lightconductor: (big smile)
Dr. John H. Watson, M.D. ([personal profile] lightconductor) wrote 2010-09-27 03:48 am (UTC)

Watson laughed, quietly and a little sadly. "Perhaps you do. Oh, my dear. My dear Holmes."

This was ridiculous. He was sitting in the chair leaning down over Holmes on the floor, and while he was sure it had made for a very interesting tableau at first, had there been anyone to see, at this point it was mostly becoming very awkward, and he wished to be able to press himself against Holmes properly, to hold him close. Bringing Holmes up to join him was impossible -- there was nowhere for him -- so Watson took the only other option available to him. Reluctantly, he detached himself, and slipped down onto the floor, and immediately moved to wrap his arms around Holmes tightly, chest to chest, while he buried his face in Holmes's shoulder.

It was ridiculous, he felt ridiculous, sprawled on the floor behind his desk like a pair of naughty schoolboys. He didn't care.

"You nearly died," he said, moving through the paces of the question as gradually as he could, "and you could not send word for fear of Moran. I understand this. Is that no longer the case, if you are here? Is it finished?"

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