Though answering in words was out of the question just then, Watson did give a long sigh, a sound of nothing short of assent. Yes, said that sigh, yes, I am yours, there is no better fate than that. There was a moment in this act, just this one moment, where he found himself warring between wanting this and being afraid of it; that fear was always growing less, was barely a moment's hesitation now, but it was always there, nontheless.

He leaned his head back, relaxing into Holmes's touch, a small pucker of worry forming on his brow briefly before fading again. "Mine," he whispered, an echo and an affirmation, a claiming and an acceptance.