Watson reached up to catch Holmes's hair in his hands, pulled him down against him, kissing him, smothering his gasps with Holmes's mouth. The kiss was almost a promise, an oath, a sealing of some pact between them of mutual ownership, of love.

"Now," he begged. He murmured this against Holmes's lips, his voice desperate, his fingers still clutching at Holmes tightly. "Now, if you have mercy."