mustbethetruth | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Continued from here.

He smirks faintly, adjusting to being touched once again, but so far nothing seems to be driving him toward sensory overload. It helps that Watson can amuse him, even now, even when Holmes's heart is racing just a little at entering into something like this now, so suddenly.

"I wasn't quite asking permission," he admits a little sheepishly, his fingers seeking out Watson's ribs and mapping them carefully. Their positions have slid from when they were sitting properly, and Holmes is slightly uncomfortable from the angle; besides, the urge to situate Watson under him is quite strong, suddenly. He finishes their transition from sitting to laying down, nudging Watson down and positioning himself over him.

It's rather enjoyable to have Watson solid and secure and half naked beneath him, the latter not nearly as important as the first few.

"It seems so long ago that we last did something like this," he observes, and he ducks his head to kiss Watson's collarbone.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Watson, by this point, had done a rough job of making himself presentable again following their adventure on the sofa, and he was waiting near the door with Nell, who was growing steadily more impatient about this walk that she had heard mentioned, keyed in to the fact that Watson, at least, was very obviously getting ready to go out. She was circling and whining anxiously and impatiently by the door.

Seeing Holmes reappear, shaved and changed and looking more himself again, Watson was struck with a sudden rush of tender affection. He smiled, the emotion all in his face and eyes, unable to keep it out of his expression. He picked up his stick from beside the door. "Are you ready to go, then?"

He can see that look and smiles back, still somewhat uncomfortable, fearing a relapse, but nonetheless happy to be returning to what feels right. Nell anxiously walks over to him and back to the door, whining and giving her tail a few interested wags.

"Alright, yes, I am ready. Look at the two of you, whining in eagerness at the door." His smile brightens and he leans over to kiss Watson briefly. He opens the door, or tries to, as Nell only moves enough to allow the door to open just slightly; once there is enough room, she hurries out, and Holmes follows.

Smiling at the kiss, at having Holmes even halfway affectionate again, Watson followed, shutting the door behind him.

Nell was off like a shot, prancing to and fro, nosing curiously into every likely-looking bush or rock or patch of dirt, the entire world fascinating and all-encompassing. Her tail never stopped wagging, not even when she paused in her exploration to glance back at Holmes and Watson to make sure they were headed in the same direction she was.

Watson offered Holmes his arm, not at all sure he would take it and more than prepared to be ignored or turned down. And that would be okay, he told himself, there was no sense in taking offense when Holmes's recovery was still so new and tentative. "Did you have a destination in mind, or is this an aimless ramble?" he asked.

He wishes he could find the world as fascinating as Nell does now; for Holmes there is nothing to hold his attention, to pique his interest. But those are morbid thoughts, and one that he finds aren't too difficult to set aside.

He takes Watson's arm, at least for the moment, and considers their options.

"The beach," he declares, only just now thinking of it, but it's what comes to mind when he thinks of fresh, new, and starting over. "Perhaps we'll find a buried treasure," he says dryly.

"Perhaps," Watson said, smiling. He smoothed his free hand over Holmes's arm, briefly squeezing his hand, before letting go and dropping that arm to his side again. He had neglected to bring his stick today -- perhaps that would prove unwise, but for now, he didn't mind forgetting it. "I suppose we may find some spades to dig it up with in the village, if necessary? I'd prefer not to use my bare hands."

There was no point in planning that, but it seemed right to do so, the sort of trivial plotting that made no real difference but seemed important to Watson.

"I suppose these pirates I am writing about must find some buried treasure at some point." Watson gave a thoughtful hum. He thought he could find some potential in that. "Am I writing another romance? I am taking suggestions now."

"You mean I am meant to wait until you are open to suggestions to give them?" he asks skeptically, smirking sideways at Watson. Even if that were the case, he doubts very much he could or would follow that rule. "Very well. Yes, it should be another romance." He smiles, allowing himself to imagine what this story might be like. "Romance for a pair of inverted pirates on the high seas. There's a fair amount of potential in that."

He loves that Watson writes stories like these for him, more than he can really say without feeling strange. It's wonderful enough to be reading stories of romance, but with Watson's thumbprint on them, they take on improved significance.

"I cannot very well take suggestions so easily once the story is halfway completed," Watson countered. "If I write half the story and you then request that I craft some sort of situation with a young aristocrat being held for ransom by an unsavoury pirate captain, and I've already done something with, I don't know, a romance between two sailors plotting mutiny, it will be hard to implement."

In truth he was at present favouring neither scenario, and was at that moment considering a romance between a young captain and his first mate, but he hadn't firmly decided on anything at that point, either.

