For a moment, Watson was a little worried that Holmes would be carried away, and that he was going to have to break this mood by protesting for the sake of some serious discomfort -- for a moment only. His trust in Holmes was absolute, after all, or very nearly so. He drew in a long breath, reaching to rest his hands lightly on Holmes's waist.

He let his eyes shut, focusing on Holmes's tongue and clever fingers rather than the pain, finding it deliciously easy to do so. This was perhaps a good deal less efficient than a towel, but a lot more enjoyable.

"Oh, yes," he hissed gently. He brought a hand up to the back of Holmes's neck, his fingers rubbing the skin gently, combing up into damp hair.