FIC: By Any Other Size (H/W - Book, Post-Retire)
Title: By Any Other Size
Fandom/Verse: Sherlock Holmes, Book'verse AT post-retirement
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: R (for sexual content)
Summary: For this shkinkmeme prompt: "Watson starts gaining weight now that they're getting older while Holmes stays thin as a rake. He's embaaaaarrassed and Holmes has to convince him that he still loves his body."
~*~
It was well into the fifth year of Holmes' and my retirement to the seaside when I unpacked my summer trousers one morning, fully intending to wear them to breakfast. Not a remarkable occurrence within itself except for the fact that while they'd grown progressively snugger over the last few seasons, this time, they simply would not close.
At all.
In fact, the button was separated from its resting place by a good few inches. At first, I thought there was some mistake. I had somehow managed to mix Holmes' pants among my own or perhaps they'd been washed in water too hot or some other such mishap.
It wasn't until I started trying on all my other summer attire did I realize that the 'occasional' taking out of my winter wear had added up to what amounted to a colossal weight gain of about two stone.
Mortified, I sat down heavily on the bed, wincing at how my belly stuck out as I did so. How the devil did this happen I wondered, although in my heart, I knew perfectly well that eating like a starving bulldog and sitting on one's behind all day had a tendency to cause such a result.
As a physician, I knew perfectly well what I had to do, as distasteful as it seemed. I suddenly felt a surge of empathy for overweight patients I'd berated in the past. I now saw how easy it was for such a drastic change to creep up on one and how unhappy a prospect it would be to change a lifetime of habits.
"Well, soldier. Enough with the self-pity and on with the discipline, I ordered myself, pulling on my altered woolen pants, their hot itch reminding me of my folly.
It was bland food, very little of it and long walks for the foreseeable future. Already my stomach was growling at the thought and I joined Holmes at the breakfast table in a bad humour indeed.
Of course, as fate would have it, he was in one of his hungry moods, already stuffing ham and thick, buttered toast in his mouth as if a famine were eminent. "Good morning, dear Watson," he said, before attacking the poached eggs covered in Hollandaise sauce. "You're in for a treat this morning. The sauce is particularly good."
I stared at him and his rake thin frame resentfully. How was it that I had slowly turned into a mustachioed walrus while he remained as slim as a whippet? We ate the same and by God, if I had a thousand pounds for every time he took exercise, I'd be in the poor house.
With a low grumble, I deliberately took a single, unbuttered slice of toast and bit into it with a wince. It was dry and nowhere near enough to sate a grown man's hunger, but it had to do. Once it was finished, I took my tea, without milk or sugar and pushed my plate away.
Holmes blinked at me in confusion. "Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not," I mumbled in reply, opening the paper, holding it up as to obscure the delicious feast from my view.
"What's wrong?" Concern colored his tone.
I flapped the paper down with extreme annoyance. "I'm a fat bastard, that's what's wrong! I can't believe you let me go on like this without saying a single word. Great observer, my ass. My gigantic ass, that is."
"Oh. That." Holmes bit his lip and shrugged. "I did notice but as we are retired I didn't think much of it."
I gaped at him. "Not think much of it?" I glanced around, making sure that Mrs. Hudson was not in hearing range. "And I suppose seeing me naked like this has been a very inspiring experience. Honestly, Holmes, I would have told you."
To his credit, he looked honestly confused. "It truly didn't cross my mind as a problem. I find you just as alluring now as ever, my dear. Surely I haven't acted any differently in private."
"You're too polite," I snapped, even if somewhere in the back of my mind I could hardly remember the last time 'polite' could be used to describe my friend. "But it doesn't matter. I'm committed to ridding myself of this overabundance of flesh so if you don't mind, I'd appreciate no more talk of delicious food or encouragement to abandon my resolve."
"All right," he agreed. He patted my hand and went back to his breakfast with noisy abandon.
I've always loved Holmes, it's true, but at that moment, slurping his sweet tea and smacking his lips after the third jam-slathered scone, I was quite sure I disliked him enough to shove the butter dish right up his nose.
Which I didn't, but by God, I wanted to.
~*~
By mid-morning I was starving and dizzy, but dutifully took my walk among the hot dunes, reminding myself that I had been a soldier once, suffering under much worse conditions.
