"DETAILS"- HOLMES/WATSON (I KNOW!) for pada_something (Pg 13)
Title: Details
Pairing/fandom: Sherlock Holmes Slash, Holmes/Watson (First-time)
Written by: ellydee27
Beta by: jolinarmalkshur- thanks hon! All remaining errors are my own.
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~1290 words
Summary: Details. It’s all in the details. Noticing them, analyzing them, understanding them - it’s what he does, what he excels at.
A/N: Written for pada_something - for our friendaversary:) Hope you like it, honey, and thanks for the introduction to this fandom!
~~*~~
Details. It’s all in the details.
Noticing them, analyzing them, understanding them - it’s what he does, what he excels at.
A brief look, a slight hesitation, an uncharacteristic fumbling...slight nuances, revealing the tension that Watson shouldn’t feel in his presence.
Strangely, Sherlock doesn’t know the day this all began, when it changed, but he knows the day he notices, the day the proverbial pieces of the puzzle all fit together.
It is November 11th, not an interesting or remarkable day by any means, just a day like any other, apart from the fact that the second that Watson enters his apartment he knows.
Sometime between being roommates, comrades, partners in solving crime or simply companions, something more has developed between them, much to Sherlock’s bewilderment.
It wasn’t his intention, and despite what Watson will say, he does act with intent most of the time. Then again, feelings aren’t exactly conscious or rational, so…
Anyhow. Anyway.
Time, or some entity he can’t name, has changed this something between them, and so, the sound thing to do is either to accept it and move forward, or ignore it and stand still.
Always the advocate for progress, Sherlock quickly decides that the latter is out of the question. Confronting Watson must be done with care though; after all, the man has officially gotten engaged to a woman, so thinking that he is completely open for and comfortable with another relationship of the - romantic kind- would be daft.
“Morning,” he greets his companion, who looks at him sternly, not an uncommon look at all, layered with a hint of amusement, even more common an occurrence.
“Afternoon,” Watson corrects him, and Sherlock shrugs. Not like the hour is of any importance in his profession. At least not when he’s…between projects.
“Afternoon tea then, perhaps?” Sherlock asks, getting up from his place, splayed out on the futon, walking over to the stove to put the kettle on.
“Yes, thank you, I’ve brought those biscuits you like so much.”
Sherlock nods and he’s even more certain of his assumption now. Those biscuits are only sold in a coffee shop all the way down by the Embankment, too far away for Watson’s morning walk, and to Sherlock’s knowledge, he hasn’t taken up home visits as of late.
“Splendid,” he replies, keeping his tone of voice decidedly neutral, listening to the sounds of Watson finding a tray, placing the precious biscuits on it carefully, before starting to roam around and by the sound of it, attempting to tidy the place.
“Don’t - touch anything,” He scolds, turning around, prying the papers out of Watson’s hands, ignoring his annoyed huff and placing the papers back in their assigned place.
Watson moves to the stove and pours the tea into the good pot, and Sherlock hesitates for a moment, wondering if Watson has his own agenda today, or at least a reason to make today’s lunch/brunch/afternoon tea something out of the ordinary.
“So….news?” Sherlock takes a seat, sipping his tea and leaning forward impatiently, trying to stop his knee from bouncing impatiently while Watson takes his sweet time with explaining his behavior.
“No, you?” Watson replies calmly, and Sherlock feels the last of his not-so-impressive patience dwindling away.
“Let’s not do this, Watson,” he starts, ignoring Watson‘s confused look. “I know there’s been a change with you, with us. Either you realize that yourself and you’re simply neglecting to tell me, or you don’t know at all, in which case I have to be the one to enlighten you.”
Watson responds to his speech with nothing but an annoyed huff, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that yes, Sherlock feels a little too strongly about his companion too, he’d be passed mild irritation and getting closer to anger by now.
“Well I know how you love your speeches, so why don’t you enlighten me,” Watson replies snidely.
With a huff, Sherlock gets up from his chair, grabs a biscuit and finishes it in two bites, ignoring his friend’s impatience as revenge for his sarcastic tone.
“Well it’s elementary, Watson. We used to be friends, you were quite happy with our living arrangements, and then at some point, you weren’t anymore. You set out on a mission to find yourself a woman, which you did. Suddenly, our shared rooms weren’t all right with you any longer, and you rushed into an engagement without even introducing her to your supposedly best friend in advance.”
“I didn’t rush…” Watson interrupts, to which Sherlock holds out his hand in the universal stop-sign. Magically, it works.
“Don’t lie. I know your ways, and the engagement was out of character and hurried. So, in conclusion, and yes, I’m skipping ahead here, because frankly, the specifics aren’t all that interesting, but the point is…you have feelings for me. And vice versa.”
