Dr. John H. Watson, M.D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightconductor) wrote2011-02-17 07:05 pm
lightconductor) wrote2011-02-17 07:05 pm
Dinner and a show.
Continued from here...
Watson was, at least, as good as his word as far as his promise to treat Holmes to dinner went, even if the offer had been made under slightly different circumstances with slightly different goals in mind, slightly different expectations.
Little had changed between them, too, except in an unspoken sense. When they sat together on the sofa they sat closer than they had been, and there were occassional kisses between them, as light and as hesitant as that first night. Whether the excuse was more Holmes's lip or Watson's inexperience was debatable. And if it was the latter, that hurt his pride. He was no blushing virgin, no untried youth. It was the gender of his partner that was new. Surely it could not be so different?
He didn't know the answer to that.
As the week stretched on he was beginning to be just a bit overeager; despite his own unease, his own fears, he was a man of action. He had to wonder if Holmes, being more experienced, was not impatient with him, too.
But he had held onto his riches successfully, and on what had seemed an ideal night he had paid for dinner for the two of them at one of the nicer of their favourite restaurants, and they had gone to a concert afterwards. Both had been splendid. It had been a well-spent evening, despite Watson's dual eagerness and anxiety for what might happen on their return.
Coming home in the hansom afterwards was certainly a far different experience than the ride home from the boxing match. Watson let their shoulders touch, their thighs, surely contact that would look perfectly innocent to an onlooker, although he could not entirely convince himself that they would not immediately be found out and arrested.
Watson was, at least, as good as his word as far as his promise to treat Holmes to dinner went, even if the offer had been made under slightly different circumstances with slightly different goals in mind, slightly different expectations.
Little had changed between them, too, except in an unspoken sense. When they sat together on the sofa they sat closer than they had been, and there were occassional kisses between them, as light and as hesitant as that first night. Whether the excuse was more Holmes's lip or Watson's inexperience was debatable. And if it was the latter, that hurt his pride. He was no blushing virgin, no untried youth. It was the gender of his partner that was new. Surely it could not be so different?
He didn't know the answer to that.
As the week stretched on he was beginning to be just a bit overeager; despite his own unease, his own fears, he was a man of action. He had to wonder if Holmes, being more experienced, was not impatient with him, too.
But he had held onto his riches successfully, and on what had seemed an ideal night he had paid for dinner for the two of them at one of the nicer of their favourite restaurants, and they had gone to a concert afterwards. Both had been splendid. It had been a well-spent evening, despite Watson's dual eagerness and anxiety for what might happen on their return.
Coming home in the hansom afterwards was certainly a far different experience than the ride home from the boxing match. Watson let their shoulders touch, their thighs, surely contact that would look perfectly innocent to an onlooker, although he could not entirely convince himself that they would not immediately be found out and arrested.
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Holmes's room. He was going to sleep in Holmes's bed. That was... strange to think of. Would it be difficult to sleep in a strange room? Well, not strange, per se, but not one he spent a great deal of time in. Still, the climb to his own room seemed impossibly strenuous and long just then, and it was remarkably easy to settle into the embrace of Holmes's arm like this.
Pulling away only enough to make walking possible, he moved towards Holmes's room, wanting to be the one to take the first steps in that direction, because then it was him doing so and not Holmes 'coercing' him. Besides, he was possessed of a full-body exhaustion that made collapsing into a bed a very tempting option.
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Thankfully it isn't a long walk to his room because he doesn't think he could have managed a longer one.
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He could, Watson realised, very easily fall in love with Holmes. He was probably halfway there already, at the least.
Once in the bedroom, Watson was seized with a sudden sense of being utterly out of his depth again, but at least with Holmes so close against him, it was a little less tempting to give into the rather cowardly desire to bolt. He did pull away a little, giving Holmes a look that was suddenly somewhat shy, before beginning to undress fully. He felt awkward doing so, for no really good reason.
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He turns down his bed, stealing glances at Watson all the while, his shyness giving way to a certain quiet excitement at having Watson in his bed. At the possibility of waking up together. He slips into bed, waiting for Watson expectantly.
"If it makes you feel any better, I've had no complaints about this bed. I find the mattress to be very sound," he says with a softly teasing smile.
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This seemed to cross the line between casual affair and something more serious, all by itself.
Watson slipped between the sheets, wondering if he looked as awkward as he felt. He tried to settle himself, uncomfortably aware of the tension in his body. Swallowing his fear as he always had, he turned to Holmes and cautiously slid his arm around him.
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It's very possible, Holmes muses as he lightly traces Watson's spine, that he's falling in love with Watson.
Even Watson's awkwardness is endearing now, if a little saddening, and he tries to soothe away some of his apprehension in gentle, soft touches.
"If you have any complaints about the comfort of the bed, do be sure to inform me of them in the morning."