A/N: Well, here we are. I won't bother prattling on like I usually do because you know how much I love you and how much I have appreciated your reviews. Obviously, I never would have been able to do this without you. So thank you very, very much.

I'm kinda sad to be finishing this. But of course there will be more. The TV series 'Sherlock' just made it to Australia and I've seen two episodes so far. It's amazing. BC is just... the sex. I can think of lots of situations I'd like to see him in. Most of them involving him on his knees with no clothing on. So we'll see xD

But anyway. I hope this doesn't disappoint. There be porns! Yay! Enjoy and farewell.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter thirty-one-

Watson was woken abruptly at ten past two in the morning by a light glowing through the darkness from the crack between the bathroom door and the carpet.

He sat up, blinking blearily and stretching his still slightly sore legs out under the covers. He rubbed his eyes and glanced beside him to where Holmes lay.

"Holmes?" He said confusedly, as he realised that the covers were thrown back from Holmes's side of the bed and the detective was nowhere to be seen.

Watson listened for the sound of Holmes in the bathroom. He expected to hear the water running or the sound of the water closet but there was silence. There weren't even footsteps. Watson swallowed.

He stepped gingerly down onto the carpet. The fireplace was burning low, sending an eerie yellow glow across the floor. "Holmes?" He hissed.

There was silence. Watson stared across the room to the bed opposite. It was empty. Watson bit his lip. He felt a flutter of panic in his chest.


He hurried to the hallway door and threw it open. The hallway was empty. The lights were dimmed. Watson slammed it closed and stared around the room, his heart pounding.

He ran a clammy hand through his hair. He was trying to think what could have compelled Holmes to leave him in the middle of the night. Most likely it was a lead on his case. But he would have woken Watson. Surely, he would have.

He stood frozen in the middle of the room, trying to quell a growing sense of dread.

That dread became full-blown panic when the bathroom door suddenly creaked on its hinges.

He heard a scream leave his mouth of a tone he wasn't even aware he could still reach.

Holmes's bemused, sleep dulled eyes widened and he stopped short in the doorway. "W-what's wrong?" He asked confusedly, staring around.

Watson stared at him; his heart almost bursting out of his chest. "What the hell were you doing in there?" He spluttered.

Holmes pushed his fringe out of his face. "I... I was just..." He rubbed his forehead. "Nothing."

Watson put his hands on his hips. "You almost gave me heart failure. I thought..." He hesitated.

Holmes didn't seem to be listening; he shuffled over to the bed and flopped down on his back. "Why are you up?"

"I woke up and you were gone." Watson said quietly, conscious of the note of accusation in his voice.

Holmes yawned. "I couldn't sleep."

"Why were you in the bathroom?" Watson said disbelievingly. "Were you sleeping in there?"

"I didn't want to disturb you." Holmes said with a shrug.

Watson stared at him. He felt a flicker of annoyance. "Well, it seems very odd that you would lock yourself in the bathroom. You could have at least woken me to tell me."

Holmes sat up, laughing humourlessly. "I can just imagine how pleased you would be if I woke you up in the middle of the night to notify you of my planning to go into the bathroom." He paused, studying Watson's face. "What is the matter? I'm sure you're not being serious." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you?"

Watson twisted his nightshirt in his hands. He was feeling increasingly stupid. "I..." He stared at the ground, begging himself not to blush.

"Oh, my sweet Watson," Holmes said fondly. "Did you think I'd left you?"

"No..." Watson said awkwardly.

Holmes stood up, gently tugging Watson towards him. Watson sheepishly met his eye. "You were." Holmes said wryly, studying Watson's face. "That was quite an impressive scream. I wasn't aware you could still reach that note."

"Shut up." Watson said, blushing furiously. "You gave me a terrible fright."

"Mmm I'm sorry." Holmes said, kissing him gently. "But you should know by now that I'm hardly going to just run off. It's taken a terrible amount of effort to make you mine. I'm not taking that for granted."

"I didn't think you'd run off." Watson said in a muffled voice as Holmes pressed his mouth against him again.

Holmes put his arms around Watson's neck, gazing up at the taller man. "Do you want to know the truth?" He smiled sheepishly.

Watson frowned at him. "Yes, of course."

Holmes eyed him knowingly. "I went into the bathroom to... relieve tension." He paused. "If you understand my meaning."

Watson did understand. "Holmes!" He exclaimed, pulling away. "That's revolting!"

"Oh, please," Holmes said, not letting go of Watson's neck. "I'll wager I do it less than you."

"Poppycock." Watson mumbled.

"I promise you're the only one I think of." Holmes said softly, staring at Watson's soft mouth just a few inches from his.

"I don't want to know!" Watson exclaimed, though he stopped struggling.

Holmes pressed his lips into Watson's neck. "It's almost three," He said softly, feeling the doctor shiver slightly at the vibrations Holmes's lips made against his skin. "Everyone is in bed."

Watson shivered against him. "You should go to bed too." He muttered, tilting his head as Holmes began to nuzzle into the sensitive flesh beneath his jaw.

"I'm not tired." Holmes said, looking up at Watson from under his eyelashes.

Watson felt a pulse in his stomach. "No," He said weakly, shaking his head. "No, no. We can't."

Holmes licked Watson's neck and listened with satisfaction as the breath caught in the doctor's throat. "That nightshirt of yours is very thin, Watson. It doesn't cover very much at all." He slid a hand down and touched the subtle bump between Watson's legs.

Watson flushed and pulled himself away, tugging the hem of his shirt down.

He could feel the heat and blood rushing to his groin. "You know we can't. Everyone will hear us." Watson said, very conscious of Holmes's eyes roaming all over him. "These walls are paper thin."

Holmes reached a hand across and stroked Watson's chin. "Don't tell me you're frightened." He said, smiling slightly.

He turned and knelt on the bed, Watson wanted to look away but his eyes refused to obey.

He watched in agony as Holmes turned to face him, his figure almost completely imprinted against the thin nightshirt. Slowly, he pulled the flimsy garment over his head, revealing his figure inch by inch. His firm upper-arms, his muscular, creamy torso and the dark patch of pubic hair, sitting in curls around his already partly-erect cock.

Watson weakly shook his head, unable to look away as Holmes dropped the nightshirt onto the floor. He tried, fruitlessly, not to openly ogle Holmes's naked form but his eyes seemed to have their own agenda as they hungrily roamed up and down Holmes's body. Holmes was perfect. He must have known it; he seemed completely at ease in the nude while Watson couldn't stand to be naked, even in front of Holmes.

Holmes delighted in the way Watson stared at him, unable to look away. Having Watson's eyes on him, knowing how he desired him was the most exhilarating sensation he had ever experienced.

"Holmes," Watson said reproachfully. "You're depraved."

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "At least I admit to it." He nodded towards the front of Watson's nightshirt.