“What?” Watson replies, indignant, puffing himself up in his seat in a way that might have convinced anyone else but his current company.
“Shush.” Sherlock ignores the protest and crouches down next to Watson’s chair, watching intently as his friend tries to avoid making eye contact and waiting patiently until he gives in and their eyes lock together. A definite glimmer of panic is playing beneath the stoic expression there, and Sherlock does feel for his friend - but then his compassion has always been surpassed by his curiosity.
Looking for more answers and almost starting to need them, he bounces on his toes, grabbing on to the armrest on Watson’s chair and pulls up enough for them to be at eyelevel. Panic quite obviously hits Watson harder when they’re as close as they are now; his eyes widen and he blinks several times as if in disbelief. Blue irises turn darker before Sherlock’s eyes, and he’s no longer able or willing to resist.
Moving slowly enough for his friend to pull away at any second, if he so wishes, Sherlock leans in for a kiss. It’s really shockingly innocent; gentle and soft and Sherlock even surprises himself with how fleeting he manages to keep it before pulling back.
Details, details.
The hitch of Watson’s breath when he pulls away. The way he subconsciously licks his lower lip; slow, lingering. The way his eyes try to focus on Sherlock’s but are drawn to his mouth instead. The faint flush coloring the tip of his ears.
It all adds up to support Sherlock’s previous conclusion, and he’s about to state as much when his ponderings are rudely interrupted by Watson’s hand on the back of his neck, roughly drawing him in.
Their second kiss is nothing like the first; Watson’s strong hand on his neck holding him close, firm lips pressed against his own, a needy moan elicited from one of them or both and then, all of a sudden, every doubt is silenced, every thought process halted. There’s no room for them anymore, and more importantly, they’re utterly redundant.
Observation. Data. Facts. Details.
It’s a kiss that makes all those words meaningless, distracting Sherlock in a way nothing ever has before. Utterly overwhelmed and strangely unprepared for what such a simple caress could do to him, he surrenders, bewildered, allowing feelings, lust and amazement to steer him away from his normal fortress of reason.
Closing both eyes and diving into the unknown, Sherlock’s never been more scared. Or fascinated.
Details. Observation. Data.
Nowhere near as stimulating or thrilling as a kiss he didn’t even know he had been longing for.
Pairing/fandom: Sherlock Holmes Slash, Holmes/Watson (First-time)
Written by: ellydee27
Beta by: jolinarmalkshur- thanks hon! All remaining errors are my own.
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~1290 words
Summary: Details. It’s all in the details. Noticing them, analyzing them, understanding them - it’s what he does, what he excels at.
A/N: Written for pada_something - for our friendaversary:) Hope you like it, honey, and thanks for the introduction to this fandom!
~~*~~
Details. It’s all in the details.
Noticing them, analyzing them, understanding them - it’s what he does, what he excels at.
A brief look, a slight hesitation, an uncharacteristic fumbling...slight nuances, revealing the tension that Watson shouldn’t feel in his presence.
Strangely, Sherlock doesn’t know the day this all began, when it changed, but he knows the day he notices, the day the proverbial pieces of the puzzle all fit together.
It is November 11th, not an interesting or remarkable day by any means, just a day like any other, apart from the fact that the second that Watson enters his apartment he knows.
Sometime between being roommates, comrades, partners in solving crime or simply companions, something more has developed between them, much to Sherlock’s bewilderment.
It wasn’t his intention, and despite what Watson will say, he does act with intent most of the time. Then again, feelings aren’t exactly conscious or rational, so…
Anyhow. Anyway.
Time, or some entity he can’t name, has changed this something between them, and so, the sound thing to do is either to accept it and move forward, or ignore it and stand still.
Always the advocate for progress, Sherlock quickly decides that the latter is out of the question. Confronting Watson must be done with care though; after all, the man has officially gotten engaged to a woman, so thinking that he is completely open for and comfortable with another relationship of the - romantic kind- would be daft.
“Morning,” he greets his companion, who looks at him sternly, not an uncommon look at all, layered with a hint of amusement, even more common an occurrence.
“Afternoon,” Watson corrects him, and Sherlock shrugs. Not like the hour is of any importance in his profession. At least not when he’s…between projects.
“Afternoon tea then, perhaps?” Sherlock asks, getting up from his place, splayed out on the futon, walking over to the stove to put the kettle on.
“Yes, thank you, I’ve brought those biscuits you like so much.”