Unfortunately that had been thirty years ago. By the third weak stumble, I sat down heavily, heaving for breath, despising myself deeply for allowing myself to get so out of shape. For the hundredth time that day, I cursed and headed back to our cottage where our lunch awaited.
Holmes must have mentioned something to Mrs. Hudson as my plate was already set out for me, sparsely laden with raw vegetable matter; a stalk of celery, a single carrot and a few wilted lettuce leaves.
I was so hungry and discouraged by this time I nearly wept, but pride triumphed and I crunched on my celery with as manly a demeanor as I could manage.
Holmes, of course, saw no such need for austerity and was eating his usual allotment of cold beef, buttered bread, thick soup and a glass of beer. He nodded at me encouragingly, foam on his upper lip and it took an inhuman amount of restraint not to grab his plate and ram its contents into my mouth.
He must have seen this, slowly pulling his dish out of my reach. "So what news do you think is in town today? I think they'll be all abuzz over the upcoming horse races."
"Who cares?" I snapped, taking a vicious bite out of the carrot.
Holmes winced at this uncharacteristic bit of rudeness. "The bees are doing well," he rejoined mildly. "We should have a wonderful harvest this year. Lots of honey ..." He paused, his eyes wide. "For bottling, that is."
"Stupid bees," I snarled. "Who was the idiot who first stuck his hand a hive and decided it was a good idea to eat what came out of an insect's bottom?"
"Technically it doesn't come out of their bottoms," Holmes corrected, his voice fading at my glare. He rose hurriedly. "Speaking of bees, I should look in on them. See you a bit later?"
"If I'm not dead of hunger, than yes," I rejoined with as much self-righteousness as I could muster, as weak as I was.
Holmes leaned close and whispered in my ear. "Try to cheer up a bit, my dearest. You're very concerned over very little."
I snorted at him, but leaned into the peck he bestowed on my forehead. With a sigh, I tossed the carrot aside. Taking a seat in the garden with my book, I endeavored to concentrate on my reading over the rumbling of my gut. I calmed a little and eventually fell into a refreshing nap, which unfortunately I woke from absolutely famished.
It was just suppertime and I despaired knowing that I had to eat, but hating the very thought of doing so. It turned out to be another miserable meal and the day ended with me as disheartened as I'd ever been, knowing that this particular road was going to be a very long, very unhappy one.
Worse yet, when Holmes climbed into bed and patted the space next to him, I sighed and shied away from the obvious offer. "I don't think I'm up to anything tonight," I said, quickly amending my tone at the sight of hurt in his eyes. "I'm merely exhausted, that's all."
His sharp gaze narrowed. "Watson ..." There was a note of warning in his voice that I chose to ignore.
A bad idea. "Holmes, I simply feel wretched and disgusting and ..."
That was as far as I got when he leapt up with great fervor and pushed me onto the bed, his intent clear. With amazing swiftness, he fastened my hands to the headboard with my belt, ignoring my feeble protests. I found myself unable to do anything but watch as he worshiped my body with as great a show of enthusiasm as I'd ever seen, even in our fevered youth. Slowly, I began to feel less like a worthless unattractive creature and more like a cherished lover who would be adored no matter what changes would come with time.
It seemed that it didn't really matter at all to Holmes who looked as aroused and delighted as always at my responses. Eventually he released me and I paid him back in kind, watching as he arched and called my name, his eyes open the entire time and fixed on me with enough passion and fascination to make Adonis jealous.
Afterwards, I felt energized and exceedingly grateful. "Thank you for loving me," I whispered to him once we were settled. "No matter what."
He shook his head and laughed, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I should be saying that to you, a thousand times over, once for every day you've spent putting up with me for all these years. Besides ..." he said, sliding down and tickling my belly button with his tongue before licking broad stripes over my stomach, making me squirm and laugh. "I find you rather sweet at this weight. A soft, cuddly Watson to keep these old stick bones of mine comforted at night."
I ruffled his hair affectionately. "I still plan on taking most of it off. But perhaps a less stringent approach will suffice."
"Whatever you wish," Holmes yawned, curling around me like a great cat. "Besides, I hear some doctors claim that love-making is excellent exercise."
I smiled and closed my eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."