Watson looked down; he was protruding through the material. He bit his lip. "Don't make a sound." He ordered, finally going to the bed.

Holmes received him triumphantly into his arms. He wasted no time, immediately tugging Watson's nightshirt over his head, tossing it across the floor and pulling him onto the bed beside him. Watson knelt against Holmes, wobbling slightly on his sore legs.

"If the hotel staff aren't used to the sounds of people fucking by now," Holmes said wryly. "They never will be."

Watson was helplessly aware of Holmes's warm form against him and every unconscious caress and touch of his body. "I don't suppose it matters a straw to you," He breathed. "If they hear us or not."

Holmes rolled his hips forward, pinning their heated flesh together. Watson exhaled, rubbing himself instinctively against Holmes. "If you get any harder, it might snap off." Holmes teased, reaching down and gently stroking a finger down Watson's straining cock.

"Ah!" Watson gritted his teeth, trying to heed his own warning and stay quiet. "Holmes."

Holmes didn't seem to hear him. He clasped their twin erections, rubbing them purposefully against each other. Pleasure pulsed powerfully through Watson's stomach down to the tip of his cock. He threw his head back, trying desperately not to cry out.

"Holmes." He snapped, pushing Holmes away to create the barest of spaces between them. His privates immediately ached for contact again. He could hardly keep control of his body and the desire to rub himself against Holmes again.

Holmes saw it; he knew how painfully Watson desired him. "What are you afraid of?" He said, lowering his eyes to Watson's hard, aroused flesh. He eyed it with satisfaction; he knew that Watson's desperation, the fierce and burning lust that was pumping through him was all his doing.

Holmes leant back, admiring Watson's figure on the rumpled white covers. He traced his eyes down Watson's skin, the tanned shoulders, the strong arms, the flat and slightly paler stomach with the crisscross of scars. The tussle of fair hair between his nipples and that which led like a little pathway down from his navel to the space between his legs. Watson awkwardly tried to cover himself, conscious of Holmes's eyes on him.

"Don't you dare. I need to look at you," Holmes said huskily, gripping Watson's wrists. "Put those by your sides or I'll tie them behind your back."

Watson shivered without being able to stop himself. His legs began to tremble slightly. He grasped onto Holmes's shoulders for support. The thoughts that Holmes's words had sparked in his mind were almost overwhelmingly erotic.

Something deep in his stomach told him that he wanted very much for Holmes to tie his hands behind his back; he wanted to be at the mercy of Holmes. But he had never considered such a thing before. His sex gave a painful, needy throb.

Holmes raised an eyebrow, too adept to miss Watson's violent reaction to his words. "Do you want me to tie you up?" He said quietly, feeling a slow trickle of heat rush through his form at his own words. "You do, don't you?" He said slowly. "It arouses you, the thought of being in bonds." Every word was heated, heavy with intent and lust.

Watson looked at him, his eyes hazy. Holmes stared back at him, willing him to say yes, willing him to give himself to Holmes.

The very thought of having such possession over Watson's body and having him wholly at his mercy was indescribable. A begging, writhing, moaning Watson completely and utterly at his mercy. He shivered all over.

Watson said nothing. Holmes didn't expect him to ask without encouragement. He was too proud. But he wanted it. Holmes knew it. He was begging for it, he was silently begging for it. Holmes knew it, but he wanted him to say it; he wanted to hear Watson say the words.

"Tell me you want it," He hissed.

Watson bit his lip, leaning heavily against Holmes's chest. "Ah," He gasped, the relentless throbbing of his erection seeming to disable his ability to think clearly. "Holmes..." He said, lowering his eyes.

"Say it," Holmes said, wanting more than anything to hear him beg. "Say it and I'll give you what you want."

Watson met his eye, his eyes slightly damp with the effort of bridling his arousal. "Tie me... up." He said hoarsely, his voice almost failing him.

Holmes couldn't help but lean forward and kiss the doctor. The words were like an aphrodisiac and if it had been physically possible, he was sure he would have gotten even harder.

He slid off of the bed, keeping his eyes on Watson's. Watson watched him hungrily, shifting from knee to knee on the bed covers. He ran his fingers down his chest, something which almost took Holmes's breath away. It almost made him wet where he stood.

Watson ran his trembling fingers down his stomach to his stiff, aroused sex.

"Now, now," Holmes croaked, having to gather every inch of self-control he had not to just watch Watson fondle himself to completion. "That's enough."

Watson stopped short of his privates, his fingers quivering under his navel. "I... can't..." He panted.

Holmes cocked an eyebrow, he didn't want the power he had over Watson to go to his head but he felt a slow, intoxicating thrill drip through his lower stomach. "Don't you dare touch yourself or I will make you regret it." His voice was sharp, it even surprised him and it certainly surprised Watson who stopped fidgeting immediately, staring at him with wide blue eyes and lips slightly parted.

He watched as Holmes bent down slowly to his fallen dressing gown on the carpet and plucked the tie from around it.

Holmes had no idea what he was doing. He had picked up the first thing he had found and he hoped that his tying skills weren't either too flimsy or too effective. He could imagine Watson's chagrin if he had to hunt down a pair of scissors and cut him out of his bonds.

He returned to the bed, this time kneeling behind Watson. Watson turned his head, seeming slightly alarmed to have Holmes out of his sight.

Holmes pressed his lips to the arch of Watson's neck, breathing in the smell of perspiration and the faintest trace of cologne left behind by the river water. Watson touched Holmes's hair, making the tiniest of whimpers as Holmes pressed his body against his.

He arched his back, grinding the soft flesh of his arse into Holmes's cock. Holmes gasped at the sensation and felt a slither of electricity go down his groin.

He forced himself to move away and shrugged off Watson's hand, which was still caressing his hair. Watson dropped it by his side, barely daring to move. His legs were quivering slightly; in fact he seemed to be quivering all over.

"Hands." Holmes said, feeling like a headmaster giving orders.

Watson obeyed, putting his hands behind his back. Holmes touched them; Watson's fingers were trembling. Using all of his limited knowledge of knots, Holmes tied Watson's wrists firmly together.

He pulled the bow tightly and stepped back down onto the carpet. He went to the foot of the bed to admire his handiwork. He had to bridle the urge to force himself on Watson when he saw the state he was in. Watson's chest was thrown out. The muscles around the nipples were pulled taught, the nubs themselves were hard and dark, standing erect and aroused. His hips were thrown forward; his straining sex was damp already. Droplets of sweat were clinging to the small, fair clump of pubic hair around his cock.

"Look at the state you've gotten yourself into," Holmes said coolly. "Wet with the mere thought of being bent over. What the greatest men can be reduced to, Watson."

