Holmes is bristling with post-case satisfaction. Oh, yes, he located the person responsible for the crime and now he's on his way to the Yard, and there's something in that worth some pride, but for Holmes, all that matters is the mystery. And the fact that it's been resolved. The pieces fell neatly into place and he left Watson and Lestrade with
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This relationship was... new, sometimes frightening, certainly overwhelming, but on the whole... Watson found it disturbingly easy to accept it, despite all his misgivings, all his fears, the fact that this was very new to him, still, and not too long ago it would have been entirely unthinkable to act upon it.
He gave Holmes a smile, one that was a little wary, and stepped to angle himself towards Holmes with his head tilted to one side. "I am beginning to recognise that tone of voice. Shall I guess that you have some notion of how best to celebrate our success?"
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He can see Watson's hesitation, and he reminds himself that they've only been at this a few months; still, it isn't so easy to reign in his excitement, his satisfaction, his thrill over solving a case. To know that he can embrace Watson and spend all evening (in an ideal world) celebrating... He can't quite just turn off those thoughts.
"A good smoke, some good brandy, perhaps even in combination. Perhaps even in combination with another option... though that one would require closing the curtains."
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"Other than that small detail... I cannot say I have much objection to this sort of celebration."
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"To success," he said, clinking his glass against Holmes's, "and justice done." He sipped his brandy, smiling, feeling absurdly light-headed, and it was certainly not from that tiny sip of alcohol.
Feeling daring, he put out his hand to rest it gently on Holmes's waist, his fingers curled.
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He sets his hand on Watson's waist in return, hovering closer, and leans down to steal a kiss that isn't anywhere close to being as heated as he'd like it to be. They're just getting started, after all, and maybe part of the game is coaching Watson along until that hint of hesitation is gone from him.
"Right, and justice too. Though as long as the mystery is solved, that's justice enough for me."
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He took another swallow of brandy and drew himself closer. He'd always been a particularly physical person with women, and in this relationship things weren't much different. Once kissed, he wanted to continue kissing. Despite the brandy, he could still taste Holmes on his lips, and he was far more interested in that taste than he was in anything else. Trying to keep a firm grasp upon his glass, Watson leaned up to kiss Holmes again, still feeling somewhat anxious about it, still aware of how alien a thing it was -- and yet, utterly familiar, and wonderful.
"I'm starting to become disillusioned as to your true nature," he murmured.
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"Fortunately I have at my side a companion who is very much interested in justice and the forces of right, so my 'true nature' is nicely balanced." Leaning in, he kisses Watson again, longer than before, squeezing his hip.
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He leaned forward, even as he was pretending to be trying to escape, and kissed Holmes playfully, rather hungrily. To be referred to as so essential a partner, even in play and teasing, pleased him immensely. He was not in the least certain of how deep Holmes's feelings might run, and he didn't dare examine his own feelings too closely, not already.
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"If you get brandy down our shirtfronts or -- horror of horrors -- our trousers, then we'll be forced to remove them." He looks playfully up to the ceiling, pretending to think. "I'm still unsure as to how this is bad."
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When he lifted his face again, he let his face stay very close to Holmes's. He looked a moment, memorising the angles of Holmes's face, fascinated and yet (even now) faintly repelled by the idea of kissing that face, of loving the male body, this male body. It was peculiar, sometimes, to stand on this line, in this place, and be of both minds -- and yet, for the past several weeks, for well over a month, he had been doing exactly what he was so frightened of, and loving it ( ... )
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After a minute or two, Watson broke away, breathless, and glanced over his shoulder at the sofa behind them. A good goal, he had to suppose. Turning back to Holmes, he drew him gently in that direction. "In fact, I'll let you think of some good consequences now," he invited, playfully. "Or even a reason for some consequences, for that matter."
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He nudges Watson back onto the couch and swiftly follows, straddling his lap and capturing his lips in another heated kiss. In this position, it's all too easy to push his hips forward, to rock against Watson, but he does his best not to.
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This was all utterly confusing, far more so than any relationship with a woman he had had.
But at least after his momentary feeling of being overwhelmed, he quickly regained his equilibrium, answering Holmes's kisses enthusiastically. "Fine, I accept your judgement." He slid his hands over Holmes's thighs. "Is it worth anything that I promise to be more careful in future?"
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No matter. That won't happen for a while yet, he assumes. he kisses Watson, sliding his fingers into his hair, and wills his hips to stay still and behave themselves.
"Even better idea. You may take off my tie."
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