Sherlock Holmes Fic: Deductions
Holmes was well into his third sonata of the evening when an unexpected knock came at the door. He rose, curious, and opened it, anticipating that perhaps one of his Irregulars had stumbled across something interesting. He was momentarily taken aback when he recognised the familiar shadow of his erstwhile flatmate hulking in the doorway. He instantly stepped back and let him in, making deductions as he did so.
Collar is askew, jacket hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly, cheeks pale and haggard, shoes scuffed, trousers muddy, expression blank, steps even, and hat missing.
It was not a difficult conclusion to reach that Watson had left his house in a hurry, amidst some domestic quarrel perhaps, and come to the first place he could think of. Holmes was caught between a feeling of satisfaction that there were chinks in the marriage already, and pride that Watson would still think of him first, even after what they had been through. He followed Watson into the common room and allowed him some moments of silence before he broke it.
‘Watson, as much as it is always a pleasure to see you, I can’t help but notice you don’t seem yourself,’ he began. A corner of Watson’s mouth twitched. Holmes was unable to tell if it was amusement or suppressed annoyance but any emotion was welcome from this strange wooden facsimile of his friend.
‘Astounding, Holmes,’ Watson murmured. ‘Would you care to cast some more assumptions?’
‘Your collar is askew,’ Holmes began instantly. ‘Your jacket is incorrectly buttoned and you are missing your hat. From this I can deduce that you left your new dwellings in a hurry, barely conscious of your appearance. Your trousers are muddy, which indicates that you walked here in your agitated state instead of catching a cab, perhaps intending to walk off your emotions. I observe also that your shoes are scuffed, but I would not like to tender a guess why, as you will not hear any perceived slur against your chosen one - though I would like to know how a newlywed woman could allow her new husband’s shoes to be in such a dismal state...’ Holmes trailed off, expecting the usual flash of fire when he insulted Mrs Watson nee Morstan, and was surprised to see nothing more than a tired raised eyebrow from Watson.
‘Anything else, Holmes?’ Watson prompted when he paused.
‘Nothing particularly relevant,’ Holmes returned. ‘I can see enough to decide that you are in the midst of some emotional turmoil involving Mrs Watson, though what that is remains to be seen.’
‘She threw me out,’ Watson said dully, staring at his knees. Holmes felt as though he was back in the ring and someone had punched him in the stomach.
‘Thrown you out, dear fellow?’ he asked, his voice lowered as he peered at Watson, suddenly concerned. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because of you,’ Watson told him.
‘Me?’ Holmes repeated in surprise. ‘I have done nothing, I assure you. This time, at least,’ he added with a rakish grin in the hopes of gaining a smile.
‘You didn’t need to, apparently,’ Watson said, sighing and resting his head against the sofa. ‘Apparently Mary is a very astute individual, and has chosen to hide the depths of her observations from me until now. She could almost rival you for the deductions she has made about me. And you, I suppose, if she is to be believed.’
Holmes’ mind was racing, trying to piece together the hints Watson was throwing him. What could Mary have decided about the two of them that would cause her to evict her husband from her presence and her premises? Had she found out about their semi-illegal activities, the occasional burglary, or break and enter? The number of times they had looked the other way when elements of the case deserved it? But no, surely Watson had confided these in her long before they married. Watson was such a painfully honest man; he would have seen it necessary to inform his future wife what kind of character she was marrying. Holmes could see he would be forced to wait for Watson to enlighten him.
‘Will you tell me, then, my dear Watson?’ he asked finally, raising an eyebrow. Watson rose and poured himself some brandy, and drank it neatly down. Holmes noted with interest that his hand was shaking.
‘She thinks you are in love with me,’ he said quietly when he sat back down again. He refused to meet Holmes’ questing eyes. Holmes could say nothing to that. He thought he had been so discreet ... How had Mary figured it out when nobody else could?
‘I see,’ he said eventually, when it became clear Watson would say no more until he had made some reply. ‘Surely that is not enough to cause such a quarrel between you?’
‘It’s a little more than a quarrel, Holmes,’ Watson said. ‘She has thrown me out and will not take me back.’
‘Perhaps when she calms down ...’ Holmes gestured helplessly. Watson sighed.
‘You might say that about most women,’ Watson told him. ‘But Mary was perfectly calm and reasonable when she told me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Holmes said, moving to sit with him on the couch. ‘Even if it were true - why should it impact on your relationship? Someone else’s feelings can surely have little effect on a strong marriage between two people who are committed-’
‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it, Holmes?’ Watson exclaimed and stood up, moving to lean against the fireplace. ‘It’s not just someone else’s feelings she thinks she has uncovered. It is mine as well.’
