Deck the Halls

[lightconductor]

Watson had, despite the danger, been out about town that day. It was, after all, seasonally important. He had brought his revolver with him, at the very least.

Still, he had gone out to fetch several packages of pine, some holly, perhaps a sprig or two of mistletoe, various other decorate flora. With these prizes, he climbed the seventeen steps to their rooms, feeling remarkably happy, despite all that threatened them. Christmas was almost upon them, after all. It was hard to be terribly worried.

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[mustbethetruth]

Holmes is up and waiting at the door to their sitting room as soon as he hears what can only be Watson approaching from the street below. Even he can recognize that that observation had been a little farfetched, as there were many people out today, but he was right, wasn't he? And now Watson's coming up the stairs, and Holmes frets, quickly trying to assess any damage he might have picked up, but it all only seems to be packages.

"Was all this really necessary?" he drawls, arching an eyebrow, and he reaches out to take something from Watson.

[lightconductor]

"Of course it was." Watson put the remainder of his packages down on the door, and he took Holmes in his arms and kissed him, warm and loving and surprisingly calm for someone whose life was possibly in danger. "It's Christmas, my dear. You don't honestly expect me to pretend otherwise?"

His arm did ache, the stitches still in his flesh, but it hardly seemed the time and place to complain about that.

[mustbethetruth]

However annoyed he is at Watson not -- not -- well, not remaining perfectly still until he's entirely healed, or something along those lines, he melds easily into the kiss and wraps an arm around him briefly.

"You needn't pretend otherwise. We're perfectly capable of celebrating Christmas without holly," he points out as he draws away and stoops to recover more packages. "Get inside before you tea gets cold," he chides and turns away in a huff.

[lightconductor]

"Did I miss tea?" Watson returned, faintly teasing. He followed, repressing the urge to catch Holmes from behind and... well, his plan didn't go far beyond that, admittedly. "And I don't know how you expect me to celebrate Christmas without holly. What about mistletoe? Surely you wouldn't leave me without mistletoe."

He moved to the table, pouring himself a cup of tea, and he took a long sip, savouring it. "Don't tell me now that you object to a little seasonal decoration."

[mustbethetruth]

"I object to the idea of you fetching it on your own," he grumbles as he sets about opening the packages, poking through what Watson bought. "Mistletoe is perhaps the least necessary thing you could've bought. You don't need poisonous plants to get me to kiss you."

Stopping, he looks up at Watson, sizing him up again. "And you're alright? You didn't hurt yourself?"

[lightconductor]

For a moment, Watson was silent, pressing his lips together while he vainly fought back a wave of slightly irrational anger. He was a poor sort of invalid, he knew, not in the least suited for sitting about and waiting to heal, and he resented the idea that he should do exactly that.

"Regardless of what you seem to think," he said, his voice suddenly rather harder and cooler, "this hole in my arm is not actually life-threatening, nor am I made of glass. Furthermore, I am healing quite well, and I am not likely to open up my stitches on a shopping trip. And finally," he had wandered over to his desk by this point, "before you bring up this point, I am not so foolish as to take unnecessary risks when my life is apparently forfeit."

Watson removed his gun from his pocket, and laid it on the top of his desk, before turning away to hang up his overcoat.

[mustbethetruth]

"Like you wouldn't have attempted to handcuff me to my chair if I were the one that had recently been shot and yet wanted to go shopping," he drawls, hardly paying much attention to Watson's flare of annoyance. Holmes isn't surprised he's drummed it up, as Watson isn't really the kind of man that takes well to being coddled, but Holmes isn't the kind of man that's used to having people that matter to him. Coddling is a side effect.

"For the record, I have little doubt as to your ability to defend yourself," he adds, drawing out a sprig of holly. He pauses thoughtfully and then goes to the mantel; he pries his knife free from the pile of messages and affixes the holly with it instead.

[lightconductor]

That Holmes was perfectly correct did not mean Watson was any less annoyed. "My apologies," he returned, sardonically. "The next time I prick my finger I'll be sure to stay home and rest up, and I will let you do my errands. How does that strike you?"

