My Full Confession

Deteriorate On Your Behalf

The entire meal was filled with wonderful conversation; such words had never flown so easily between the three families before, without the presence of wine that is. And yet no one was too tipsy tonight, a glass or two of wine was what they limited themselves to, for they didn't need to the alcohol to enjoy themselves. Instead it was purely entertaining for them all (even for the children, although they hated to admit it) to sit back and listen to Mr. Watson speak about all sorts of things in his life. It was interesting, the stories he conjured from his domestic life in the house across the street, without ever mentioning that he was not alone in these events. For whatever reason he seemed to avoid the topic, even the mention, of his husband John. This struck Greg as odd, for when it was just them it seemed as though all Mr. Watson wanted to do was gush about the love of his life. And yet in such a crowd he was silent, not even alluding to the presence of another being in his entire life. Perhaps there was still the lingering shame, the sort of heteronormativity that his brother had forced upon him as a little boy. Perhaps he was still waiting for the punishment that was promised to him; perhaps he thought any one of these cops at the table would jump to their feet and order him to the gallows. And yet it was another world, it was completely legal, if not highly encouraged, to love who you wanted to love. Yet still, Mr. Watson shied away from the most influential part of his life, as if he wanted to keep his husband a secret from this new crowd who he needed to entertain. By the end of the dinner Greg was almost getting frustrated with his new friend, wondering what he was so ashamed of if he really had loved John Watson so much. Once the plates were cleared, the cake served, and the poker chips brought out, Greg decided that he ought to set a little trap for the man, to make him slip up his almost perfect use of "I" instead of "we".
"You didn't grow up here, did you?" Greg asked finally, deciding that was a fair question considering Mr. Watson had never disclosed his original origin. Greg knew it had to be somewhere down south, or perhaps Midwest, but apart from that he was clueless.
"No, I grew up far from here." he admitted quietly. Well of course he was hiding the name of the town, just to ensure no one dug up any criminal records or unsolved cases. That was obvious, and yet Greg was still not satisfied with such an answer.
"Why'd you move?" Mike asked, thankfully taking the rather obvious prompting question away from Greg's lips. If he asked such a stupid question, with all of the background information he had, well certainly Mr. Watson would suspect him.
"Oh, we decided that old town was too small." Mr. Watson mumbled a bit thoughtlessly, shifting his poker chips before him and suddenly realizing what he had just said. He may have looked a bit startled, yet Greg felt a small smile of accomplishment on his own face.
"We?" Kate clarified with something of a blink. Just for a moment, the old man sighed, perhaps cursing himself in his own mind.
"Yes, I was married once." He said quietly.
"Oh I'm...well I'm sorry to hear that." Sarah murmured.
"It's quite alright." Mr. Watson assured, yet his voice had become deadpan, and the liveliness which he once displayed had evaporated from his eyes. He looked, for lack of a better term, quite depressed. For a moment there was silence, interrupted only when Mr. Watson unearthed that familiar pipe from his coat pocket, putting it to his lips and striking a match to hold against the tobacco that was shoved inside. No one said anything against it of course, although Molly ruffled her nose in slight irritation as a great cloud of smoke began to billow in her direction.
"Deal the cards then." Greg insisted, waving his hand in slight irritation over to Mike, who had paused to stare blankly at the table cloth instead of dealing the poker cards and getting their minds on something a bit more joyful. Well, it wasn't exactly the same as the game would've been had it just been those under forty. For the most part there were smiles, and yet Greg was struggling under the weight of such probing questions, for although Mr. Watson did manage to get up to spirits he never did seem quite the same. Evidently the mention of his marriage didn't suit him well, and whatever easy going spirit he had adopted for this evening had long since faded, being replaced with a dark cloud of grievance that he seemed to labor under. Thankfully Greg seemed to be the only one to notice, for everyone else seemed to be bothered not by Mr. Watson's glumness, but instead by his poker skills. It would seem that this man had played the game a great many times, considering how effortlessly he bluffed, and cheated everyone out of their chips in the end. Even if he didn't have a spectacular hand you would never know it, and soon even Mike was giving him away very high valued chips. Well of course they put no money on the things, considering it was all among friends, yet if there had been values on those chips, the stack that Mr. Watson had collected in front of him might have amounted into a small fortune. No matter the man's success, smoke, or back story, the night ended in good spirits. They finished up the last game of poker and put it all away (Mike was looking pretty bummed, however he had to admit to his loss and move on) and before long everyone had said their goodbyes and made their way back home. Greg stopped Mr. Watson in the driveway, as he was hobbling over to that ominous black machine, making sure that they were out of ear shot of Molly before he began to speak.
"Why wouldn't you mention John?" Greg asked finally, putting a hand on the man's shoulder so as to guarantee he wouldn't hobble away without answering. Mr. Watson's face contorted into something of disappointment, yet his old eyes flashed rather threateningly in the winter dusk.
"Because then your police friend would know that Watson was not my original name." he said simply.
"And what does that do, hm?" Greg wondered.
"Well, Mr. Lestrade, there is still an arrest warrant out for William Holmes. Thankfully, no one would ever think to connect that juvenile delinquent with Sherlock Watson, so long as no one pieces the pseudonym together." Mr. Watson said finally. Greg heaved a sigh, perhaps something of relief in Mr. Watson's genuine love, or perhaps in disappointment with himself for not being able to see the risks involved in the end.
"I see." Greg murmured. "Well, in that case I apologize."
"Apologize for what, Detective?" Mr. Watson mumbled. Greg shook his head, somewhat in embarrassment, and let his hand slide back down to his side where it belonged.
"For doubting you. I assumed that...well I assumed that you were ashamed of him. I took that as an insult to his memory." Greg agreed finally. Mr. Watson's face hardened, before his eyes glossed over once more with that look of reminiscence, almost as if he was staring past Greg's shoulder and looking into the face of his long lost lover.
"Never doubt that I loved him, Mr. Lestrade. You will see soon enough, why I could never be ashamed of John Watson. Why there was never anybody else in the world for me." he murmured. "Thank you for the pleasant evening." With that he went around to the driver's seat of his car, unlocking it before managing to clamber very slowly inside. Greg stood off on the sidewalk, watching as the black vehicle slid into the darkness, its lights tracing paths up the road and into the familiar driveway, before disappearing into the tree line.