Holmes’ veins ran cold.
‘My dear Watson, what-’
‘She thinks I am in love with you, as well.’ Watson said quietly, more to the fire than to Holmes. ‘Apparently she thought she could break me of it, like a dog, but it seems that six months is enough time to convince her she can’t.’
Holmes was effectively speechless for one of the very few times in his life. He could not have imagined this. That Mary had supposedly have observed what Holmes himself could not was unthinkable.
‘And so you came here,’ Holmes finished. ‘Why here? Of all places? Will it not cause more conflict between you?’
‘There is no conflict,’ Watson reminded him. ‘She told me in a calmly reasoned voice that I was to leave, as she could not stay in a marriage with someone who was not in love with her. I came here because - where else would I go?’ he asked Holmes a little bitterly. ‘I have no other friends, no family. I have only Mary and you, and Mary has released me.’
‘I am your last resort?’ Holmes asked him. Watson smiled sadly.
‘Holmes, you are my only resort. But I-’ he bit his lip on whatever he was about to say and turned away again. Holmes was instantly beside him, pulling on his shoulder to persuade him to turn.
‘Watson,’ he said. ‘Why else are you here?’ He held his breath for the answer, his eyes searching Watson’s desperately. Watson stared at him for a moment and then broke away, laughing harshly.
‘Why am I here? Because I had to know if it was true, didn’t I? If I am going to be forced out of my home for you, I had to know if there was any truth to her accusations.’ He stood in the middle of the room, breathing haggardly, his eyes wildly darting over everything. Holmes could hardly breathe but he made an effort to swallow and take a deep breath before he spoke, staring at the floor.
‘It’s true,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Watson. She is right. At least about my half, but I swear I had no idea she knew.’
He looked up finally, to find Watson had ceased his agitated movements and was still, staring at him from across the room. Holmes shrugged a little awkwardly and made as though to light a pipe. Watson was next to him in a flash, tugging the tobacco from his grasp and continuing his staring from close up. Holmes kept his face neutral and let him stare, watching the thoughts unravel in his friend’s head. He watched as a wondrous look came over the doctor’s face, and his fingers dropped the tobacco to drift over Holmes’ cheekbones. Holmes tried not to shudder or lean into the touch too much but he could not resist closing his eyes, and heard the hitch in Watson’s breathing in response.
They stood there by the fire, breathing together, Holmes with his eyes closed and Watson’s hand on his cheek until Watson rested his head against Holmes’ and Holmes opened his eyes. The look on Watson’s face gave Holmes hope and he leant forward and carefully pressed his lips to his friend’s. The change was instantaneous. Watson pressed back eagerly, all timidness forgotten as he explored Holmes’ mouth. Holmes gripped his shoulders as he fell under the full power of Watson’s kiss, his head spinning as he gave himself to the warm wet heat of his friend’s mouth. He felt Watson’s arm go around him, pulling him closer, the other hand sliding from his cheek into his hair, deepening the kiss as he tilted Holmes’ head back.
Holmes was finding it hard to breathe, his heartbeat coming so fast he could feel it fluttering in his chest. He was gratified to hear Watson’s equally ragged breathing, and broke away to pant into his friend’s neck, until he could find the breath to paint kisses over the flushed skin beneath his cheek. He felt Watson’s groan through his chest and felt the blood rushing urgently southward at knowing he was arousing Watson the way Watson was arousing him.
In a daring move, he slid his hand to Watson’s collar and loosened it, liberating more skin. He followed this by unhooking the top button of his friend’s shirt, and then the second, all the way down until Watson stood before him, shirt and waistcoat hanging open. Watson just looked at him as Holmes avidly took in the sight of him, and then reached for the tie of Holmes’ dressing gown, pushing the material off his shoulders. Holmes was not wearing much underneath and he revelled in the darkening of Watson’s eyes as he realised and ran a feverish hand down Holmes’ side. Holmes watched as Watson shrugged his way out of his own shirt and admiringly sucked one of Holmes’ nipples into his mouth. The heat and the pressure earned a groan from the detective, who involuntarily arched backwards, pulling Watson off-balance and they tumbled heavily to the ground.
‘Watson, what have you done,’ Holmes breathed, as Watson pushed himself up onto his hands and their heated groins brushed together.