Watson emitted a guttural groan; he thrust his hips forward which in turn tightened the bonds behind his back. The expression of desperation on his face was almost enough to make Holmes just force him down and pound into him until they both came but he applied the self-control he had proven he possessed. He wanted Watson to orgasm knowing that he belonged to Holmes. That his body, especially that low, hot, tight part of him, belonged to Holmes and no one else in this world would touch him.

"Oh, please," Watson gasped, staring at Holmes with wide, helpless eyes. "Please take me."

Holmes bit his lip, his erection giving a hard throb at Watson's words. How he loved to hear Watson beg. It was a rich and rare treat, he could rarely push Watson to that point where his desire overtook his dignity but when he did manage it, he knew he had Watson eating out of the palm of his hand.

Between his legs, his erection pulsed in hard, painful beats. He steadied his breathing, forcing himself back under control- just.

"Patience, Watson." He managed to say, feeling like his throat had contracted to half its size. He knelt on the edge of the bed, combing Watson's figure hungrily. He didn't want to look away; he didn't even want to blink. He wanted to drink in Watson's perfection until he was drunk on it.

Watson exhaled harshly, looking away but unable to do more to defend himself against Holmes's fierce gaze.

He crawled up onto the bed and knelt opposite Watson. He could feel the heat radiating off Watson's body, he wanted very much to press himself against him but he managed to bridle that urge. He had other plans for Watson.

"Look at me." Holmes said, watching Watson closely.

Watson slowly met his eye, his cheeks were flushed an angry red colour and his eyelashes were clumped together.

Silently, Holmes leant down and latched his lips onto Watson's neck. Watson gasped, rolling his hips forward, trying fruitlessly to reach Holmes.

Holmes stroked Watson's skin with his tongue, drinking in Watson's helplessness as he grunted and whimpered. Holmes's hair was tantalizingly close to Watson's face; Holmes's scent was full in his nostrils and he wanted desperately to bury his face in Holmes's hair and inhale him.

Holmes moved lower. He coursed his tongue along Watson's collar bone. He caressed Watson's throat, pushing gently and listening to the shaky breath of pleasure it drew from him.

"Holmes..." Watson said uncertainly, jerking against his bonds.

Holmes did not reply, he looked up at Watson to silence him. Watson stopped his struggling as he felt Holmes's hands on his hips. Almost simultaneously, Holmes's mouth engulfed his left nipple.

"Oh Gods..." Watson said weakly, needing to hold onto Holmes but trapped tightly in his bonds.

Holmes released it slowly, it stood damp and hard, sending shivers down Holmes's back. He gently rubbed it with his fingers, knowing how much pressure to apply to give the most pleasure. He stroked Watson's chest hair, returning his mouth to the reddened nub. He gently ran his teeth across it and felt Watson's whole body jerk violently.

"Ugh..." Watson mumbled. "God, that feels-

"Silence, Watson." Holmes said, abandoning Watson's nipple and turning his attention instead to the doctor's straining cock.

"Holmes..." Watson said weakly as Holmes eyed the hardened flesh, his motive clear.

Holmes ignored him, gently touching the damp tip with his fingers. Watson's hips bucked slightly, he gave a breathless, almost inaudible plea for Holmes to stop.

Holmes teased the slick, heated flesh, never taking it fully in his hand or applying enough to pressure to create more than the slightest friction. He fondled him gently, knowing that the sensation was driving Watson insane.

"Bastard..." Watson hissed, tossing his head in frustration.

Holmes took him tighter in hand, rubbing it against his palm. Watson rolled his hips into Holmes's hand, unable to generate the friction his body needed.

Holmes slid his hand down and teased Watson's ball sac gently.

"Ah!" Watson gasped. "Holmes, for God's sake."

Holmes ignored him, sliding his fingers down further to the tempting heat of Watson's entrance. Watson stared at him desperately, moving restlessly where he was and unable to fight the sensation of Holmes's fingers so close to being inside of him.

Holmes moved his hand back to Watson's cock, taking it firmer in his hand and rubbing it purposefully. His hand was clammy and damp and the sweat mixed with the pre-cum already leaking from Watson's tip. He stroked it up and down Watson's straining length, feeling Watson rock against him.

"I need... I need..." Watson panted, thrusting his hips desperately. "More."

Holmes released him abruptly and straightened up. Watson blinked in surprise, his mouth open. Holmes rose an eyebrow, as though surveying one of his pupils who had failed a test and was about to be punished.

"Lay down." He said, feeling strangely detached from what he was saying. Everything seemed to be a mass of pleasure and apprehension and his mind was clogged with it. Thought and speech were dulled by his body's intense want.

Watson hesitated for a moment, gazing hazily at Holmes. He slowly made to lie down on his back.

"No." Holmes said. "On your stomach."

Watson froze where he was, looking almost fearful at the prospect of leaving himself blindly at the mercy of Holmes.

"Lay on your stomach." Holmes said quietly.

Watson did as he was told; he shuffled awkwardly around and slowly lowered himself down with his hands still tightly secured behind his back. He lost his balance and ended up falling flat on his face with a small cry of surprise. He lifted his head but otherwise he was trapped as he was, flat on the bed with his legs slightly apart.

Holmes sucked in a breath, admiring Watson's position and the thought that he was completely trapped.

Watson struggled to look at him as Holmes knelt behind him on the bed. He ran a hand up Watson's thigh. "On second thoughts." He said softly. "I want you on your knees."

"What?" Watson said helplessly.

"I want you on your knees." Holmes repeated in a bored tone, while his body screamed for him to just take Watson where he was, to force his way into Watson's core and take him.

Watson struggled, trying fruitlessly to get on his knees with his hands tied. He slid his legs back and rose himself about halfway before he realised he couldn't raise his upper half and collapsed flat. Every time he attempted it, Holmes was given a fine view of Watson's puckered pink opening and it sent the most intense pulses of desire down his crotch.

Finally, he took pity on Watson and slid his hands around his waist, yanking him upright. He felt his cock press against Watson's opening and for a moment they were both paralysed at the sensation.

Holmes determinedly shook himself out of it and stepped back, admiring Watson's new position on his knees. Watson turned and looked at him, he seemed to have lost what little dignity he had been attempting to preserve. Holmes could have almost laughed to think what Watson's patients would think of their neat, preened, prudish doctor if they could see him now.

"Holmes," He said in a shaking voice. "I beg of you. Take me. Fuck me."

Holmes couldn't stop his back arching at those words. He exhaled heavily, disguising the whimper that almost betrayed him.

He didn't speak; he went to the dresser where Watson had placed all of his combs, oils, hand cream, shaving cream and such. He rummaged through them, but couldn't find what he was looking for. He turned back to Watson. "Where is the oil?"

"For God's sake, Holmes. Dash the oil!" Watson said heatedly. "Take me like this-

"No." Holmes replied. "Where is the oil?"

"Bathroom cupboard." Watson croaked.

