Take care of those you call your own, and keep good company...

[lightconductor]

It had been a long, if not unrewarding day. Now, though, Watson was glad to relax in the comfort of familiar surroundings. There was something perfect about the cosiness of their rooms, the crackle and warmth of the fire, the scent of dinner and brandy and tobacco smoke. It was home, and it was far more perfect than he felt he had any right to claim.

He was stretched out on the sofa, comfortably full, with a novel propped up on his chest while he rested his head in Holmes's lap. The position was comfortable, intimate, and while in part he worried that it was... unmanly, unbecoming, unduly effeminate... it felt strangely safe, and he was grateful for the warmth of the thigh beneath his head.

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[lightconductor]

Watson shook his head in disbelief, but there was a certain amount of relief in his manner. They had, somehow, impossibly, escaped disaster yet again. Relaxing fractionally, he took a long breath.

"You... don't seem troubled by it, Miss Morstan, if you don't mind my saying so."

That was almost comforting. Another ally, another confidant they could, hopefully, rely on. He already liked Miss Morstan, and it was comforting to not have to revise that opinion.

[theyarder]

Lestrade is infinitely relieved, but more than that, he's a little proud of her and her open mind and her sharpness and her willingness to just come right out and talk about it, which had been more than Lestrade was able to muster for a while there. But then again the circumstances had been quite different.

"There you have it, then. I'm not keeping any other secrets from you, honest," he says with a small smile. "You don't have any objections about keeping this secret with me?"

[missmorstan.livejournal.com]

"No, I don't believe I do." Mary squeezed Lestrade's hand again, feeling a peculiar combination of elation and affection. She liked having been proven right, she liked that it was a secret between them, and rather selfishly she liked that this meant that Watson simply hadn't found her attractive. She wasn't proud of that last part, but she couldn't exactly help it either.

"And no, Dr. Watson, I am not." She pursed her lips together thoughtfully, searching for words. "I'm unfairly biased to your advantage, after all. You've done me such a number of favours. You uncovered the mystery behind my father's death for me, you introduced me to Guy." Mary laughed, honestly and warmly. "Perhaps it's unladylike of me to be anything other than shocked and horrified, but if my dear Guy doesn't mind... I can't say it worries me too much."

[mustbethetruth]

"If being ladylike requires you to be repulsed, then I would ask that you refrain from that. I promise not to be too offended," he drawls, though he is rather inwardly annoyed at such notions of being ladylike and prone to fainting and all that ridiculousness. At least Mary isn't like those other kinds of women, and not just in areas of being open-minded about homosexuality.

[lightconductor]

"I'm of the opinion," Watson offered, beginning to relax a little again, "that men who demand their women be perfectly meek and 'ladylike' have little interest in their wives as people in their own right."

He was giving her a slightly evaluative look; he felt his heart might pound right out of his chest with worry, but... she seemed genuine, kind enough to not dismiss them out of hand for one mere sin.

"But I thought I liked you." He grinned. "Good to see I still do."

[theyarder]

Lestrade is, just now, so in love with his fiancee that he feels it bubbling up into a flush in his cheeks. It is, too, a relief to know that he doesn't have to keep this from Mary, that he can talk about Holmes and Watson and not have the knowledge of this secret rattling around in his brain. And maybe, too, they can be good for Holmes and Watson.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Watson," he says, smiling. "Personality's much more important than propriety, that's always been my opinion."