And so I would.
~*~
end
Fandom/Verse: Sherlock Holmes, Book'verse AT post-retirement
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: R (for sexual content)
Summary: For this shkinkmeme prompt: "Watson starts gaining weight now that they're getting older while Holmes stays thin as a rake. He's embaaaaarrassed and Holmes has to convince him that he still loves his body."
~*~
It was well into the fifth year of Holmes' and my retirement to the seaside when I unpacked my summer trousers one morning, fully intending to wear them to breakfast. Not a remarkable occurrence within itself except for the fact that while they'd grown progressively snugger over the last few seasons, this time, they simply would not close.
At all.
In fact, the button was separated from its resting place by a good few inches. At first, I thought there was some mistake. I had somehow managed to mix Holmes' pants among my own or perhaps they'd been washed in water too hot or some other such mishap.
It wasn't until I started trying on all my other summer attire did I realize that the 'occasional' taking out of my winter wear had added up to what amounted to a colossal weight gain of about two stone.
Mortified, I sat down heavily on the bed, wincing at how my belly stuck out as I did so. How the devil did this happen I wondered, although in my heart, I knew perfectly well that eating like a starving bulldog and sitting on one's behind all day had a tendency to cause such a result.
As a physician, I knew perfectly well what I had to do, as distasteful as it seemed. I suddenly felt a surge of empathy for overweight patients I'd berated in the past. I now saw how easy it was for such a drastic change to creep up on one and how unhappy a prospect it would be to change a lifetime of habits.
"Well, soldier. Enough with the self-pity and on with the discipline, I ordered myself, pulling on my altered woolen pants, their hot itch reminding me of my folly.
It was bland food, very little of it and long walks for the foreseeable future. Already my stomach was growling at the thought and I joined Holmes at the breakfast table in a bad humour indeed.
Of course, as fate would have it, he was in one of his hungry moods, already stuffing ham and thick, buttered toast in his mouth as if a famine were eminent. "Good morning, dear Watson," he said, before attacking the poached eggs covered in Hollandaise sauce. "You're in for a treat this morning. The sauce is particularly good."
I stared at him and his rake thin frame resentfully. How was it that I had slowly turned into a mustachioed walrus while he remained as slim as a whippet? We ate the same and by God, if I had a thousand pounds for every time he took exercise, I'd be in the poor house.
With a low grumble, I deliberately took a single, unbuttered slice of toast and bit into it with a wince. It was dry and nowhere near enough to sate a grown man's hunger, but it had to do. Once it was finished, I took my tea, without milk or sugar and pushed my plate away.
Holmes blinked at me in confusion. "Are you all right?"
"No, I'm not," I mumbled in reply, opening the paper, holding it up as to obscure the delicious feast from my view.
"What's wrong?" Concern colored his tone.
I flapped the paper down with extreme annoyance. "I'm a fat bastard, that's what's wrong! I can't believe you let me go on like this without saying a single word. Great observer, my ass. My gigantic ass, that is."
"Oh. That." Holmes bit his lip and shrugged. "I did notice but as we are retired I didn't think much of it."
I gaped at him. "Not think much of it?" I glanced around, making sure that Mrs. Hudson was not in hearing range. "And I suppose seeing me naked like this has been a very inspiring experience. Honestly, Holmes, I would have told you."
To his credit, he looked honestly confused. "It truly didn't cross my mind as a problem. I find you just as alluring now as ever, my dear. Surely I haven't acted any differently in private."
"You're too polite," I snapped, even if somewhere in the back of my mind I could hardly remember the last time 'polite' could be used to describe my friend. "But it doesn't matter. I'm committed to ridding myself of this overabundance of flesh so if you don't mind, I'd appreciate no more talk of delicious food or encouragement to abandon my resolve."
"All right," he agreed. He patted my hand and went back to his breakfast with noisy abandon.
I've always loved Holmes, it's true, but at that moment, slurping his sweet tea and smacking his lips after the third jam-slathered scone, I was quite sure I disliked him enough to shove the butter dish right up his nose.
Which I didn't, but by God, I wanted to.
~*~
By mid-morning I was starving and dizzy, but dutifully took my walk among the hot dunes, reminding myself that I had been a soldier once, suffering under much worse conditions.