‘What I should have done a long time ago, it seems,’ Watson returned with a smile and kissed him, one hand cleverly undoing his own belt buckle. Holmes was too dazed to help for a moment but came to himself a second later and swiftly helped to remove Watson’s remaining clothing. Watson kissed his way down Holmes’ body, refocussing his attention on his nipples, and then further down, until he reached the edge of Holmes’ underwear. He threw a questioning glance up at the detective, who gave a single nod and suddenly the clothing was gone, leaving him exposed completely. Watson’s mouth was around him immediately, sucking expertly as though he did this all the time. Holmes momentarily entertained the horrifying notion that maybe he did and then dismissed it for the pleasure shooting through him.
‘Watson,’ he panted eventually, ‘I - can you please - stop, if you would be so kind.’
Watson looked up, confused, his lips red and wet.
‘Am I-’ he began.
‘No, no, it’s good,’ Holmes replied. ‘I just - I’d rather - could you ...’
Watson’s eyes widened.
‘Holmes, I -’
‘You don’t have to,’ Holmes added hurriedly. ‘I just thought - well, it doesn’t matter, I-’
‘Shut up, Holmes,’ Watson said forcefully and looked around for something to use. Holmes rolled them over and lay on top of his friend as he reached for a draw above their heads. He had the satisfaction of hearing Watson groan as their hips pressed together, and returned to kneel above him, grinning smugly. He held out a little vial of oil towards Watson, who leaned forward to examine the label. He choked as he read it.
‘Lard?’ He asked incredulously. ‘Are you serious?’
Holmes hesitated.
‘I thought -’
Watson laughed, affection creasing his eyes.
‘Oh, Holmes,’ he said with a smile. ‘Only you. I think we can do a bit better than that, however. Hand me my case.’
Holmes raised an eyebrow even as he leaned back and retrieved the doctor’s medical case from behind him, awarding Watson a nice eyeful.
‘You left your hat behind but remembered your case?’ He asked, watching Watson rifle through its contents. A light blush appeared on his face.
‘It was near my cane,’ he mumbled.
‘And your hat wasn’t?’ Holmes asked curiously.
‘If you must know, I’d thrown it down in frustration,’ Watson sighed. ‘It wasn’t fit for wearing.’
‘Ah,’ Holmes said and then watched with interest as Watson found and unstoppered a jar, eyeing Holmes with a hungry look in his eyes.
‘I think you’ll find this much better than lard, my dear Holmes,’ Watson said in a low voice, as he slicked his fingers, Holmes’ eyes following his every move. He leant forward on his knees as the doctor’s hand travelled slowly behind him. He gasped at the first feeling of fingers in such a strange place, but bit his lip and tried to relax. Eventually Watson decided he was ready and rolled them over. Holmes stared up at him, a little overwhelmed, and relaxed when Watson gave him one of those very rare real smiles, and slid into him with one smooth movement. Holmes gritted his teeth against the pain, and was grateful that Watson waited until he could open his eyes before beginning a slow, rhythmic rocking that soon had him gasping.
‘Watson,’ he breathed, ‘I’ll thank you to hurry up.’
Watson looked up, pleasure written all over his face, a drop of sweat hanging precariously off his forehead. Holmes ran a hand into his hair, and another down over the curve of his hip to pull Watson tighter against him. He began to increase the pace; knowing Watson would follow him as he followed him in everything. With a grin that said he knew exactly what Holmes was thinking, Watson wrapped a hand around Holmes’ neglected cock, stroking it just out of time with his thrusts, distracting Holmes so much that he almost didn’t notice when his climax was upon him. He suddenly looked up at Watson with shock written over his face, his mouth open and words trying to form on his lips.
Watson murmured approval and encouragement into his shoulder, disturbing the damp hairs on his collar. The feeling sent a shudder through Holmes, who barely gasped out, ‘oh, oh God, Watson, Watson - John,’ before he came apart under Watson’s hands, shuddering and writhing beneath him. Watson couldn’t help but follow him over a moment later, biting into Holmes’ neck as he did so, muffling his cries into the sweat slicked skin of his friend.
They lay panting together afterwards, catching their breath.
‘Holmes,’ Watson said after a time, his voice husky and a little breathless. ‘Why is there lard in the bottom draw of your desk?’
He felt Holmes smile into his neck, and run an appreciative hand down Watson’s back.
‘Because, my dear Watson, I never know what I might need, you see. If I was somehow handcuffed and unable to reach the keys, I could simply cover my wrists with lard and slip out of them, ’ he began. ‘A very useful substance is lard -’
Watson snorted into Holmes’ shoulder and bit it gently.
