FIC: HOLMES/WATSON (9 of 12)
Title: Uncharted
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Warning: Fluffy smut. Slow-building.
Beta: anoncomment7
Summary: The thought of loving a man more than startles Watson. Holmes leads the way.
Previous: Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
Chapter Nine:
--The following morning--
Holmes sat on the floor of his room in a meditative pose, eyes closed. He had read of this relaxation technique quite a while ago, but had never seen fit to implement the method until this very hour. The reasoning behind this sudden foray into Eastern practices was exclusively for the betterment of his spine which, as of late, had endured a night of crooked torture curled up in his favorite chair. Upon waking, the detective was undoubtedly certain that, if he did not spend at least fifteen minutes sitting next to a particular doctor who was making use of his pallet, he would surely suffer terrific agony.
His right eye opened just enough to fixate on the man in front of him, then swiftly shut closed when he saw Watson shift and move in a way that indicated he was rising to greet the day. Holmes held his position and deepened his breathing, all for the sake of his feeble, strained spinal cord.
In the self-created darkness, he heard Watson’s groggy voice. “Holmes? Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”
“Ah, Watson,” Holmes greeted him in an innocently surprised tone. “Please, pay no mind, I am merely utilizing an ancient form of stress alleviation.”
“Does it work?” Watson asked, smothering a yawn.
“Not when there are such stirring recent memories demanding my attention.” Holmes ignored Watson’s sly eye roll. “But otherwise I should think it would be a highly useful endeavor to pursue on a regular basis. If I was the type of personality to follow things on a consistent level, I would be ferociously excited.”
“That’s exactly the type of personality you are.”
“Well then, I’m ferociously excited.” Holmes peeked at the man before him. “Good morning, Watson.”
“Good morning, Holmes.”
Watson sat up in his shirt and underpants, his eyes adjusting to the light that streamed in from the windows. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Judging from the way the light has changed,” Holmes contemplated, allowing himself to gaze fully upon Watson, “I would say approximately an hour.”
“Is that common for this kind of thing?”
Holmes’ smile was kept completely interior. “I don’t believe so.”
“Then, since I have awakened to find you in an appropriately distinctive position and allowed you to uphold your reputation as an eccentric, might you relax?”
Now Holmes’ smile was rising to the exterior. “Your powers of deductive reasoning are coming along quite nicely.”
The detective broke free from his rigid posture and, without a word, moved around until his head was resting on Watson’s lap.
“Wait,” Watson protested, “what are you doing now?”
“Upholding my reputation as an eccentric,” Holmes answered calmly, curling up on his side.
Watson sighed, but the affection in the exhale was inescapably apparent. “What if I want breakfast?”
“Then you’ll have to disturb me.”
“You’re disturbed enough.”
Holmes looked up. “Is that wordplay? At this hour?” He snuggled in closer to the doctor. “I’m taken back by your behavior this morning, Watson. It normally takes you at least until the afternoon to keep up with my mental capacities.”
Watson slapped Holmes on the ear, the latter jerking up into a sitting position. Holmes held the side of his face, giving Watson an angelically inquisitive expression.
“I’m hungry,” Watson stressed, obviously proud of his actions.
“If you insist.”
Leaning forward, Holmes gave Watson a long, yet entirely chaste, kiss on the mouth. When he pulled away, he let himself hover so that their noses were nearly touching. There was a new air about the room, a charged atmosphere that always saw fit to settle down on the pair whenever happenings like this deigned to occur. Holmes had become rather fond of the odd ambience, and he wondered if Watson had ever noticed it.
“That’s not what I meant,” Watson said, his voice now distinctively lower than before.
“My apologies,” Holmes replied, “I hadn’t felt properly reassured that such a maneuver wouldn’t result in abject bedlam until recently.”
Watson’s sigh of exasperation was slower this time. Holmes couldn’t help but be pleased with himself as Watson drifted forward to meet his lips. Just as their mouths ghosted over each other, the doorbell rang loudly and jarred them both out of their respective trances. Watson’s eyes went wide as he looked down, gawking at his blatantly unsuitable attire. Holmes noted the reaction as alarm sped up his heart, but he refused to seem outwardly flustered.
“I’ll answer the door while you dress,” Holmes instructed, climbing to his feet.
Clearly panicking, Watson scrambled to the best of his ability, making a bee line for the closet. Holmes tied his robe closed as he hastily exited the room and flew down the stairs. Crossing the foyer, he paused at the front door to regulate his breathing until it was of a routine pace, then turned the handle and pulled.
Mary Morstan stood patiently on the other side.
