Jun. 30th, 2011

mustbethetruth: (Shirtless. Bed. That's totally Watson.)
Continued from here.

He bites back another sigh. His mental image of a diagram of the female sex flickers as Watson shifts against him, further confirming that Holmes is rather trapped against Watson. God, but he smells good. With Watson's head against him, his nose is practically in Watson's hair. He catches himself inhaling Watson's scent and abruptly stops, exhaling instead. Giving Watson's hand a squeeze, he directs his gaze to the floor of the bathroom.

"I think after too long I would start to feel like a cucumber in a stew," he says, realizing belatedly that he'd chosen a rather phallic image for himself. He bites the inside of his cheek and starts remembering the various smells, colors, and densities of the mud in London.