Unfortunately that had been thirty years ago. By the third weak stumble, I sat down heavily, heaving for breath, despising myself deeply for allowing myself to get so out of shape. For the hundredth time that day, I cursed and headed back to our cottage where our lunch awaited.
Holmes must have mentioned something to Mrs. Hudson as my plate was already set out for me, sparsely laden with raw vegetable matter; a stalk of celery, a single carrot and a few wilted lettuce leaves.
I was so hungry and discouraged by this time I nearly wept, but pride triumphed and I crunched on my celery with as manly a demeanor as I could manage.
Holmes, of course, saw no such need for austerity and was eating his usual allotment of cold beef, buttered bread, thick soup and a glass of beer. He nodded at me encouragingly, foam on his upper lip and it took an inhuman amount of restraint not to grab his plate and ram its contents into my mouth.
He must have seen this, slowly pulling his dish out of my reach. "So what news do you think is in town today? I think they'll be all abuzz over the upcoming horse races."
"Who cares?" I snapped, taking a vicious bite out of the carrot.
Holmes winced at this uncharacteristic bit of rudeness. "The bees are doing well," he rejoined mildly. "We should have a wonderful harvest this year. Lots of honey ..." He paused, his eyes wide. "For bottling, that is."
"Stupid bees," I snarled. "Who was the idiot who first stuck his hand a hive and decided it was a good idea to eat what came out of an insect's bottom?"
"Technically it doesn't come out of their bottoms," Holmes corrected, his voice fading at my glare. He rose hurriedly. "Speaking of bees, I should look in on them. See you a bit later?"
"If I'm not dead of hunger, than yes," I rejoined with as much self-righteousness as I could muster, as weak as I was.
Holmes leaned close and whispered in my ear. "Try to cheer up a bit, my dearest. You're very concerned over very little."
I snorted at him, but leaned into the peck he bestowed on my forehead. With a sigh, I tossed the carrot aside. Taking a seat in the garden with my book, I endeavored to concentrate on my reading over the rumbling of my gut. I calmed a little and eventually fell into a refreshing nap, which unfortunately I woke from absolutely famished.
It was just suppertime and I despaired knowing that I had to eat, but hating the very thought of doing so. It turned out to be another miserable meal and the day ended with me as disheartened as I'd ever been, knowing that this particular road was going to be a very long, very unhappy one.
Worse yet, when Holmes climbed into bed and patted the space next to him, I sighed and shied away from the obvious offer. "I don't think I'm up to anything tonight," I said, quickly amending my tone at the sight of hurt in his eyes. "I'm merely exhausted, that's all."
His sharp gaze narrowed. "Watson ..." There was a note of warning in his voice that I chose to ignore.
A bad idea. "Holmes, I simply feel wretched and disgusting and ..."
That was as far as I got when he leapt up with great fervor and pushed me onto the bed, his intent clear. With amazing swiftness, he fastened my hands to the headboard with my belt, ignoring my feeble protests. I found myself unable to do anything but watch as he worshiped my body with as great a show of enthusiasm as I'd ever seen, even in our fevered youth. Slowly, I began to feel less like a worthless unattractive creature and more like a cherished lover who would be adored no matter what changes would come with time.
It seemed that it didn't really matter at all to Holmes who looked as aroused and delighted as always at my responses. Eventually he released me and I paid him back in kind, watching as he arched and called my name, his eyes open the entire time and fixed on me with enough passion and fascination to make Adonis jealous.
Afterwards, I felt energized and exceedingly grateful. "Thank you for loving me," I whispered to him once we were settled. "No matter what."
He shook his head and laughed, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I should be saying that to you, a thousand times over, once for every day you've spent putting up with me for all these years. Besides ..." he said, sliding down and tickling my belly button with his tongue before licking broad stripes over my stomach, making me squirm and laugh. "I find you rather sweet at this weight. A soft, cuddly Watson to keep these old stick bones of mine comforted at night."
I ruffled his hair affectionately. "I still plan on taking most of it off. But perhaps a less stringent approach will suffice."
"Whatever you wish," Holmes yawned, curling around me like a great cat. "Besides, I hear some doctors claim that love-making is excellent exercise."
I smiled and closed my eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."
And so I would.
~*~
end