‘Only you, Sherlock,’ he said. Holmes smiled.
‘Only me indeed.’
Collar is askew, jacket hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly, cheeks pale and haggard, shoes scuffed, trousers muddy, expression blank, steps even, and hat missing.
It was not a difficult conclusion to reach that Watson had left his house in a hurry, amidst some domestic quarrel perhaps, and come to the first place he could think of. Holmes was caught between a feeling of satisfaction that there were chinks in the marriage already, and pride that Watson would still think of him first, even after what they had been through. He followed Watson into the common room and allowed him some moments of silence before he broke it.
‘Watson, as much as it is always a pleasure to see you, I can’t help but notice you don’t seem yourself,’ he began. A corner of Watson’s mouth twitched. Holmes was unable to tell if it was amusement or suppressed annoyance but any emotion was welcome from this strange wooden facsimile of his friend.
‘Astounding, Holmes,’ Watson murmured. ‘Would you care to cast some more assumptions?’
‘Your collar is askew,’ Holmes began instantly. ‘Your jacket is incorrectly buttoned and you are missing your hat. From this I can deduce that you left your new dwellings in a hurry, barely conscious of your appearance. Your trousers are muddy, which indicates that you walked here in your agitated state instead of catching a cab, perhaps intending to walk off your emotions. I observe also that your shoes are scuffed, but I would not like to tender a guess why, as you will not hear any perceived slur against your chosen one - though I would like to know how a newlywed woman could allow her new husband’s shoes to be in such a dismal state...’ Holmes trailed off, expecting the usual flash of fire when he insulted Mrs Watson nee Morstan, and was surprised to see nothing more than a tired raised eyebrow from Watson.
‘Anything else, Holmes?’ Watson prompted when he paused.
‘Nothing particularly relevant,’ Holmes returned. ‘I can see enough to decide that you are in the midst of some emotional turmoil involving Mrs Watson, though what that is remains to be seen.’
‘She threw me out,’ Watson said dully, staring at his knees. Holmes felt as though he was back in the ring and someone had punched him in the stomach.
‘Thrown you out, dear fellow?’ he asked, his voice lowered as he peered at Watson, suddenly concerned. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Because of you,’ Watson told him.
‘Me?’ Holmes repeated in surprise. ‘I have done nothing, I assure you. This time, at least,’ he added with a rakish grin in the hopes of gaining a smile.
‘You didn’t need to, apparently,’ Watson said, sighing and resting his head against the sofa. ‘Apparently Mary is a very astute individual, and has chosen to hide the depths of her observations from me until now. She could almost rival you for the deductions she has made about me. And you, I suppose, if she is to be believed.’
Holmes’ mind was racing, trying to piece together the hints Watson was throwing him. What could Mary have decided about the two of them that would cause her to evict her husband from her presence and her premises? Had she found out about their semi-illegal activities, the occasional burglary, or break and enter? The number of times they had looked the other way when elements of the case deserved it? But no, surely Watson had confided these in her long before they married. Watson was such a painfully honest man; he would have seen it necessary to inform his future wife what kind of character she was marrying. Holmes could see he would be forced to wait for Watson to enlighten him.
‘Will you tell me, then, my dear Watson?’ he asked finally, raising an eyebrow. Watson rose and poured himself some brandy, and drank it neatly down. Holmes noted with interest that his hand was shaking.
‘She thinks you are in love with me,’ he said quietly when he sat back down again. He refused to meet Holmes’ questing eyes. Holmes could say nothing to that. He thought he had been so discreet ... How had Mary figured it out when nobody else could?
‘I see,’ he said eventually, when it became clear Watson would say no more until he had made some reply. ‘Surely that is not enough to cause such a quarrel between you?’
‘It’s a little more than a quarrel, Holmes,’ Watson said. ‘She has thrown me out and will not take me back.’
‘Perhaps when she calms down ...’ Holmes gestured helplessly. Watson sighed.
‘You might say that about most women,’ Watson told him. ‘But Mary was perfectly calm and reasonable when she told me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Holmes said, moving to sit with him on the couch. ‘Even if it were true - why should it impact on your relationship? Someone else’s feelings can surely have little effect on a strong marriage between two people who are committed-’
‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it, Holmes?’ Watson exclaimed and stood up, moving to lean against the fireplace. ‘It’s not just someone else’s feelings she thinks she has uncovered. It is mine as well.’