Holmes found the bottle behind a vast array of products. Watson had obviously put it there for discretion but it seemed vastly unlikely to Holmes that a maid would be able to find it or care what it was if she did manage to unearth it.

He took it back to Watson and knelt wordlessly behind him. He poured the oil slowly on two fingers. Watson was panting like a bull below him, his back hunched slightly and his head down.

Holmes touched Watson's back, letting his sticky damp fingers tell Watson what he was about to do. Watson tensed immediately, his head rising.

"Don't go rigid," Holmes said, unintentionally tender. "I'll be gentle."

Watson's form didn't seem to relax but when Holmes finally slid one finger into Watson's entrance, he didn't do anything more than inhale slightly. Holmes gently pressed another finger in. Watson's head was tilted back slightly, his back was tense. He seemed to be caught between pain and pleasure from the sensation.

Watson's hips kept bucking slightly on their accord, so much so that Holmes had to drop the oil bottle and lay a hand firmly on his thigh to keep him still.

He moved his fingers inside of Watson, savouring the sensation of the tight heat. "Do you like it?" He breathed.

"Yes, yes." Watson moaned, rocking against Holmes's fingers.

Holmes retracted his fingers, knowing how close and hot Watson had become. He could see Watson's face; it was deeply flushed and damp.

He moved a hand under Watson's stomach and ran his fingertips along the underside of Watson's shaft. Watson's whole figure jerked. He whimpered pleadingly, tossing his head.

Holmes had become more skilled than even he had imagined at pleasuring Watson. Although Watson hadn't realised it, Holmes had taken every opportunity when they had made love to further his knowledge of how to pleasure his partner. If Watson had known just how closely Holmes observed him during sex he would have been furious. Holmes watched Watson's every moan with immense satisfaction because he knew that it was his touches, his body that was causing them.

He could feel Watson's body trembling. He stared at Watson's damp, stretched hole. A sudden thought came to him. He could do something now which would bring Watson perhaps the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced, it would be completely foreign to him. Holmes didn't know how Watson would react or even if he would be able to do it correctly. But he knew that it would be the ultimate possession of Watson's body.

He heard Watson whimper. "Please, Holmes."

As though the words had been invitation to proceed, Holmes made up his mind and bent down where he was, licking the exposed damp, pink entrance.

Watson jolted as though he'd been shocked, his back arched almost painfully, he threw his head back with a silent scream of pleasure as Holmes dove his tongue unthinkingly inside of him.

He felt the effect of his actions immediately, Watson gave a violent spasm. If he hadn't been so shocked and alarmed by the new sensation, no doubt he would have screamed but the only thing that came out was a strangled cry.

He orgasmed violently where he was, while Holmes's tongue was still inside of him. Holmes heard his cry, felt his body tense painfully against him and knew Watson had lost control of himself. He slid a hand underneath him and felt the gush of warm liquid.

Holmes retracted his tongue and sat up. Almost immediately, Watson collapsed where he was, breathing haggardly into the bed covers and plastered in sweat.

Holmes's mouth tasted like salt and the strange tang of the lubricating oil. As much as the raw thought of putting his tongue in such a place was truly revolting to him, the thought that it had brought Watson such pleasure and was such an intimate and powerful weapon filled him up with a strange mixture of pride and bemusement.

Watson's breathing slowed. Holmes ran a hand gently down his back, rubbing him slowly as though to comfort him.

"I'm sorry." Watson said weakly, turning his head towards Holmes.

Holmes saw how damp and flushed he had become and felt a pang of guilt. "No, I'm sorry." He said, slipping off the bed and kneeling by Watson. He pushed the damp hair back from Watson's eyes. "I shouldn't have done that without warning."

"I came so quickly." Watson said, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I should have been able to take it."

"Don't be stupid." Holmes said. "Up until a few months ago, you hadn't even been fucked by a man, let alone had his tongue inside of you."

He hastened to undo the dressing gown tie from Watson's wrists. It undid easily but as he pulled it away he saw how it had left marks against Watson's skin.

"Watson!" He exclaimed, dropping the tie and touching the welts carefully. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"

Watson sat up and looked at his wrists. "I didn't realise." He said, turning around to face Holmes. "I was... preoccupied." He smiled, looking perfect in his current ruffled and reddened state.

Holmes gently touched his cheek. "In the future, tell me if you're in discomfort."

"Is that an order?" Watson said wryly, with a smile.

"Definitely." Holmes said, leaning forward and pushing Watson onto his back. He lay gently on top of him, careful not to apply too much weight in case Watson was still sore or out of breath.

However Watson seemed to have recovered a little now, he took Holmes's waist and compliantly opened his mouth when Holmes's kissed him. Holmes, though impressed by the effect just his tongue could have on Watson, was still painfully hard and would have done anything to take Watson that night.

He deeply hoped that Watson wasn't too exhausted to go on. He was returning Holmes's kisses enthusiastically enough but sex was another matter.

"Are you too tired?" Holmes managed to gasp in between breaths. "Do you want to sleep?"

Watson leant back, looking up at Holmes incredulously. "I might not be a lad of twenty but I am hardly an old man. My stamina is perfectly apt to continue."

"Thank God." Holmes murmured, pressing his lips against Watson again and pressing his crotch against Watson's softened member.

"God, you're so hard." Watson gasped, rolling his hips up and drawing a barely suppressed whimper from Holmes.

"Yes, and if you don't hurry up and get an erection again soon," Holmes said, with as much dignity as he could muster while he was rubbing himself against Watson's crotch. "I will take you whether you are hard or not."

He put his mouth to Watson's neck. One of Watson's hands slid up his bare back to his hair, there his fingers caressed Holmes's scalp, furling and unfurling through his hair.

Holmes gently licked a path from Watson's jaw to the bump of his Adam's apple, breathing in the small, strangled gasps the doctor made. He could feel Watson's hips moving slowly against him, creating the slightest friction between them but in his current state it felt to Holmes as though Watson was grinding himself against him mercilessly.

He exhaled sharply, breaking away from Watson's neck and leaving two flushed red spots where he had been nuzzling and biting him.

Without waiting for Watson to unravel his fingers from his hair, he tore away and crouched low over Watson's now semi-hardened member.

"Watson," He said reproachfully. "If my mere presence isn't enough to make you painfully hard then what sort of lover are you?"

"The sort that just had a tongue stuck up his arse." Watson said, watching Holmes like a hawk as he hovered over his lower half.

Holmes carefully parted Watson's legs, Watson did not protest but he looked slightly uneasy as Holmes lowered his mouth to his inner-thigh and gently ran his tongue along the damp, salty skin to the space between his legs.

Holmes teased the tip of Watson's cock with his tongue and felt Watson jerk violently beneath him. "Holmes!"

"Do you wish to have an erection or not?" Holmes asked impatiently, not looking up.