"I wouldn't go so far as to dictate that to you." That aspect is best left entirely to Watson's discretion because that's the part that's infinitely fascinating. "But am I not allowed to make suggestions to the current situation as the story goes along?"

The ideas Watson presents sound good to him; truly he doesn't know that he would complain about the plot itself, unless it was unrealistic or problematic or ridiculous... But he can suspend some of that for a story, at least.

Watson sighed, with entirely false exasperation. "Very well, you may make suggestions that I may choose to implement, as is appropriate. But I make no promises to use any of them, if it doesn't suit me."

He paused as Nell came back to circle around them, clearly making sure they were following properly along, before continuing exploring with her nose to the ground.

Smiling, Watson's expression warm and soft and faintly teasing. "After all, it's my story, even if I'm writing it for you, and I must be allowed what small rebellions I can find."

He probably shouldn't say it, but Holmes likes these stories precisely for the rebellions. Rebellions are the best thing to come out of the imposition of rules because they are not so predictable and they speak to the character of humanity. There's a reason they're so feared, and so revered, depending on what side you're on.

"Of course you must find your rebellions. You are not programmed to conform," he says instead, sounding tired, but clearly it's a reason why he likes Watson at all, let alone loves him. "Will I get to hear it in pieces again this time?"

"Did you like hearing it that way?" Watson asked. "I can refrain if you'd like, but I have no objection to sharing." It was unnerving to share what wasn't finished, but it was also rather gratifying to see Holmes enjoy what he wrote.

It was, besides, a little special to have Holmes actually approve of anything he wrote.

"I am actually considering," Watson said, making a grand, sweeping gesture with his free hand, "the story of a handsome, rakish pirate captain and his trusted first mate growing close as they search for a legendary lost treasure. How does that strike you?"

That strikes him very well, he thinks. Quite different circumstances from the first story, or he would venture to suppose, which is good because Holmes isn't sure he would be able to approve on another romance like that that was all build-up and missed signals and no reward. The close quarters of a ship lend themselves well to tension and budding romance, but he is intrigued by the close quarters as well; what will the other sailors have to say?

"I can approve of that," he says with a satisfied sniff, as if it were his story and not Watson's (and no matter Holmes's suggestions, it is ultimately Watson's story). "And yes, I would like to hear it as you go along. That way I'm not tempted to skip to the end to see if I approve." He gives Watson a playful smile.

"Well, let's see what I may accomplish." Watson smiled; he was rather looking forward to this now, this new project he had suddenly found himself working on. He only hoped Holmes would find it as entertaining. It struck him, as it occassionally did, how very small the list of things he would not do for Holmes, would not do to try to please him, actually was.

They came out onto the beach, then, and Watson's smile broadened a little. He was ridiculously glad that it was a nice day, and that it was not raining on a day like this when Holmes wanted to be out and about. There was some justice in the world, anyway. He looked at Holmes, inhaling in the smell of the sea and exhaling it with a satisfied sigh.

"Gorgeous day," he remarked, releasing Holmes's arm. "You know, I've been meaning to give fishing here another try. Maybe I might actually catch something."

"You ought to take Nell with you. I'm sure she would be more than willing to help." Nell is, at that moment, playing a form of chase with the surf as it rolls back out to sea. "She would be an excellent addition to your fish hunting party." He gives Watson a smile, walking out over the sand towards Nell. He doesn't come to the beach often; he probably should more often, but the sand that is invading his shoes and the wind that is ruffling his hair does much to dissuade him.

"We should have brought some sandwiches," he observes.

"I suppose we should have," Watson agreed, following Holmes out onto the sand. He had to smile at Nell playing in the surf. She was a truly wonderful dog, he thought, intelligent and eager to please and loving and playful, and they were as lucky to have found her as she had been to find them, very possibly. If they ever did make it home, he had to hope they would be able to bring her with them.

If they moved back into Baker Street together, what would Mrs. Hudson say of the addition of a dog?

Watson had to inwardly laugh at himself. As though Nell would've been anything but the least of their concerns.

"I'll remember your interest in picnics when the weather gets warmer. As it is, we'll just have to manage to wait for sandwiches." Watching Nell, Watson came to the conclusion that it would be best to find something to toss for her, and discover just how fond of the water she might be -- was she a swimmer, or was she content to go no farther than she could wade? "Holmes, do you happen to see a stick we could throw anywhere about?"

He'd just been starting to think along these lines, and he glances around for one, hoping to find one suitable. Luckily there's a good-sized stick, one that looks like it would hold up in Nell's jaw to get sufficient playing time in. He picks it up and hands it to Watson, since Watson asked for it, and calls Nell over to them.

