watson had caught himself staring at it.

The doctor let his elbows down on his organized desk, leaning forward over the open paper folder of the case file he should have been concentrating on and bringing a sigh into his hands.

Haah...

John gently rubbed at his eyes, fully aware that it was one of the main ways contagious diseases were spread, and was not sanitary in the slightest.

Already, his mind had chased itself in circles, searching for answers he just couldn't find.

Why did it draw his attention so? What was special about it now?

Why today, of all days, and not any time before?

John lifted his face from his hands, only for his gaze to linger on the back of the 50 year old watch.

The dents that plated it's once flawless back, from being in the same pocket as coins and keys.

The H.W initials scratched into the center, initials that his father, elder brother, and himself had shared.

Almost idly, he flipped over the watch, eyes roving over the scratches around the winding hole, from a key held by an unsteady drunkard's hand trying to wind the watch up at night.

John remembered how Sherlock had guessed all about his elder brother from the old, dented watch alone - including his good prospects, deduced from the fact that if he inherited an expensive fifty-guinea watch, he must have inherited substantial wealth as well, and his poverty, evident by the four claim numbers scratched into the inside of the watch case by pawnbrokers.

But even Sherlock, even the pawnbrokers, had not, and could not have seen what John was trying to see now.

The beauty; behind, inside, and of this small, yet grandiose creation.

The intricacy of its clockwork, golden metal design.

Organized, structured, and yet beautifully unique.

He leaned in just a little closer, squinting just a little more, thinking just a little harder.

And suddenly, the emersion was broken - like a reminder of breathing that then forced one to breathe consciously.

He was sat forward in his chair, the watch held up closely in one palm, elbows bent over the table.

There was a realized pause, before John was rabidly grasping at the thought as it slid through the cracks of his metaphorical hands, his mind so close to the answer.

In that instant, it vanished from his mind without a trace.

Sigh

The doctor held back a curse, his eyebrows creased as he gently set the watch down on its back, his other hand again coming to his face.

Was there some sort of edge he was losing, from all his years of working with Sherlock?

Would Sherlock's brilliance have already puzzled out such a puzzle?

Even as odd a conundrum as this?

It was a mildly alarming line of thought, but he quickly pushed it down.

He was still solving cases, both on his own, and in assistance of Sherlock Holmes, who was near-unable to manage his own health, both mental and physical, while solving a case.