Holmes’ veins ran cold.
‘My dear Watson, what-’
‘She thinks I am in love with you, as well.’ Watson said quietly, more to the fire than to Holmes. ‘Apparently she thought she could break me of it, like a dog, but it seems that six months is enough time to convince her she can’t.’
Holmes was effectively speechless for one of the very few times in his life. He could not have imagined this. That Mary had supposedly have observed what Holmes himself could not was unthinkable.
‘And so you came here,’ Holmes finished. ‘Why here? Of all places? Will it not cause more conflict between you?’
‘There is no conflict,’ Watson reminded him. ‘She told me in a calmly reasoned voice that I was to leave, as she could not stay in a marriage with someone who was not in love with her. I came here because - where else would I go?’ he asked Holmes a little bitterly. ‘I have no other friends, no family. I have only Mary and you, and Mary has released me.’
‘I am your last resort?’ Holmes asked him. Watson smiled sadly.
‘Holmes, you are my only resort. But I-’ he bit his lip on whatever he was about to say and turned away again. Holmes was instantly beside him, pulling on his shoulder to persuade him to turn.
‘Watson,’ he said. ‘Why else are you here?’ He held his breath for the answer, his eyes searching Watson’s desperately. Watson stared at him for a moment and then broke away, laughing harshly.
‘Why am I here? Because I had to know if it was true, didn’t I? If I am going to be forced out of my home for you, I had to know if there was any truth to her accusations.’ He stood in the middle of the room, breathing haggardly, his eyes wildly darting over everything. Holmes could hardly breathe but he made an effort to swallow and take a deep breath before he spoke, staring at the floor.
‘It’s true,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Watson. She is right. At least about my half, but I swear I had no idea she knew.’
He looked up finally, to find Watson had ceased his agitated movements and was still, staring at him from across the room. Holmes shrugged a little awkwardly and made as though to light a pipe. Watson was next to him in a flash, tugging the tobacco from his grasp and continuing his staring from close up. Holmes kept his face neutral and let him stare, watching the thoughts unravel in his friend’s head. He watched as a wondrous look came over the doctor’s face, and his fingers dropped the tobacco to drift over Holmes’ cheekbones. Holmes tried not to shudder or lean into the touch too much but he could not resist closing his eyes, and heard the hitch in Watson’s breathing in response.
They stood there by the fire, breathing together, Holmes with his eyes closed and Watson’s hand on his cheek until Watson rested his head against Holmes’ and Holmes opened his eyes. The look on Watson’s face gave Holmes hope and he leant forward and carefully pressed his lips to his friend’s. The change was instantaneous. Watson pressed back eagerly, all timidness forgotten as he explored Holmes’ mouth. Holmes gripped his shoulders as he fell under the full power of Watson’s kiss, his head spinning as he gave himself to the warm wet heat of his friend’s mouth. He felt Watson’s arm go around him, pulling him closer, the other hand sliding from his cheek into his hair, deepening the kiss as he tilted Holmes’ head back.
Holmes was finding it hard to breathe, his heartbeat coming so fast he could feel it fluttering in his chest. He was gratified to hear Watson’s equally ragged breathing, and broke away to pant into his friend’s neck, until he could find the breath to paint kisses over the flushed skin beneath his cheek. He felt Watson’s groan through his chest and felt the blood rushing urgently southward at knowing he was arousing Watson the way Watson was arousing him.
In a daring move, he slid his hand to Watson’s collar and loosened it, liberating more skin. He followed this by unhooking the top button of his friend’s shirt, and then the second, all the way down until Watson stood before him, shirt and waistcoat hanging open. Watson just looked at him as Holmes avidly took in the sight of him, and then reached for the tie of Holmes’ dressing gown, pushing the material off his shoulders. Holmes was not wearing much underneath and he revelled in the darkening of Watson’s eyes as he realised and ran a feverish hand down Holmes’ side. Holmes watched as Watson shrugged his way out of his own shirt and admiringly sucked one of Holmes’ nipples into his mouth. The heat and the pressure earned a groan from the detective, who involuntarily arched backwards, pulling Watson off-balance and they tumbled heavily to the ground.
‘Watson, what have you done,’ Holmes breathed, as Watson pushed himself up onto his hands and their heated groins brushed together.
