He stops on his way to the water he'd placed there earlier -- who knows how long they will be here, after all -- and he laughs, startled by the statement, on edge from his adrenaline and proximity to Watson. He isn't sure where to cast his thoughts; to think about Moran is to feel ready to be sick, to worry that his plan will fail, to consider that Watson might die. To think about Watson is to feel dizzy with the desire to gather him up in his arms, to touch him or kiss him or breathe in his smell.
"That's the thing about sailors. They aren't commonly very picky."
He wets a cloth and passes it to Watson before wetting one for himself.
"I apologize we can't use proper remover, but the smell would linger. This ought to do well enough for now."
He scrubs his face, grateful for the opportunity to hide his eyes; he tries to turn the act into something symbolic, scrubbing himself clean of his confusing array of emotions, but he isn't sure that he's very successful.
"Now, Watson, we wait." He glances out the window to spot the officers Lestrade sent; his surprise at recognizing them is a bit overshadowed by his consciousness of Watson being near. He doesn't see Lestrade, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, does it?
no subject
"That's the thing about sailors. They aren't commonly very picky."
He wets a cloth and passes it to Watson before wetting one for himself.
"I apologize we can't use proper remover, but the smell would linger. This ought to do well enough for now."
He scrubs his face, grateful for the opportunity to hide his eyes; he tries to turn the act into something symbolic, scrubbing himself clean of his confusing array of emotions, but he isn't sure that he's very successful.
"Now, Watson, we wait." He glances out the window to spot the officers Lestrade sent; his surprise at recognizing them is a bit overshadowed by his consciousness of Watson being near. He doesn't see Lestrade, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, does it?