don't worry it won't stay this cute

[mustbethetruth]

It's a little alarming to Holmes that he enjoyed their evening. He and Watson spent most of the day with Lestrade and Mary, and he enjoyed himself, even in their silly romantic company. What this means for him, he couldn't possibly say. Is Watson softening his character to the point where he has friends, in a normal way, and he enjoys it?

Mycroft will never believe it. Actually, he might laugh at him. Holmes would be alright with that, as he feels liable to laugh at himself just now.

It's dark as they approach Baker street, and he's humming the opera for Watson's benefit. The street's fairly empty, and he's happy -- properly happy -- so he breaks away from Watson and dances with himself, only just able to stop himself from laughing and ruining the spectacle of the moment.

Comments

[lightconductor]

"Normally," Watson chuckled, drowsily, "when you tell me something like that, it has rather a sinister connotation. Would you take advantage of me in the state I'm in now?" But he laid back, inhaling the smells he was surrounded with, smells of Holmes, of comfort and being loved. Perhaps he was a bit loopy from the morphine, but he hardly cared just now.

"If the snake was a warning," he said, looking up at the ceiling, "it was a rather oblique one."

[mustbethetruth]

"My darling, normally I would love to distract you with sex, but we're in the middle of a serious conversation here," he teases and reaches for the waist of Watson's trousers. "Please, do try to keep your focus."

He tugs Watson's trousers off, mulling over this idea of a warning and a proper assassination attempt. Yes, the snake is a rather ridiculous and eccentric warning, but what other type would you send to Sherlock Holmes, if you knew him to be your enemy? The attempt on their lives tonight was dull, yes, and straightforward, but it'd been utilitarian. The attempt was on Watson's life, and once Holmes crowded Watson's space, shielded him, got too near, then the assassin didn't try to finish the job.

Someone wants to get through to Holmes.

"Perhaps its meaning will become clear," he murmurs, and he stands back to start shedding some layers of his own. "Would you care for anything else, my dear Watson? More brandy, a cigarette?"

[lightconductor]

"Yes. I require you, here, where I can be assured that we're both still alive and in one piece. More or less."

Watson shifted comfortably, pulling the covers over himself, and settling into a position that did not put undue pressure on his latest injury.

"And I will try to stay focused as best as I can, but for the official record, you started it." He gave a small, throaty chuckle. "If someone is suddenly making a serious effort to kill us -- and that isn't anything new to me, for what it's worth, I've had thousands of Ghazis out for my blood, what's one more man? -- if someone is, what shall we do now?"