So I have absolutely no idea how I came up with this, maybe it's from my sort of non crush crush on Watson, all I know is that from the books and the movies he seems like quite the ladies man, I was watching A Game of Shadows and while watching the stag party scene I came up with this. This is my first Watson centred story, he might be a little OOC, if he's ever been in a situation like this I haven't read/seen it. But to my loverly readers, please review! They never fail to motivate me with my writing, and constructive reviews are always helpful!

Warning - Adult themes, language

Disclaimer - I don't own anything from Sherlock Holmes, all recognisable...things belong to Arthur Conan Doyle


He hated him, that was for damn sure, with every being of his body he loathed him – well, perhaps it wasn't as far as hatred, but it was very similar to the feeling at this moment, not only for forgetting his stag party and thus, only having the few hours before nightfall to organize a celebration with no one but himself and his brother as guests, and not only for practically forcing him to find company with complete strangers after listening to a toast he did not bother to take in. No no, now he hated the unreliable detective mostly for leaving him in this awkward and seemingly unavoidable complication, to deal with it on his own, and with the few types of liquor he had already drunk slowly distorting his common sense.

"Hello, handsome... What's your name then?" The woman was young, looking to be, at most, in her late twenties. Pretty, but not as beautiful as Mary, of course. A gypsy who he had oftentimes seen working the streets as a card sharper, and wearing a dress which had been significantly low cut with the right shoulder slipped halfway down her arm. Most likely familiar with getting what she wanted whenever she would ask.

Watson made to answer this girl, to respectively refuse what he knew she would offer him, that is until a wide grin then crossed her lips. "Wait a minute, I know you."

"You do?"

"From the papers. You're that Doctor Watson, who works with Sherlock Holmes." She appeared impressed, but she also seemed the sort to be a fine actress with her emotions, so whether it had been sincere was not clear to him.

"Yes - I am," that was all he could muster for now, being wary of this woman, or not to say anything that could be taken the wrong way, and unfamiliar with such outright and...rather physical behaviour from a woman. He just wanted to continue his winnings without any distractions.

When she stepped closer to him, he noticed that her eyes were dark hazel and lined with black, contrasting perfectly against her lightly tanned skin. Still, he kept himself gentlemanly and refined as she trailed a finger up the side of his face, doing little more than showing the surprised alarm from her excessive interest.

"Do you want to know me? Doctor," the loud jeers and raucous laughter from the surrounding men, if it had done anything at all, had only electrified a more distinct allure to her eye.

"I would hope not, Madam," his answer had caused a sudden hint of concern to impair her otherwise flaunting position, at least until she had heard his reasoning, "I'm getting married. Tomorrow."

"Married? Well, looks like tonight is our only chance," she said with a seductive smile, reaching down to pull him to his feet, and only letting go when she realised that he would not allow her to move him further than the inch he could not keep to himself.

"Come, come, darling, you want to be prepared for the lucky girl. We'll play doctor," she purred, raising a wicked brow, "I've been feeling quite a lot of tension under my skirt, perhaps you could fix that with that trusty tool of yours."

Once hearing the risqué suggestions rolling off of the girl's tongue, the drunken men, and the women who had joined their lively entertainment, had become an almost deafening rave which could probably have easily been heard throughout the street, and those closest to him had then begun nudging his arms and his side.

"I couldn't possibly do that to her." He knew his excuses were left useless, this woman obviously did not care in the slightest for his wedding, much less the fact she had only just met him a moment ago, or even that the two were both in plain sight. But he tried nonetheless to get her to leave him to his business.

"No one needs to know about it," she purred, pulling his seat further from the table, and causing him to clumsily make a grab for it as his feet flailed upon the floorboards in one surprised movement, she had been much stronger than she looked. "It can be our little secret – and between these fine gentlemen as well, of course." A third and final cheer had then erupted from the small crowd that the two were now in, although by now they had lost a great deal of their focus to their cards once again. The only other sound created to their, or rather her actions had been the few wolf whistles as she sat herself upon his lap; keeping herself as close to him as possible, with one hand placed gently to the back of his neck, and the other left on his thigh.

"But seeing as we aren't finding our own privacy, we will have to settle. Right. Here..."

When her palm gradually found its path toward Watson's most intimate area, he finally had shown his first acts of submission, at first with widened eyes of distress, before fluttering closed for a brief time and clenching his jaw his jaw as she paused with a thin line between him and her skilful hand. And as his breath began to constrict and his one free arm was released (albeit to no avail), she leant into him so their faces were barely an inch apart. "Good boy..."

In that moment where her arrogant smile was close enough that he could feel her breath against his lips he closed his eyes, tightly, and refusing to open them until this hell was over, while desperately trying to pull his head from her. Now wishing that he hadn't reminded Holmes of his stag party. But then instead of feeling the inappropriate woman's mouth forced upon his own, a loud crash was heard throughout the tavern, and two of three chairs around him scraping against the floorboards as the people scattered further from them. And after that, a silence within the small area surrounding that part of the room. And he allowed himself to open one eye to see just what had happened, relief rushing within him – even if only for the fact that at last she had stopped her advances – as he stared at the detective standing to his feet from the tabletop and casually dusting himself off, a perplexed expression fixed upon his features when he looked from his companion to the much younger gypsy seated on him. The likes of which had caused the entirety of his relief to change to the familiar feeling of annoyance.

"Watson, what have you been doing?"