Bracing himself against the sink, Watson gave a low groan at the touch on his cock. "I've already waited longer than you have," he reminded Holmes, in a sort of gasp. He slid his hand over Holmes's head, running fingers through his hair, caressing the top curve of his ears.

He felt exposed, vulnerable, but for the first time in three years that was all right. Exposure before Holmes was nothing, no weakness at all, but a mutual meeting of mind and soul -- if he could be poetic about it. It was right, in a way very little had been for those past three years.

Watson curled his fingers around the angle of Holmes's jaw, possessive and claiming, hungry.