He can feel the power of Watson's restrained lust, like an animal tugging at the end of its leash, but the restraint doesn't feel threatening; it isn't overwhelming, and maybe it's also that there's concern and tenderness there too that grounds Holmes and keeps him from getting too swept up in all of this. That had been the problem all along, the fear that he might lose whatever pieces of himself survived the dark mood inside Watson. He still feels like someone who has been released from several days of being shut up in a dark room, now forced to step into the sunlight, but at least his eyes have adjusted now.

Bolstered, he kisses Watson hungrily, and he finally begins to notice individual items, instead of all of them at once. He can focus on Watson's lips and the scratch of his moustache and ignore the other things, like the bird outside and Nell's nails scratching on the kitchen floor. He begins to increase his pace, teasing his thumb against Watson's cock occasionally.