Ducktastic birthday!
Many happy returns to the wonderful lyricalsoul :)
Here is as promised a birthday fic based on your request for a story with "Holmes comforting Watson with a nice bath after a hard day of chasing criminals."
Title: Ducks over Baker Street
Rating: 15
Synopsis: After a hard day crime fighting, our duo have a well deserved bath.
"Gentlemen."
We stopped in our tracks, taking in the terrifying form of an irritated landlady standing with hands firmly upon hips.
"Mrs Hudson, would it be possible for a pot of tea? We've had a trying day." Holmes moved to pass her, but she stopped him with one sharp glance.
"If you think you are traipsing through MY house in that state then you had better think again, MR Holmes."
"Ah... yes, we do seem to be a bit... muddy."
"Muddy! You could have left SOME mud in Dartmoor!" Holmes smiled weakly and I stayed motionless, an irate Mrs Hudson is not someone to be trifled with. "Take off those clothes, and I'll run you a bath, THEN you may have a pot of tea."
"And possibly something to eat? Holmes wouldn't stop for lunch." Or anything else for that matter, I had been forced to cross my legs and think of anything other than water for the last half hour of our journey.
"And something to eat." Mrs Hudson smiled in my direction, she knew how trying Holmes was and I do believe she had a particular soft spot for me.
Holmes clapped his hands, "splendid! Now if you would..." He made to move again.
"Ah! Not so fast, I said NOT in those clothes!"
"But... we're standing in the hallway."
"I don't care if you're standing before the Queen, out of those clothes before you cross the carpet. I'm still trying to get boot stains out from the LAST time the pair of you went swimming in the mud."
Reluctantly we began to remove our outer ware, the maid was sent up the stairs to run the bath and fetch our dressing gowns. Whilst Mrs Hudson was politely looking the other way, I gave Holmes's bottom a playful pinch, which caused him to loose his balance, send the umbrella stand flying and expose his ample backside to his adoring public. I laughed, Holmes blushed and Mrs Hudson fumed.
Finally we were safely into our dressing gowns, sodden clothing in the washing basket and given permission to ascend the stairs to the bathroom, Mrs Hudson went off muttering about the general ineptitude of men and I began to climb the stairs, very much looking forward to soothing relief of a warm bath on my tired muscles and to be finally rid of the several layers of mud that I knew was coating the back of my neck. In the interest of science I had been murdered thirty-three times that afternoon and I was soon beginning to envy the corpse of our poor clients husband.
Holmes climbed silently behind me, still brooding about the case. I signed and resigned myself to a quiet evening of violin scraping, creaking floorboards and pacing. Whilst on a case Holmes ignored all external influences, he went without food, without sleep and without acknowledging any of the basic instincts that I knew him to possess. When he is in this frame of mind it is generally accepted by anyone who knows him that you can get more response from a tea spoon, I decided that after my bath I might head down my club where I would at least have my existence acknowledged.
Once inside the slightly steamy bathroom, I quickly removed my dressing gown and my undergarments before slipping thankfully into the warm water of the bubble bath the maid had prepared for the pair of us. I removed the ever present rubber duck, placing it upon the ledge. I dearly wished I knew where Holmes had obtained such a thing so that I could prepare against the ever increasing presence, it seemed as soon as I got rid of one another one appeared (I have a sneaking suspicion that Mrs Hudson and our maid are happily to oblige in this torture, perhaps they are unaware of the pain the can inflict when sat upon).
To my surprise, Holmes did not join me. Instead he rolled up the sleeves of his dressing gown, picked up the sponge and began to remove the mud from my neck.
"Holmes..."
"Shush." He commanded and I fell silent. "I feel I owe you an apology for my behaviour today." He rinsed out the sponge and began to soothingly rub the tight muscles of my back, encouraging me to lean back on his arms as he repeated his attentions upon my shoulder.
"It's... quite all right." I murmured as he stroked the contours of the scar upon my shoulder. His touch was softer than the sponge, his fingers kneading the tired flesh.
"No, it's not. I made you lie in the cold mud, had you traipsing about the country side and snapped at you numerous times."
"Not to mention causing me to almost ruin a pair of perfectly good trousers."
He paused, "really?"
I looked up at him and had the overwhelming urge to pull him down into the tub. "No."
Without saying a word he guided me back and slowly began to bathe the rest of my body, paying particularly attention to my stomach and to my leg which was having obvious effects upon my physical state that Holmes seemed to be oblivious to. I made a sound somewhere between a groan of frustration and a groan of desperation hoping that he would at least acknowledge his handiwork, but no he continued to sponge my body in an almost dream like trance.
"There's something about this case," He muttered, "that I can't quite grasp."
"Do we have to talk about that now?"
He ignored me, "it all seems wrong, and yet the evidence is shows that it cannot be wrong."
"Perhaps if you slept on it?"
"I doubt I am likely to sleep with this preying upon my mind."
"Sometimes things are staring us in the face, there are conclusions that are obvious." I jerked my hips towards the hand nearest my groin.
"I feel that you're right." He allowed his hand to drop into the water, inches away from my need. "There's something I've overlooked."
I couldn't take much more of this: "For god's sake Holmes, stop brooding and bugger me!"
He stared at me, "I was planning to."
"You... were?"
"Yes. The fact that half the street now knows this as well...."
I quickly interrupted him, "well why were you being so damned irritating?!"
"Dear me Watson, I must remember to feed you more often, you are much more playful and obliging on a full stomach."
In revenge, I threw the rubber duck at him. He retaliated by flinging the wet sponge at me, and missing by several feet. Soon we were both grappling together on the wet bathroom floor, water everywhere and our troubles very quickly forgotten. The fact it cost us both several pounds to repair the damage to the ceiling of the floor below was certainly worth what I can say was the most complete attention I had had in a long time.
I must say that now I am much more favourable towards rubber ducks, although I suspect the manufacturer would have a embolism if he were to learn of Holmes's ingenious use of them.
I planning to cook chicken Balti with rice for dinner today. I have never cooked Indian food before (sauce from a jar, shush not cheating) and I have had mixed success with rice so I will let you all know how things go. Other tasks today include go the laundrette and watch films.