Tucking himself against Holmes, being able to feel him against him from head to toe -- it was like being fitted together with the other half of himself, a matching puzzle piece, for the first time in three years. Watson gave a small, breathy sob, his fingers wandering over Holmes's skin, exploring and relearning.

He dearly hoped there was no reason for the pair of them to get out of bed tomorrow. Or all week, for that matter. Anyone who came calling could bloody well come back later.

"Shhh," he soothed. He pressed a series of kisses gently over Holmes's skin, his fingers still gently stroking.