“You underestimate me, Mr. Holmes.”
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Warning: Fluffy smut. Slow-building.
Beta: anoncomment7
Summary: The thought of loving a man more than startles Watson. Holmes leads the way.
Previous: Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
Chapter Nine:
--The following morning--
Holmes sat on the floor of his room in a meditative pose, eyes closed. He had read of this relaxation technique quite a while ago, but had never seen fit to implement the method until this very hour. The reasoning behind this sudden foray into Eastern practices was exclusively for the betterment of his spine which, as of late, had endured a night of crooked torture curled up in his favorite chair. Upon waking, the detective was undoubtedly certain that, if he did not spend at least fifteen minutes sitting next to a particular doctor who was making use of his pallet, he would surely suffer terrific agony.
His right eye opened just enough to fixate on the man in front of him, then swiftly shut closed when he saw Watson shift and move in a way that indicated he was rising to greet the day. Holmes held his position and deepened his breathing, all for the sake of his feeble, strained spinal cord.
In the self-created darkness, he heard Watson’s groggy voice. “Holmes? Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”
“Ah, Watson,” Holmes greeted him in an innocently surprised tone. “Please, pay no mind, I am merely utilizing an ancient form of stress alleviation.”
“Does it work?” Watson asked, smothering a yawn.
“Not when there are such stirring recent memories demanding my attention.” Holmes ignored Watson’s sly eye roll. “But otherwise I should think it would be a highly useful endeavor to pursue on a regular basis. If I was the type of personality to follow things on a consistent level, I would be ferociously excited.”
“That’s exactly the type of personality you are.”
“Well then, I’m ferociously excited.” Holmes peeked at the man before him. “Good morning, Watson.”
“Good morning, Holmes.”
Watson sat up in his shirt and underpants, his eyes adjusting to the light that streamed in from the windows. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Judging from the way the light has changed,” Holmes contemplated, allowing himself to gaze fully upon Watson, “I would say approximately an hour.”
“Is that common for this kind of thing?”
Holmes’ smile was kept completely interior. “I don’t believe so.”
“Then, since I have awakened to find you in an appropriately distinctive position and allowed you to uphold your reputation as an eccentric, might you relax?”
Now Holmes’ smile was rising to the exterior. “Your powers of deductive reasoning are coming along quite nicely.”
The detective broke free from his rigid posture and, without a word, moved around until his head was resting on Watson’s lap.
“Wait,” Watson protested, “what are you doing now?”
“Upholding my reputation as an eccentric,” Holmes answered calmly, curling up on his side.
Watson sighed, but the affection in the exhale was inescapably apparent. “What if I want breakfast?”
“Then you’ll have to disturb me.”
“You’re disturbed enough.”
Holmes looked up. “Is that wordplay? At this hour?” He snuggled in closer to the doctor. “I’m taken back by your behavior this morning, Watson. It normally takes you at least until the afternoon to keep up with my mental capacities.”
Watson slapped Holmes on the ear, the latter jerking up into a sitting position. Holmes held the side of his face, giving Watson an angelically inquisitive expression.
“I’m hungry,” Watson stressed, obviously proud of his actions.
“If you insist.”
Leaning forward, Holmes gave Watson a long, yet entirely chaste, kiss on the mouth. When he pulled away, he let himself hover so that their noses were nearly touching. There was a new air about the room, a charged atmosphere that always saw fit to settle down on the pair whenever happenings like this deigned to occur. Holmes had become rather fond of the odd ambience, and he wondered if Watson had ever noticed it.
“That’s not what I meant,” Watson said, his voice now distinctively lower than before.
“My apologies,” Holmes replied, “I hadn’t felt properly reassured that such a maneuver wouldn’t result in abject bedlam until recently.”
Watson’s sigh of exasperation was slower this time. Holmes couldn’t help but be pleased with himself as Watson drifted forward to meet his lips. Just as their mouths ghosted over each other, the doorbell rang loudly and jarred them both out of their respective trances. Watson’s eyes went wide as he looked down, gawking at his blatantly unsuitable attire. Holmes noted the reaction as alarm sped up his heart, but he refused to seem outwardly flustered.
“I’ll answer the door while you dress,” Holmes instructed, climbing to his feet.
Clearly panicking, Watson scrambled to the best of his ability, making a bee line for the closet. Holmes tied his robe closed as he hastily exited the room and flew down the stairs. Crossing the foyer, he paused at the front door to regulate his breathing until it was of a routine pace, then turned the handle and pulled.
Mary Morstan stood patiently on the other side.
“You underestimate me, Mr. Holmes.”