Happy to hear her name, her ears perk up first, and then she runs over to them, happily wagging her tail behind them. They have been cooped up for too long, clearly, and Nell is rather happy to have both of her people out with her.

"I'm sure she would be happy for a chance of picnics too," he says, smirking faintly.

"We'll have to have one at some point, then," Watson said. "Don't let me forgot that."

Hefting the stick high to get Nell's attention, he tossed it out into the water. Nell sprang after it, tail wagging. She pulled up short at the edge of the water, for a moment hesitating over just how wet she was willing to get. She glanced back at them, looking for some sort of approval which she evidently found, because she turned and bounded into the water. Apparently unbothered by the salt and the cold, she soon returned to the shore with the stick in her mouth.

Watson laughed. "You're a brave girl to go swimming in that," he said. "Come here, Nell. Give me the stick."

Nell wagged her tail, and sat, but didn't release her grip on her prize, either.

He chuckles, both at Nell braving the water and guarding her stick so stubbornly. This is obviously part of the game here, and Holmes crosses his arms over his chest, looking between Watson and Nell.

"I don't think she's feeling very generous. That looks to be quite the challenge." The smile he gives Watson makes it clear that it's his challenge, not Holmes's.

Watson shot Holmes a look that was tolerantly patient. He was well aware he was being left to his own devices, for better or for worse, and doubtful about his abilities to reclaim the stick at all. The last thing he wanted was to end up brawling on the ground or, perish the thought, in the water after a wet and slimy tree branch. And yet, he couldn't very well abandon the game either, even if he was playing alone.

"Come on, Nell, drop it." When Watson moved towards her, Nell backed away, growling playfully though her tail wagged all the harder. "Nell!" There was a time for obedience and a time for play, and Nell had clearly decided this was the latter. She put down the stick, barked playfully, but the moment Watson drew nearer she grabbed her prize and pranced away again, circling around.

After a few repetitions of this, Watson looked over at Holmes in a vaguely pleading way, rather defeated. "Our dog," he announced, straightening, "has your knack for selective obedience."

With Watson no longer playing her game, Nell came a little closer, letting out an impatient, playfully inviting yap, her body tense with readiness to dash away again at a moment's notice.

It's pretty endearing watching Watson helplessly attempt to coax the stick away from Nell, who clearly isn't having any of it, and who Holmes rather admires for her dedication to watching Watson plead so very insistently. He's almost chuckling when Watson finally turns to him, and he's certainly grinning widely, very proud of Nell.

"In that case, you ought to know that there's nothing to do but give up the chase." While Watson had been attempting to get the stick away from Nell, Holmes had spotted another one nearby; he picks it up and offers it to her, holding it up and making to throw it once or twice.

Nell at first is unsure. It has the smell of a trap, but it's also another stick, and it's about to escape, and if it does she had better be ready for it. Holmes watches her body start to tense, and by the time he finally throws it, Nell is ready to drop the hold on the current stick and run for the second. Holmes stoops to pick up the first and holds it out to Watson, smiling triumphantly.

Watson glared for a moment, at a loss for words and feeling utterly, utterly defeated, outwitted by Holmes and Nell alike. Giving a resigned sigh and a shake of his head, he snatched back the stick. "Thank you," he said, sardonically. "I'm glad to have your support and guidance when it comes to outwitting the dog."

Nell had come circling back by this point, second stick held firmly in her jaws, but seeing her original prize once again in Watson's posession, she dropped her stick -- at a safe distance from easy snatching -- and rushed forward with a bark, bowing playfully and panting in an attempt to entice Watson to throw that one for her again, too. Laughing, Watson reached to take Holmes firmly by the lapels and pull him close for a hard, firm kiss. Left out and ignored, Nell barked impatiently and jumped up, trying to be included.

He'd almost been as tense as Nell for Watson to throw the stick again (isn't Holmes the cat in this relationship?) and he's just as surprised, though much less indignant, when he suddenly finds himself being kissed rather hard. Watson hadn't seemed in the kissing mood, but Holmes isn't about to complain, and he wraps an arm around Watson's waist, though Nell's insistence that she receive some attention unfortunately brings things to a premature end.

He draws away, still smiling. This walk was a good idea; is still a good idea, and he doesn't want to go back home, not for a while yet. He takes the stick out of Watson's hand and gives it a good throw.

"There you are, stop whining," he says and wraps his arm back around Watson's waist. "And my dear Watson, you have my support and guidance when it comes to outwitting everything."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only