Watson watched him helplessly as Holmes licked the tip, this time taking it ever so slightly into his mouth. Watson moved his hips upwards slightly as the sensation seemed to dribble down from his privates to his stomach. He watched Holmes's head and his back slowly moving as he teased his cock, licking it and touching it with clumsy, damp fingers.

He could feel the heat gathering between his legs. The ache around his stretched entrance seemed to increase almost subconsciously as he felt himself growing hard again under Holmes's concentrated attentions. He had no time to feel smug at his body's triumph; Holmes's mouth was still toying with him.

He leant over Watson's stomach, screening Watson's view with his thick brown hair. Watson threw a hand up to grasp one of the bars of the bed as Holmes's heated mouth slowly took him in.

"Ugh... Holmes..." He heard himself grunt without being aware of speaking.

One of Holmes's hands moved slowly, agonizingly up his stomach to the space between his nipples, as though keeping him in place. Watson watched out of the corner of his eye as Holmes's fingers began to stroke and tease the curls of his chest hair. He bit down hard on his lip, refusing to give Holmes the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Holmes slid two fingers painfully close to Watson's entrance.

"I'm hard, Holmes, I'm hard." Watson managed to moan, rocking his hips up as his body desperately attempted to bury itself deeper inside Holmes's tormenting mouth. "Stop, sto-

He broke off; losing the capacity to form words as Holmes gently and slowly took him fully in his mouth. Watson gripped the bars hard with one hand and put the other hand to his mouth, trying desperately not to make a sound. The thought that there were people sleeping just metres away from them as they did such things to each other terrified him.

He couldn't see Holmes's mouth on him but he could see Holmes's head bobbing up and down, see the muscles in his back flexing as he moved. To see Holmes on his knees, feeling his mouth move torturously over his now throbbing manhood made him weak with desire and a need to bend Holmes over and fuck him until he orgasmed as Watson had.

But he felt he would have to fight for the privilege. Holmes seemed to have set his heart on taking Watson.

But then again, Watson thought, Holmes was agonizingly aroused. He didn't suppose it would take much persuasion.

Holmes released Watson with a wet pop of suction and straightened up on the bed, leaving Watson's sex glistening with saliva.

Holmes wiped the dampness from his mouth, looking smug. Watson watched in fascination as Holmes pushed a finger into his own mouth, sucking off the moisture slowly and with purpose. Watson felt his jaw slacken. The sight was almost too erotic for him to comprehend.

Without being completely conscious of moving, he pushed himself upright and pulled Holmes into his arms, claiming his mouth violently. He forced Holmes's lips open and while the detective was still reeling from Watson's sudden attack, pressed his tongue into his mouth. He pressed a hand to Holmes's back, keeping him from escape and pinned himself against him, feeling their erections touch each other.

It was as though a storm of pleasure had rushed up from his groin at an almost blinding speed. Holmes groaned into his mouth and rubbed himself compulsively against Watson, his cock weeping desperately for release. He pressed a hand weakly into Watson's chest, as though trying to push him away but he couldn't seem to gather the willpower to do it.

Watson was so immersed in kissing Holmes that he had forgotten the pain in his legs. He felt his knees buckle and released Holmes's lips with a gasp. "Ouch." He mumbled, rubbing at his sore thigh.

Holmes looked concerned. "Are your legs hurting you?" He asked softly, touching Watson's jaw.

"No." Watson said staunchly, though he could feel himself wobbling where he was.

"Lie down." Holmes said, pushing Watson gently but firmly.

Watson didn't resist. He let himself fall down backwards onto the soft covers. He stared up at Holmes, conscious of how his cock was straining and weeping for contact.

Holmes ran a hand gently up and down Watson's stomach, stopping short of that most sensitive and desperate area between his legs.

Watson prepared himself to spread for Holmes, resigned to submit tonight but was taken aback when instead Holmes straddled his hips, hovering just inches above his straining manhood. He was breathing harshly, his eyes lowered to his own painfully present erection.

"What?" Watson said confusedly, almost overcome by the mixture of intense desire and the part of him which was holding him back from just gripping Holmes's hips and impaling him as hard as could onto his cock.

"Fuck me," Holmes panted, barely keeping himself upright. "I want it."

He did want it, his privates were so sore that it was almost unbearable. He gazed down at Watson's flushed, damp and baffled face. He did not move.

Holmes rolled his eyes and reached down, rolling his fingers over Watson's leaking tip. He dampened his fingers with it and, inhaling sharply, pushed his fingers inside of himself. It was difficult preparing himself and he was sure he was not doing it well but he thought if he dallied any longer, they would both orgasm out of pure sexual frustration.

He mixed the pre-cum with his own saliva and slathered it into his hole, stretching it as best he could from his awkward position.

Watson watched him, agog. He looked so utterly turned on by this turn of events that Holmes made a note to try self-lubrication again in the near future.

With one hand pressed against Watson's chest and the other clutching his waist, he lowered himself agonizingly onto Watson's cock and gasped in pain as the familiar sensation of being trespassed upon took him momentarily by surprise from such an angle and in such a state of heightened arousal.

Watson grunted breathlessly below him, throwing his head back as Holmes forced his member deep inside of himself. For a moment, the tightness of that stiff ring of muscle dazed Watson into complete inaction. Above him Holmes seemed to be frozen too.

Holmes inhaled and began to rock against him, pulling himself away and then impaling himself again on Watson's cock.

"Holmes..." Watson gasped, his eyes widening as he was driven into Holmes's tight entrance again. "Oh!"

Holmes didn't respond, he thrust again onto Watson's cock, a cry escaping his mouth. Watson cried out too, pressing a hand to his lips with wide eyes.

"Ugh, Watson." Holmes moaned, moving with heightening speed as he lost more of his control.

Every time he was impaled onto Watson's manhood, Watson made a strangled sound behind his hand. The pressure was intense but he didn't like taking Holmes from this angle. He wanted to see Holmes below him; he wanted to fuck him and make him come without him having to strain himself over Watson's body. He wanted to give Holmes pleasure like he had given him.

Gathering every inch of his strength, Watson put a hand to Holmes's chest and pushed him forcefully away.

Holmes fell back on the covers, looking completely taken aback and slightly hurt.

Silently, Watson grasped his waist and forced him facedown onto the bed.

"Watson!" Holmes said, alarmed.

Watson wasted no time; he positioned himself behind Holmes's crumpled form and, spreading the detective's legs slightly, pushed himself into Holmes.

Holmes's back curled, his head fell back and he seemed to completely surrender to Watson's movements.

Much better, Watson thought with as much satisfaction as he could register while he was thrusting in and out of Holmes's arse.

Holmes grasped the covers, needing to hold on to something as Watson hit his sweet spot with such precision that his whole body seemed to spasm with pleasure.