He hung up his hat, removed his jacket, and turned back to Holmes crossly. "I'm glad to hear you don't think I'm entirely helpless, at least," he said pointedly, and bent to retrieve some more branches of holly from his packages.

[mustbethetruth]

"My dear, do you plan on being annoyed with me the entire time that we decorate? It is rather rude to ruin the party that you started," he points out mildly, rather unruffled by Watson's perturbed state. If Holmes reacted every time he annoyed Watson, he would never have a moment of peace in his life.

He takes a couple branches of holly and crosses to the window to decorate around it.

[lightconductor]

Watson warred with himself momentarily, trying to hold onto his anger and failing. Finally, after rather pointedly affixing some holly above the door, he crossed the room to stand behind Holmes. He laid his hand on the small of Holmes's back.

"Just so long," he said, his voice low and firm, "as it is perfectly clear that I am not about to expire. I have come very close to dying several times in my life. That was not one of them. Don't treat me as an invalid."

[mustbethetruth]

"Yes, but my dear, those other times you weren't yet the most precious thing in the world to me." He finishes adjusting the holly branch and turns around, his eyebrows lifted. "Darling, it is Christmas. Do allow me to be sentimental, at least a little."

Leaning in, he kisses Watson briefly and slips by him to recover more holly.

[lightconductor]

It was admittedly hard to maintain much anger in the face of such a confession as all that. He was still not used to Holmes being sentimental, not for any reason, and it was a little overwhelming in any context to be declared the most precious thing in the world to someone.

"Very well, be sentimental." He pulled out a couple pine branches from a bundle, and went to arrange them around the mantlepiece. "But I am not a child, you wonderful fool. Surely you can let me do an errand or two with a minor injury without chiding me for it?"

[mustbethetruth]

"I'm not sure I can," he returns briskly, struggling and failing not to let the haunting sight of Watson crumpling before him return to his mind's eye. "Surely that isn't a surprise to you."

He picks up another sprig of holly but stops, his heart very much not in the game of decorating, not with every detail of Watson's injury returning to him in accursed, startling clarity. He drops the sprig and approaches Watson, and he slides his hand down Watson's good arm; he leans in closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

"I do love you, after all," he murmurs into his skin.

[lightconductor]

With an effort, Watson fell still, his eyes still closed. He hated this, hated being weak and injured and less than what he could be, and hated that he would never really be physically whole again. He let Holmes undress him, enjoying the brush of knuckles against his skin for a moment or two before turning his head to kiss Holmes's neck, far more gently than he had before, his ardor slightly muted now.

"Patience is not always something I find it easy to exercise, when it comes to you," he sighed. He trailed his fingers over Holmes's chest, moving in slow, gentle circles.

[mustbethetruth]

"And there are times when I'm very thankful for that," he returns warmly.

He divests Watson of his shirt, moving carefully over his stitches, and he leans forward to kiss his good shoulder; he ghosts his lips over his skin, moving slowly and gently. What upsets him most about Watson's opinion of himself is that he seems to find himself somehow less, but all Holmes manages to see is that Watson overcame, and he's here now, warm and alive in his arms.

He doesn't want this to turn into something sad and depressing. They were gearing up for some enjoyable afternoon sex, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that Mrs. Hudson is out all afternoon and so they can be a little bit louder. He doesn't want all that thwarted because some criminal wants one or both of them dead. Not at Christmas.

So he scrapes his teeth against Watson's skin, then again, and then he bites a little more forcefully, and he slides his hand to cup Watson's arse.

[lightconductor]

It was not hard to slip back into the right frame of mind, and Watson lifted his head to kiss Holmes a little more forcefully -- although admittedly perhaps just a little more cautious about his injured arm. He would be very glad when he was healed again, to be sure, but seemingly against all odds, here was Holmes now, and here was Holmes wanting him now.

"I think," he said, "that mistletoe is wasted on us. We hardly need it, do we?"

[mustbethetruth]

"I could always use an excuse to kiss you," he murmurs thickly, and he captures Watson's mouth in another kiss, deep and searching, before he breaks away and sets himself on Watson's neck. He follows his collarbone with his tongue, presses kisses at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he tugs his earlobe between his teeth, scraping at the skin. He tugs at Watson's flies, his fingers brushing against the skin of his abdomen, and he draws away from Watson with a husky chuckle.

