He lays his head back against Watson's shoulder, still rather restless to be confined, to be handled so steadily, but at the same time, it seems to be breaking through Holmes's aversion to feeling caught. Watson's dominance is endlessly arousing anyway, but just after a conversation about Watson in his uniform? It's difficult for him not to feel the soldier around him, in the strength of his grip and the scrape of his teeth. His steady handling of Holmes's cock is maddening, and erotically so.

"Do you see, my dear? You don't need a uniform to be commanding," he says, voice strained. Watson's pace is slow, and it's frustrating, but Holmes is almost grateful; he doesn't want this over sooner than it has to be, and even though this pace is driving him a little insane, it's preferable to the alternative.