Watson sighed, his breath catching in his throat, and he opened his eyes again, if only to be able to watch Holmes fuck him. That was as important as the rest of it, it seemed to him.

He moved against Holmes's thrusts, matching his rhythm, gasping. His fingers were still tight on Holmes's flesh, clutching him, holding him close as though the possibility of either of them evaporating was a real one.

"Sherlock," he moaned again, half a cry, soft and broken.