"Watson. Oh God, Watson." He moaned, feeling Watson's ball sac cuff against him as Watson pushed smoothly in and out of him. "Ohhh Gods, there, yes, there-

Above him, Watson made a noise like a whine against his palm.

The pressure was incredible. The sensation of being able to watch Holmes below him writhe and bend as he fucked him intensified his pleasure to breaking point. Holmes rocked his hips against the blankets, trying desperately to increase the friction of Watson's hips.

"Ah! Watson!" He cried out, unable to stop himself.

"Shush, Holmes. Shush." Watson panted.

Holmes managed to nod, gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to silence himself. The silence of the hotel could easily betray them. A moan, the creak of a bedspring, the thump of the bed frame against the wall could make their activities more than obvious to the people in the next room.

Holmes clung onto the blankets. It was slightly bewildering being taken like this, being unable to see Watson or know what had come across the doctor. The rough spontaneity of it was incredibly erotic.

Watson watched with high satisfaction as Holmes's ecstasy increased beneath him. Holmes moved desperately against the bed, caught between the friction caused by the bedcovers and the sensation of Watson's manhood being driven deep inside of him to a part of him that made him writhe with pleasure.

"Watson..." He moaned. "Harder... harder..."

Watson increased his speed, pushing forcefully inside of him, deeper and harder.

"Jesus, Holmes." He panted, unable to comprehend how anything could feel more divine than making love to Holmes.

Holmes rubbed himself desperately into the covers, all thought of keeping quiet completely banished. "There! Please there!" He heard himself cry.

The words sent an unbelievable rush of pressure and heat through Watson's crotch. The words were like a cue for his body to collapse, to finally surrender to the need, the pleasure.

"Fuck." He moaned, pushing painfully hard inside of Holmes and feeling the detective writhe beneath him with a helpless whimper.

He gave into the release as it overtook him. The uncontrollable pinnacle of pleasure momentarily blinded him. He orgasmed inside of Holmes and felt the warm liquid spurt between his thighs.

"Ohhh Holmes..." He groaned huskily, thrusting once more inside of him.

Below him, Holmes's whole form stiffened, his back was arched almost painfully. He made a small desperate sound and lashed violently against Watson as he climaxed.

"Watson." He moaned. "Oh, Watson yes."

He collapsed against the covers, gasping for air.

Watson's limbs felt like lead. His knees, which he had been leaning so hard on they had broken out in pins and needles, felt as though they would never support his weight again. He was still buried to the hilt inside of Holmes and forced himself to straighten up, gently pulling out of Holmes's crumpled and exhausted form.

He tried to tame his breathing, conscious now of just how loud they had been.

"Shush, Holmes." He whispered, gazing down at Holmes's splayed figure.

Holmes's legs and thighs were covered in his fluid.

Holmes struggled to get to his knees, all of his limbs shaking uncontrollably. He slid down beside the bed so he could tug the covers back and crawled underneath, collapsing with a thankful grunt.

He patted the bed next to him, lying limply against the pillows.

Watson nodded, still panting. He got to his hands and knees with some difficulty and crawled up beside Holmes.

There was a small damp patch on the covers where Holmes had climaxed and another where Watson had. Watson wondered how they would clean them before a maid saw them.

He slid under the covers next to Holmes. Holmes huddled next to him, resting his damp forehead against Watson's ear. He felt Watson rest his hand on his forearm.

Watson wrinkled his nose. "We smell like sex."

Holmes reached a hand up to Watson's hair, it felt waxy and wet. "I like it. It suits you."

Watson shook his hand away. "Can't you leave my hair alone for one minute?" He asked wearily, looking down at Holmes.

"Sorry. It's a habit you will have to adjust to." Holmes rested his hand on Watson's chest instead. "But I'll make an exception tonight as you made such an impressive performance."

Watson rose his eyes to the ceiling. "How gracious."

"You smell like pond weed." Holmes remarked. "I hope you don't give me polio."

"I would say that is highly unlikely." Watson said archly.

"Well," Holmes said thoughtfully. "Polio is primarily spread via the fecal-oral route and with most river water being untreated, highly polluted and therefore a breeding place for disease, it really isn't so unlikely."

"Holmes, I do not have polio." Watson said irritably. "If anything, I will catch a cold and may I point out that it was hardly my idea for you to stick that... up there." He went slightly pink.

Holmes smirked. "Well, I feel safe in the knowledge that you are cleanly to the point of obsession." He said. "So there is no other man I'd rather have my tongue inside of."

"Holmes, that's vulgar." Watson said disapprovingly.

"You didn't seem to mind twenty minutes ago." Holmes said under his breath.

There was a brief moment of silence. Both were intensely content in the afterglow. Neither of them had experienced the extent of pleasure they had that morning for a long time. Though sex was always good, it had fallen into a pattern of familiarity.

The change of scenery and the fear of possible discovery had forged a new sense of excitement in their activities. One which Holmes hoped they could recreate once they returned home, especially since he now knew of Watson's partiality to being tied up.

"Do you think they heard us?" Watson asked, listening to the silence of the hotel and wondering if the people next door were now lying wide awake in their beds, praying that they had misconstrued the sounds coming from room 101.

"I doubt it." Holmes said, sounding unconcerned.

"We did become a little loud." Watson said sheepishly, peering down at Holmes's serene figure.

"We?" Holmes said incredulously, opening his eyes.

"We." Watson said, arching an eyebrow as though daring Holmes to argue.

Holmes watched him, as though weighing up whether it was worth baiting Watson when they were both so comfortable. "We." He acquiesced at length, lowering his head again.

Watson didn't reply. Holmes could see him out of the corner of his eye, he was staring straight ahead. Holmes knew he was thinking about something, though he was genuinely amazed that Watson could possibly be brooding when they had just made love in such a fashion.

"What on earth is wrong?" He said, craning his neck to look at him clearly. "What are you worrying about now?"

"I'm not worrying, I'm thinking." Watson replied, not looking at him.

"Thinking about what exactly?" Holmes asked suspiciously.

Watson hesitated. "Us... This." He gestured vaguely to the bed. "Do you think this is wrong?"

Holmes stared at him, and then rested his head on Watson's arm. "This." He repeated. "Which part of 'this' are you speaking of?"

"I don't know." Watson said. "Well yes, I do. I mean... is it wrong? Is us making love like this wrong?"

Holmes didn't reply immediately, he stared across Watson's chest to the opposite wall. "You're not going to start preaching the six cardinal sins at me and burning incense are you?" He asked finally.

"Seven." Watson said. "There are seven cardinal sins."

"I always considered pride open to debate." Holmes said dryly.

Watson rolled his eyes. "How surprising." He paused. "I'm not suggesting God is going to strike us dead."

"I should hope not." Holmes said, stifling a yawn.

"I just wonder whether-

"What?" Holmes asked sharply. "If the Church and Mary are right after all and we're going to burn in hell for eternity?" He tutted impatiently.

