Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: Not mine, although actually in the public domain. No profit is intended.
Summary: A few quiet moments at the end of a busy day.
Author’s Note: Written for the Yahoo Holmesslash Group’s “A Little Love, a Little Angst" February Challenge prompt. This one is pure love and angst free. Based on spacefall’s beautiful artwork and dedicated to the Group’s wonderful mod, lyricalsoul, who does such a great job.
On a completely personal note, I will be away for the next week. My mom and I are actually going to the Grand Canyon to celebrate our birthdays (which I'm pretty excited about since we've never been there before). Have a great week everyone, and I hope to catch up with you all when I return.
But now… onto the fic…
The case had been long and weary. Holmes, exhausted after several days pursuit, began to remove his collar and cuffs as we entered the sitting room. He sat wearily in his chair and removed his boots and socks, stretching his long legs out before the fire. I watched him with a slight smile on my face.
“Oh, my dear Watson,” he groaned, “I’m getting too old for this.”
I chuckled quietly. “Nonsense, Holmes. You know you love chasing criminals throughout all of London, at all hours of the day and night.”
“Mmm…” he moaned noncommittally, and closed his eyes.
I stoked the fire for a few moments, making sure it was roaring, and then turned to my friend.
He opened one eye and looked at me. “Watson, would you do me the very great favour of reading me the agony column? I must keep up-to-date, but I haven’t the strength to even look at the papers right now.”
“Of course, Holmes,” I agreed. Although I was tired, I had actually gotten significantly more sleep than he had. I grabbed the evening papers and sunk to the floor by his feet, laying the papers out before me.
I began to read aloud, and was greeted with his tired exclamations of annoyance and disbelief. As I was reading, Holmes lay his leg over my shoulder. I held onto his calf, stroking it slightly, and looked for advertisements of interest. I continued stroking Holmes’ calf, allowing my fingers to run up the full length of his lower leg. I chanced a quick look at my friend; he appeared to be fast asleep.
I folded the papers and removed my hand from his leg, preparing to get up.
“Don’t stop,” Holmes whispered. “That felt rather nice.”
“I thought you were sleeping,” I said quietly, stroking his leg again.
“Mmm…” was the only response.
We sat quietly for a few minutes. I could hear the fire crackling, and Holmes’ deep breathing. I felt utterly content.
“You have healing hands, my dear doctor,” Holmes finally said, his voice on the cusp of sleep.
I felt myself blushing slightly, complimented and touched. I kissed his leg and then turned to face him. “Come on, Holmes,” I urged. “Let’s go to bed before you do spend the night in this chair.”
He reluctantly agreed, and I felt that only my promise of a massage enticed him to move. I stood and held out my hand. He took it and I helped him to rise.
“What would I ever do without you?” he asked, his gaze on me somehow intense even through his sleepiness.
I swallowed hard. “You’ll never need to find out,” I managed to say through the lump in my throat.
He leaned forward and kissed me, gently yet passionately. We broke apart slightly.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.
I kissed him once more and then, still holding onto his hand, led the way.