Watson smiled, greatly charmed, no matter that it was no new thing for him to see.  "I think, in this situation, I prefer our own laws to any of England," he sighed, sinking onto the sofa with him.  They were still not particularly decent, but good enough, he supposed.  Or bad enough.

He pressed a kiss to Holmes's collarbone before settling down against him.  The idea that he might be responsible for Holmes's downfall like that was still horrid, unthinkable.  He puffed at his cigarette, though, and tried not to think of anything but Holmes underneath him.