Without question Holmes has won his challenge, but he himself is pretty incoherent, and his groans have turned into small cries of his own (though not quite as loud as Watson's, he is eager to point out). Somehow that seems to diminish the win, though it doesn't go against the rules -- and regardless, he's enjoying himself immensely.

Generally when Holmes is in the dominant position he prefers to wait until his partner has reached their end before he allows himself to reach his own; it seems the most polite thing to do. This evening is no exception, though he begins to wonder if it will be, as his restraint cracks and the tension tightening in his muscles threatens to break.

After Watson's cry, it's only few thrusts before Holmes finishes with a cry, rocking forward into Watson one last time. He drops his head onto Watson's shoulder to catch his breath, his hair quite matted to his forehead, which he will have to fix in a moment. For now he wants the liquid exhaustion in his body to settle enough so that he can find the strength to roll over.

"I won," he mumbles, breathing heavily.