‘What I should have done a long time ago, it seems,’ Watson returned with a smile and kissed him, one hand cleverly undoing his own belt buckle. Holmes was too dazed to help for a moment but came to himself a second later and swiftly helped to remove Watson’s remaining clothing. Watson kissed his way down Holmes’ body, refocussing his attention on his nipples, and then further down, until he reached the edge of Holmes’ underwear. He threw a questioning glance up at the detective, who gave a single nod and suddenly the clothing was gone, leaving him exposed completely. Watson’s mouth was around him immediately, sucking expertly as though he did this all the time. Holmes momentarily entertained the horrifying notion that maybe he did and then dismissed it for the pleasure shooting through him.
‘Watson,’ he panted eventually, ‘I - can you please - stop, if you would be so kind.’
Watson looked up, confused, his lips red and wet.
‘Am I-’ he began.
‘No, no, it’s good,’ Holmes replied. ‘I just - I’d rather - could you ...’
Watson’s eyes widened.
‘Holmes, I -’
‘You don’t have to,’ Holmes added hurriedly. ‘I just thought - well, it doesn’t matter, I-’
‘Shut up, Holmes,’ Watson said forcefully and looked around for something to use. Holmes rolled them over and lay on top of his friend as he reached for a draw above their heads. He had the satisfaction of hearing Watson groan as their hips pressed together, and returned to kneel above him, grinning smugly. He held out a little vial of oil towards Watson, who leaned forward to examine the label. He choked as he read it.
‘Lard?’ He asked incredulously. ‘Are you serious?’
Holmes hesitated.
‘I thought -’
Watson laughed, affection creasing his eyes.
‘Oh, Holmes,’ he said with a smile. ‘Only you. I think we can do a bit better than that, however. Hand me my case.’
Holmes raised an eyebrow even as he leaned back and retrieved the doctor’s medical case from behind him, awarding Watson a nice eyeful.
‘You left your hat behind but remembered your case?’ He asked, watching Watson rifle through its contents. A light blush appeared on his face.
‘It was near my cane,’ he mumbled.
‘And your hat wasn’t?’ Holmes asked curiously.
‘If you must know, I’d thrown it down in frustration,’ Watson sighed. ‘It wasn’t fit for wearing.’
‘Ah,’ Holmes said and then watched with interest as Watson found and unstoppered a jar, eyeing Holmes with a hungry look in his eyes.
‘I think you’ll find this much better than lard, my dear Holmes,’ Watson said in a low voice, as he slicked his fingers, Holmes’ eyes following his every move. He leant forward on his knees as the doctor’s hand travelled slowly behind him. He gasped at the first feeling of fingers in such a strange place, but bit his lip and tried to relax. Eventually Watson decided he was ready and rolled them over. Holmes stared up at him, a little overwhelmed, and relaxed when Watson gave him one of those very rare real smiles, and slid into him with one smooth movement. Holmes gritted his teeth against the pain, and was grateful that Watson waited until he could open his eyes before beginning a slow, rhythmic rocking that soon had him gasping.
‘Watson,’ he breathed, ‘I’ll thank you to hurry up.’
Watson looked up, pleasure written all over his face, a drop of sweat hanging precariously off his forehead. Holmes ran a hand into his hair, and another down over the curve of his hip to pull Watson tighter against him. He began to increase the pace; knowing Watson would follow him as he followed him in everything. With a grin that said he knew exactly what Holmes was thinking, Watson wrapped a hand around Holmes’ neglected cock, stroking it just out of time with his thrusts, distracting Holmes so much that he almost didn’t notice when his climax was upon him. He suddenly looked up at Watson with shock written over his face, his mouth open and words trying to form on his lips.
Watson murmured approval and encouragement into his shoulder, disturbing the damp hairs on his collar. The feeling sent a shudder through Holmes, who barely gasped out, ‘oh, oh God, Watson, Watson - John,’ before he came apart under Watson’s hands, shuddering and writhing beneath him. Watson couldn’t help but follow him over a moment later, biting into Holmes’ neck as he did so, muffling his cries into the sweat slicked skin of his friend.
They lay panting together afterwards, catching their breath.
‘Holmes,’ Watson said after a time, his voice husky and a little breathless. ‘Why is there lard in the bottom draw of your desk?’
He felt Holmes smile into his neck, and run an appreciative hand down Watson’s back.
‘Because, my dear Watson, I never know what I might need, you see. If I was somehow handcuffed and unable to reach the keys, I could simply cover my wrists with lard and slip out of them, ’ he began. ‘A very useful substance is lard -’
Watson snorted into Holmes’ shoulder and bit it gently.
‘Only you, Sherlock,’ he said. Holmes smiled.
‘Only me indeed.’