"No." Watson said evenly. "If you had waited for me to finish... I meant whether it is somewhat cruel that we are so happy while Mary is dead."

Holmes was silent. Makes a first, Watson thought.

He waited for Holmes to speak, but he remained silent. Watson wondered whether he should just tell Holmes to forget what he had said, tell him that he was just tired and didn't know what he was saying but Holmes suddenly spoke.

"If you attempt to answer that question, Watson," He said, looking up and meeting Watson's eye. "You will drive yourself mad."

Watson gazed at him, feeling a rush of relief that Holmes wasn't angry at him. He took great comfort in his unjudging words.

Holmes gently stroked his hand up Watson's arm. "You can't question every twist and turn life throws at you or how we, imperfect beings that we are, react to them. I'm very sorry to have to dispel your illusion of mediocrity, but you are an uncommonly good man and your virtues far outweigh your foibles."

Watson felt his face grow warm at such praise and struggled to find words to respond to it.

Below him, Holmes yawned and rested his head more comfortably on the pillow. "I think that if there were a God," He murmured, almost to himself. "He would be a very poor deity indeed if he struck someone like you dead when there are men like the Tories rampaging about."

Watson had to battle with a smile. "That's a terrible thing to say. You're going to hell, you know."

Holmes closed his eyes, seeming almost on the verge of sleep. "The simple and imperfect truth of the matter, Watson is that when all is said and done, the heart wants what it wants."

Watson smiled. "Sherlock Holmes giving me insight to the workings of the heart. I never thought I'd see the day."

Holmes didn't reply, his head drooped slightly on the pillow and Watson guessed that he must have already fallen asleep.

The detective's words stayed in Watson's mind, he turned them over and over many times that night before he fell asleep, but it was one of those very rare moments when the words and their meaning brought him peaceful sleep after many months of restlessness.


Watson awoke in a vastly different position than when he'd fallen asleep. It always surprised him how both he and Holmes seemed to have the ability to fall asleep in a very comfortable position, with their arms around each other and awake in the most odd contortions as though they'd just been wrestling.

Watson awoke with Holmes's knee in his crotch and his mouth stuck to his neck. He was certain that it was the position of Holmes's knee that had woken him from an otherwise sweet and restful slumber. He now felt uncomfortably awake.

With much care, he managed to untangle himself from Holmes's limbs without waking him and slipped out from the covers. The morning air was icy and he hurriedly wrapped himself in Holmes's dressing gown, left slung on the floor. His legs felt numb and ached dully with the exertions of the previous day (and that morning) but he could stand without too much pain, though he looked forward to acquiring a new cane.

He glanced behind him to Holmes's still figure. He seemed to be fast asleep. The covers were wrapped around his waist, leaving his upper torso vulnerable to the cold morning air. Watson unfurled the blankets and pulled them over him to his neck. Then, as an afterthought, he bent down and kissed Holmes's hair. For a moment his nostrils were filled with the smell of Holmes, it took some self-control to pull away and not breathe it in like some strange opiate.

He sat in the armchair opposite the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He glanced at the wall clock. It was only seven. He thought he'd probably go back to sleep, he just wanted to briefly reflect on the warm, elated energy inside of him. He often felt foolish, almost ill-advised when he was happy, as though he was taking a gamble on some risky stock that would plummet at any moment. But this morning he could not help but be happy.

He leant on his arm, gazing at Holmes's sleeping figure. He didn't look like he was going to wake anytime soon. Watson was content to just watch him. He liked watching Holmes sleep; it was a rare opportunity to admire him without being accused of ogling.

Holmes sometimes surprised him with occasional moments of immense wisdom, so often hidden behind a facade of naivety. It often came as a timely reminder to Watson that whatever Holmes's outward appearance: his messy, eccentric, unpredictable, needy, changeable exterior, he was a more intelligent man than Watson could ever hope to be. It humbled him somewhat to reflect on that fact.

He wondered what strange and complicated case Holmes had taken on this time. He hadn't spoken to Watson about it and Watson hadn't thought to ask him. He'd been too caught up in himself and the terror of being left alone.

He felt a pang of guilt. He'd usually be with Holmes through every step of every case but he'd been completely preoccupied with... well, himself.

He stared at Holmes's sleeping figure. Holmes was on his side; his hair was covering his face. Watson went across and gently pushed it back.

Holmes didn't stir. Watson smiled and lay down beside him, meaning only to rest his eyes for a moment but knowing he would fall asleep.


Holmes awoke with his face stuck to the bed with his own saliva. He peeled his cheek away, wrinkling his nose at the dampness left behind.

"Watson?" He croaked, blinking his eyelashes apart, which all seemed to have stuck together while he slept.

His eyes fell on Watson beside him, he was lying on his stomach with his face turned away but Holmes knew that he was fast asleep from the way his dressing gown had ridden up to a dangerously high position around his thighs, something Watson never would have consciously allowed. He was barely taking up more than a few inches of the mattress; one of his arms was hanging completely off the bed. The slightest movement and he would have gone toppling off.

"My darling boy." Holmes said fondly, taking advantage of Watson's vulnerability and rubbing the telltale curve of his arse.

Watson stirred beside him, making a low sound in his sleep. Holmes leant down and pressed his lips to Watson's back and then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"On the count of three." He said to himself. "One, two... three-

On cue, he heard a loud flump behind him and a strangled cry. "Bloody he-

He turned back and found Watson straightening up from the floor, rubbing his head and flattening his ruffled hair.

"Good morning." Holmes said pleasantly.

Watson piled two pillows against the head of the bed and leant against them, massaging his forehead. "What's so good about it?" He asked darkly.

Holmes smirked at Watson's forlorn expression. "It's your own fault." He said. "There was plenty of room in the bed, you know." He stood up and stretched, gloriously aware of his lack of clothing.

Watson sent him a disapproving look. "It's too late in the day to have no clothes on."

"I don't see why." Holmes said, turning to Watson. Watson's face went a shade darker and he looked away. "We could stay in here all day if we liked."

Watson cleared his throat. "I'd love to. But I have historical sites to go and stare at and you have a corpse to go and stare at."

"Oh, I don't think so." Holmes said airily, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at Watson.

"What do you mean?" Watson said, standing up and wrapping himself tightly in the dressing gown. He went to the wardrobe and threw it open, staring inside for a shirt. "What was this case about anyway? Why was it so important to come dashing all the way to Bath for?"

"The case was about a young woman," Holmes said, watching him. "Done in by her husband. Perfectly obvious of course. Even the police have it pegged, but her family are somehow in deep denial about his involvement so I told them I'd look at it."

"That's horrible." Watson said, finding a shirt and dispensing of Holmes's dressing gown.

"Hm?" Holmes said, eyeing Watson's figure. "Oh, yes. Terrible."