Sherlock nods and he’s even more certain of his assumption now. Those biscuits are only sold in a coffee shop all the way down by the Embankment, too far away for Watson’s morning walk, and to Sherlock’s knowledge, he hasn’t taken up home visits as of late.
“Splendid,” he replies, keeping his tone of voice decidedly neutral, listening to the sounds of Watson finding a tray, placing the precious biscuits on it carefully, before starting to roam around and by the sound of it, attempting to tidy the place.
“Don’t - touch anything,” He scolds, turning around, prying the papers out of Watson’s hands, ignoring his annoyed huff and placing the papers back in their assigned place.
Watson moves to the stove and pours the tea into the good pot, and Sherlock hesitates for a moment, wondering if Watson has his own agenda today, or at least a reason to make today’s lunch/brunch/afternoon tea something out of the ordinary.
“So….news?” Sherlock takes a seat, sipping his tea and leaning forward impatiently, trying to stop his knee from bouncing impatiently while Watson takes his sweet time with explaining his behavior.
“No, you?” Watson replies calmly, and Sherlock feels the last of his not-so-impressive patience dwindling away.
“Let’s not do this, Watson,” he starts, ignoring Watson‘s confused look. “I know there’s been a change with you, with us. Either you realize that yourself and you’re simply neglecting to tell me, or you don’t know at all, in which case I have to be the one to enlighten you.”
Watson responds to his speech with nothing but an annoyed huff, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that yes, Sherlock feels a little too strongly about his companion too, he’d be passed mild irritation and getting closer to anger by now.
“Well I know how you love your speeches, so why don’t you enlighten me,” Watson replies snidely.
With a huff, Sherlock gets up from his chair, grabs a biscuit and finishes it in two bites, ignoring his friend’s impatience as revenge for his sarcastic tone.
“Well it’s elementary, Watson. We used to be friends, you were quite happy with our living arrangements, and then at some point, you weren’t anymore. You set out on a mission to find yourself a woman, which you did. Suddenly, our shared rooms weren’t all right with you any longer, and you rushed into an engagement without even introducing her to your supposedly best friend in advance.”
“I didn’t rush…” Watson interrupts, to which Sherlock holds out his hand in the universal stop-sign. Magically, it works.
“Don’t lie. I know your ways, and the engagement was out of character and hurried. So, in conclusion, and yes, I’m skipping ahead here, because frankly, the specifics aren’t all that interesting, but the point is…you have feelings for me. And vice versa.”
“What?” Watson replies, indignant, puffing himself up in his seat in a way that might have convinced anyone else but his current company.
“Shush.” Sherlock ignores the protest and crouches down next to Watson’s chair, watching intently as his friend tries to avoid making eye contact and waiting patiently until he gives in and their eyes lock together. A definite glimmer of panic is playing beneath the stoic expression there, and Sherlock does feel for his friend - but then his compassion has always been surpassed by his curiosity.
Looking for more answers and almost starting to need them, he bounces on his toes, grabbing on to the armrest on Watson’s chair and pulls up enough for them to be at eyelevel. Panic quite obviously hits Watson harder when they’re as close as they are now; his eyes widen and he blinks several times as if in disbelief. Blue irises turn darker before Sherlock’s eyes, and he’s no longer able or willing to resist.
Moving slowly enough for his friend to pull away at any second, if he so wishes, Sherlock leans in for a kiss. It’s really shockingly innocent; gentle and soft and Sherlock even surprises himself with how fleeting he manages to keep it before pulling back.
Details, details.
The hitch of Watson’s breath when he pulls away. The way he subconsciously licks his lower lip; slow, lingering. The way his eyes try to focus on Sherlock’s but are drawn to his mouth instead. The faint flush coloring the tip of his ears.
It all adds up to support Sherlock’s previous conclusion, and he’s about to state as much when his ponderings are rudely interrupted by Watson’s hand on the back of his neck, roughly drawing him in.
Their second kiss is nothing like the first; Watson’s strong hand on his neck holding him close, firm lips pressed against his own, a needy moan elicited from one of them or both and then, all of a sudden, every doubt is silenced, every thought process halted. There’s no room for them anymore, and more importantly, they’re utterly redundant.
Observation. Data. Facts. Details.
It’s a kiss that makes all those words meaningless, distracting Sherlock in a way nothing ever has before. Utterly overwhelmed and strangely unprepared for what such a simple caress could do to him, he surrenders, bewildered, allowing feelings, lust and amazement to steer him away from his normal fortress of reason.
Closing both eyes and diving into the unknown, Sherlock’s never been more scared. Or fascinated.
Details. Observation. Data.
Nowhere near as stimulating or thrilling as a kiss he didn’t even know he had been longing for.