Oh, good. Oh, good. Now was past the time for games, for teasing, for anticipation. Perhaps this was another sort of teasing, but... an irresistable one, a desirable one.

The honey itself made for a strange sensation on his skin, sticky and heavy, and when Holmes's tongue added to it, hot and wet, it was entirely beyond his power to choke back the moan that built up in his throat. The table was an awkward place to sit, and he was suddenly not so steady, nor sure of his ability to keep his balance; Watson braced himself against the edge of the table with one tense hand, his back arching. Watson's other hand slipped from Holmes's hip, slowly moving up to rest at the back of his neck. His fingers buried themselves in Holmes's hair, taking a tighter grip than was strictly necessary, one to match the white-knuckled grasp he had on the table beneath him. Even just to watch Holmes at work was somewhat overwhelming.

"Far be it from me," he gasped, his gaze unfocused and fixed firmly on Holmes's mouth, "to interfere... with your enjoyment of dessert." Even if, especially if Watson was the dessert in question.