Sherlock Holmes Reborn: Watson, Don’t Go

[Victorian era + reborn + two male leads + mystery-solving + deep bonds + slow burn + fiercely protective + no saintly heroine]

At Reichenbach Falls, as he plunged into the abyss, Sherlock Holmes's only regret wasn't Moriarty. It was the last tear on John Watson's face.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in 1881.

Nothing had begun yet.

Watson had not yet returned from Afghanistan, 221B Baker Street was still empty, and Moriarty was still an obscure mathematics professor.

In his previous life, he had prided himself on being a high-functioning sociopath, treating Watson's concern as irrelevant, danger as a game, and parting as a performance.

This time, as he looked at the young army doctor standing before him again, still carrying old wounds from the battlefield, he suddenly found himself unable to say, “I am a consulting detective.”

All he wanted to say was:

“Stay by my side this time. Don't go.”

The fog over London remained thick, and cases kept coming one after another.

But this time, the cold, proud detective had changed.

When Watson's old injuries flared up, he silently brought him a hot-water bottle.

At crime scenes, he unobtrusively stepped in front of Watson.

By the fireplace at night, he let his violin speak the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

Watson found it strange. “Holmes, have we met before?”

Holmes drew his bow across the strings without looking up. “No, Doctor. This is the first time we've met.”

But please let me spend the rest of my life making up for everything I failed to do in my last one.

The people at Scotland Yard noticed that the army doctor by Holmes's side seemed to hold an unusually special place.

Lestrade: “Since when have you cared about anyone else's feelings?”

Holmes replied coolly, “I've always cared. I was just too late once.”