Watson pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. "What more is there to do?" He turned back to Holmes. "If you already know who committed the crime?"

"Nothing really." Holmes said. "It's more or less wrapped up."

Watson blinked. "Really?"

"Well," Holmes said sheepishly. "The police already had him in custody when I arrived. The family just wanted me to review the findings."

Watson frowned at him. "Then why on earth did we come all this way just to-

He broke off, realisation blossoming over his face. Holmes looked at him, feeling his mouth twitch.

"Why you..." Watson sounded torn between exasperation and amazement. "That... That is..."

"Ingenious?" Holmes offered, pushing himself up onto his knees.

Watson stared at him in disbelief. "Did you really just take that case so you could drag me to Bath?"

"I hardly dragged you." Holmes said.

"But why?" Watson demanded in bemusement. "Why would you waste a journey?"

Holmes cocked his head. "I don't think it's such a waste. It wasn't for my benefit. It was for yours."

Watson walked slowly over to him, looking as though he was wondering whether to punch or kiss him. He stood in front of Holmes's vulnerable figure, staring down at him blankly. "You're a delinquent." He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Holmes straightened up and laid his hands on Watson's shoulders, his face inches from Watson's. "I know." He said proudly. He slid his hands around Watson's neck, pressing himself against him.

Watson rested his fingertips on Holmes's chin. "I suppose that means we have the rest of this week to ourselves." He said nonchalantly.

Holmes shivered slightly against him at the prospect. "Entirely alone." He said in a low voice.

He leant up and kissed Watson deeply. He felt Watson's hands grip his shoulders.

A knock at the door abruptly interrupted their burgeoning activities.

"Damn them." Holmes swore under his breath as Watson sprung away from him, a look of panic immediately coming across his face.

"Oh God." He said. "Oh God, what if they heard us?" He hurriedly stared around. He rushed to the covers of the bed and tugged them back so the stains was covered. He turned to Holmes, still standing and staring at him. "What are you doing!" He hissed, as the person knocked again, louder. "Put something on!"

"You know just because someone knocks at your door, it doesn't mean you're compelled to let them." Holmes said in a bored tone, not bothering to lower his voice.

Watson firmly grasped his arm and almost threw him under the bedcovers. Then he hurried to the door and threw it open. It was the manager.

Perfect, Watson thought irritably.

"Good morning, Sir!" The manager sung, beaming at him like he was his favourite nephew and not just one of his hotel patrons.

"Good morning," Watson said stiffly, watching Holmes out of the corner of his eye. "Can I help you?"

"Well," The manager said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief from his sleeve. "Well, I just wanted to... apologise in person for my staff's atrocious behaviour last night. I have spoken to them and they are terribly sorry for any inconvenience they might have caused you."

Watson nodded hurriedly. "No, no. It really isn't any trouble. I understand perfectly. Well, anyway. Goodbye-

He tried to close the door but the manager help it open with his foot. "Wait!" He said hurriedly while Watson had to strive to hide his exasperation. "I don't mean to intrude on you. I won't take another moment of your time. I just wanted to offer you and your..." He glanced at Holmes, buried up to the stomach in the bedcovers. "Companion, a free meal in our restaurant if you wish, to demonstrate our deepest regret."

"That sounds wonderful," Watson snapped impatiently. "Thank you so much for your kindness. I really must go now. I'm barely dressed for receiving people."

"Yes, yes. Of course." The manager glanced down at Watson's shirt. "I will let you get back to-

He stopped short, his watery little eyes widening slightly. They darted back to where Holmes lay undressed beneath the sheets to the untouched bed at the far end of the room and back to Watson. He went slightly pink.

Watson saw it with horror. "Thank you so much. Goodbye." He shut the door in the manager's face and collapsed against the wall, groaning.

Behind him, Holmes began sniggering uncontrollably.

"It's not funny!" Watson burst out, turning to him.

Holmes tried to control himself. "I know, I know. But..." He fought a smirk.

"He could report us!" Watson said furiously.

"Oh, Watson. Such naivety," Holmes said, rolling his eyes. "That man will never report us. One, because he looked like he was about to piss himself and I don't think he has it in him to repeat what he saw..." He paused. "Or what he thought he saw. And two, he doesn't want to give his hotel a name as the haunt of sodomites."

Watson had to admit that Holmes did have a point. He bit his lip.

"Rest assured that that man will not be responsible for getting us imprisoned," He sunk back into the pillows with a laugh. "That man is the last man on earth capable of getting us imprisoned."

Watson shook his head slowly, still shell-shocked. "I hope that you are right."

Holmes patted the bed beside him. "Come back to bed, Watson. I'll soon put that nasty manager out of your mind."

"Pervert." Watson said, but he went anyway.


"Do you think if I wrote Lestrade, he would allow me to assist them again?" Holmes asked Watson, as they were hurtling back to London aboard the midday train.

Their week together had passed too quickly but at the same time they were glad to be going home. Especially Holmes, who had been nursing the thought of getting his hands on a real case as soon as they reached London all week.

Watson looked at him. "I'd daresay," He said, frowning. "They're probably desperate to have you back."

Holmes chewed the inside of his cheek. "It's just they haven't contacted me at all since... well, for six months."

"I doubt that is because they don't need you," Watson said wryly. "I also doubt whether that is because they no longer want your expertise." He laughed humourlessly. "I daresay it's because of me."

"You?" Holmes said, resting his elbow on the window.

"They don't want to see me." Watson said flatly. "They don't want to have to go through those horrible, awkward motions of pity and regret."

Holmes looked slightly unconvinced. Watson reached across and squeezed his knee. "It is not because of you." He said firmly.

Holmes nodded. "I should hope not," He said with a slight sniff. "They're useless without me. They couldn't catch a criminal if they left a portrait of themself at the scene and an address of where to find them."

Watson cringed. "Maybe don't use so many of those analogies in future, Holmes. Or they may well desert you."

Holmes straightened up, gazing at Watson. "It'll be like old times. Me and you working together on cases."

"Not too closely, I hope," Watson said dryly. "I do have my own career to tend to, you know and if I have to sleep with you and work with you, you might drive me mad."

Holmes laughed and leant across, kissing him quickly on the mouth. "A new life for us," He said dreamily, sitting back in his seat. "Work. Love. Happiness. What more can a man want?"

"Very little. The little blessings we receive are precious," Watson said quietly, gazing out of the window as the landscape whipped past in a mass of green and brown below the blue stretch of cloudless sky. "We should be thankful."

Holmes smiled at him. "Oh, I am, Watson. I am."

He closed his eyes, knowing Watson was close to him. Would always be close to him.

He listened to the click of the wheels as the train raced the track, the whistle of the wind outside, the footsteps of the passengers wandering past the compartment and the distant cry of 'tickets! Tickets please!' as the train hurtled back towards the city.