Watson's kiss was very gentle, very slow, exploring and reacquainting himself with Holmes. It was far less mad and needful than their earlier kiss, Moran unconscious at their feet.

He wasn't interested in words, not then, not particularly. He slid Holmes's shirt off his shoulders, and drew him towards the bed. It was, he felt, of the utmost importance that he tuck them in together, where they belonged, where no madmen with air guns could harm them.

"Please," he whispered, brokenly. He was already halfway drawing Holmes down under the covers with him. "Take off your trousers." He needed as much bare skin as possible that he could touch with his own; that was all there was to it.