Watson gave a gasp; he hadn't expected this so soon. His eyes wide open but seeing nothing, he clutched at Holmes. His playful teasing was quickly giving way to being overwhelmed with senation. He dropped his head back, trying to remember to breathe. The thought passed briefly through his head that Holmes needed to fuck him thoroughly, until he could no longer remember his own name, let alone Miss Morstan's. He hadn't the breath to say it.

He shifted up to try to kiss Holmes, desperate and clumsy in his rush of lust. He couldn't deny that he was a hedonist, because he had always known that to be true. If he was going to be sodded on the floor on the bearskin rug by the fire, then so be it.

"I," he breathed, "am made for you, I'm beginning to think."