30 Day OTP Challenge - Day 2: Cuddling
WC: 600~
Notes: wow what the fuck even happened here
He doesn't mean for it to happen. He's not even sure what he did mean to happen. One minute he's watching Holmes run the length of the room, flying over the furniture, driving him out of his mind. The next he's moving in, grabbing him, he's half-aware and he's pulling him in, saying stop it. And now he's here and he's not letting go, and he's still trying to figure out why he thought this was a good idea. He can only say that while Holmes really isn't one for unnecessary physical contact, Watson isn't fond of dizziness, and just watching Holmes pacing had made him nearly motion sick, so it's only a logical compromise. Really.
It's becomes alarming gradually. If he's not just a bit ill at ease with how immediately quiet Holmes becomes- chalk it up to being startled- then he's definitely thrown by how quiet he remains. How easily he lets it happen. Sherlock Holmes is, at his best, hard to handle. At worst, he is volatile, fluctuating abruptly between manic and lethargic. Sherlock Holmes is a human mess if ever there was one, but Sherlock Holmes is not pliant.
But he doesn't move and he doesn't speak and by God John Watson could swear he feel can feel the tension falling away from him. And he can feel another kind of tension creeping in. And Just like that something so simple- Stop it! Stop pacing! You're driving me out of my mind!- becomes something more. It's touching, like a punch in the gut. It's beautiful in the way that bleeding is. It's dangerous. It's perfect.
Sherlock Holmes nods and doesn't say a word, and John Watson thinks for the hundredth time that he must be reading his mind. But he doesn't say a word. So tacking that onto his mental list of red flags, it's at about this point that John Watson decides that he really ought to let go before he's forced to do some serious self re-evaluation.
Then of course, of fucking course, it has to happen. Sherlock Cold-Hard-Logic-And-Reason Holmes wraps his arms around John Watson. And it's tender. It's soft. It's fucking tentative, and God it's almost scared, like he gets it, like he feels it too and it fucking terrifies him. And it should scare him, because he is all about logic and reason and whatever he feels pass between them like this, is not something to be logically explained. But at the same time he should have seen it coming from a mile away because he may have logic and reason so ingrained in him by habit that it's become his nature, and he may be harsh and cold, but John Watson is just so impossibly warm.
So they stand there, an awkward tangle of arms in the middle of the sitting room. John Watson has his stillness and quiet, Sherlock Holmes has something to occupy his thoughts, and if that doesn't make it a successful compromise, what does? They don't move, apart from breathing, until even that starts to seem like too much, too much movement, too much sound, too much evidence of reality. So finally they let go. Watson looks down and Holmes looks through him, and the only thing Watson can say is you were driving me mad. Holmes doesn't question whether he's stopped driving him mad now. He can pretty confidently deduce that they've both gone a bit crazy.
And he's really, really sure that he's not okay with that. And he doesn't like not knowing what's going to happen next. And he might actually be damned but God, at the same time, he really, really can't help smiling.
Notes: wow what the fuck even happened here
He doesn't mean for it to happen. He's not even sure what he did mean to happen. One minute he's watching Holmes run the length of the room, flying over the furniture, driving him out of his mind. The next he's moving in, grabbing him, he's half-aware and he's pulling him in, saying stop it. And now he's here and he's not letting go, and he's still trying to figure out why he thought this was a good idea. He can only say that while Holmes really isn't one for unnecessary physical contact, Watson isn't fond of dizziness, and just watching Holmes pacing had made him nearly motion sick, so it's only a logical compromise. Really.
It's becomes alarming gradually. If he's not just a bit ill at ease with how immediately quiet Holmes becomes- chalk it up to being startled- then he's definitely thrown by how quiet he remains. How easily he lets it happen. Sherlock Holmes is, at his best, hard to handle. At worst, he is volatile, fluctuating abruptly between manic and lethargic. Sherlock Holmes is a human mess if ever there was one, but Sherlock Holmes is not pliant.
But he doesn't move and he doesn't speak and by God John Watson could swear he feel can feel the tension falling away from him. And he can feel another kind of tension creeping in. And Just like that something so simple- Stop it! Stop pacing! You're driving me out of my mind!- becomes something more. It's touching, like a punch in the gut. It's beautiful in the way that bleeding is. It's dangerous. It's perfect.
Sherlock Holmes nods and doesn't say a word, and John Watson thinks for the hundredth time that he must be reading his mind. But he doesn't say a word. So tacking that onto his mental list of red flags, it's at about this point that John Watson decides that he really ought to let go before he's forced to do some serious self re-evaluation.
Then of course, of fucking course, it has to happen. Sherlock Cold-Hard-Logic-And-Reason Holmes wraps his arms around John Watson. And it's tender. It's soft. It's fucking tentative, and God it's almost scared, like he gets it, like he feels it too and it fucking terrifies him. And it should scare him, because he is all about logic and reason and whatever he feels pass between them like this, is not something to be logically explained. But at the same time he should have seen it coming from a mile away because he may have logic and reason so ingrained in him by habit that it's become his nature, and he may be harsh and cold, but John Watson is just so impossibly warm.
So they stand there, an awkward tangle of arms in the middle of the sitting room. John Watson has his stillness and quiet, Sherlock Holmes has something to occupy his thoughts, and if that doesn't make it a successful compromise, what does? They don't move, apart from breathing, until even that starts to seem like too much, too much movement, too much sound, too much evidence of reality. So finally they let go. Watson looks down and Holmes looks through him, and the only thing Watson can say is you were driving me mad. Holmes doesn't question whether he's stopped driving him mad now. He can pretty confidently deduce that they've both gone a bit crazy.
And he's really, really sure that he's not okay with that. And he doesn't like not knowing what's going to happen next. And he might actually be damned but God, at the same time, he really, really can't help smiling.