"Though considering how quickly I went from decorating Christmas to wanting, a little desperately, for you to bugger me, mistletoe does seem a bit superfluous."

[lightconductor]

Watson drew back to look at Holmes in a mixture of surprise, delight, and desperate want. It was good, a bit of a relief, to be desired. "Who would I be," he murmured, leaning forward to briefly catch Holmes's lower lip between his teeth, "what sort of lover would I be if I were to deny you that?"

He slid his hands around Holmes's middle, tucking his fingers down into his waistband, and drew him away from the wall and into the middle of the room. He kissed him, hard, as they went, not really sure where he was planning to go.

"I could bugger you very hard indeed, if you wanted," he offered, rather innocently, as he bit down onto Holmes's collarbone. "Or -- if you prefer -- I could try to draw it out?"

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes makes a small, entirely involuntary, very quiet sound of frustrated want, and he pulls Watson's mouth up for another rough kiss, his teeth scraping against Watson's bottom lip. The trouble with being presented with these questions is that he'll spend far too long attempting to analyze them. When he is in control, it's far easier for him to decide because he has a better idea of how things will go. When the control is Watson's, who can be a beautiful surprise to him sometimes, he's left agonizing over the options.

"How cruel of you to make me choose," he murmurs against Watson's lips, and he skirts his fingernails along the lines of Watson's hips. "I submit to your discretion."

[lightconductor]

"Cruel? I was trying to be considerate." Watson explored Holmes's skin with his fingers, considering the matter. "But in that case... how would you feel about my bending you over something convenient?" He cast his eyes around the room before turning back to kiss Holmes, full of passion and heat.

He was beginning to be eager again, perhaps overeager, although he was still trying to rein himself in, for his own sake.

[mustbethetruth]

"I would feel that you shouldn't waste any more time in finding an available surface," he returns, and a small thrill runs through him. He loves that he and Watson are getting comfortable enough with each other that their sex is becoming this much more adventurous. They're a step closer to sex with Watson's uniform, he hopes.

"Your desk?" he suggests, a little hopeful, and he drops his mouth to Watson's shoulder, sucking at the skin.

[lightconductor]

His desk. Now, that was a thrilling idea. Good God, but the two of them were nicely matched as far as this sort of thing went. He'd never had high hopes of settling down with a woman who, when he did marry, was as eager as he was in the bedroom. It would have been too much to expect. But this... well, he was a man with healthy appetites, to be sure.

Watson shut his eyes briefly, savouring the feeling of Holmes's mouth against his shoulder. "My desk it is," he agreed, guiding them both in that direction. With his hand against the small of Holmes's back, he pressed him back against the edge of the desk, gently. His expression was eager, faintly challenging.

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes goes along easily, far too pleased that Watson's going with this idea to go any other way; blindly, he shoves aside whatever lies just behind him, and he settles comfortably against the desk. He pulls Watson in against him, between his legs, and leans in to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss.

"Don't go gentle on me now," he breathes hotly against Watson's mouth as the kiss breaks, their lips brushing as he speaks, and he rocks their hips together with decided intent.

[lightconductor]

"Is that a decision?" Watson grinned, relieved that this was going well, eager for it to play out. "I shan't be any more gentle than necessary, then." He reached down to cup Holmes's cock through his trousers, kissing him hard while his other hand dug through the desk drawer, searching for a convenient bottle.

With that in hand, he moved to unbutton Holmes's flies. He'd had enough of being patient, at least for the time being.

[mustbethetruth]

He makes a soft noise when Watson cups him, and for a moment he's lost in how much he loves Watson, how dearly he loves him. It might be odd that he very nearly views being roughly taken against a desk as almost making love, but he doesn't particularly care. He loves Watson for his vitality, and he's giving Holmes the best example of it right now.

He works to divest Watson of his trousers and fondles his cock, cupping it in his palm.

"Must I choose between vigorous fucking and drawing the thing out?" he says, breathless. "Can't there be a little of both?"