tl;dr: why couldn't mary have been ugly or something

[mustbethetruth]

Once the adrenaline fades, Holmes is only left with an empty sitting room and an empty hole inside him that won't be filled until the next case. He could've been happier about it, maybe, if he didn't think this would be the last case he did with Watson. If Mary Morstan hadn't been involved, hadn't been so sweet, hadn't been so pretty, hadn't been so exactly the kind of girl that Watson ought to marry.

He and Watson had spoken of love, of course, but Holmes has seen Watson's opinion on this type of love between men. He doesn't doubt that Watson ranks affection for a woman higher than that for a man; if he was so inclined to marry Miss Morstan... what would stop him? He'd feel remorse for breaking things off with Holmes, certainly, but a union with Mary would be right.

Holmes puffs out a billow of smoke and pulls his dressing gown tighter, sinking into the cushions of his chair. Watson is probably off with Mary now, explaining the loss of the treasure. No doubt he's relieved. A rich Mary would be unobtainable, but a poor one? A poor one in an emotional moment of loss and need? Oh, they lost the treasure in the Thames, but Holmes isn't so sure Mary won't wind up with a ring by the end of this evening.

As long as he had the case, he could distract himself. At the time, this business with Watson and Mary had been the distraction, and the case, full of its irrational logic and unexpected rationality, had been like food for his mind and soul. Usually a case leaves him full for days at least, especially with Watson providing him the sort of soul-stimulation Holmes needs, but now Holmes finds himself lacking both.

The worry that had been gnawing a hole in him through this entire case has now revealed itself, and that tiny hole is much bigger now. Holmes could drown himself in it. In a way, he is.

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[lightconductor]

Laughing and dropping clothing, Watson twisted away, more out of some feeling that he couldn't let Holmes get away with that than with any real desire to leave Holmes's arms. Entirely abandoning his burden of clothing, he reached to give Holmes a swat on his bottom, his expression as stern as he could manage. Pulling himself close, he gave Holmes's arse a squeeze and kissed him.

"If I don't get to keep my dignity," he said, still with an eyebrow raised in an attempt at severity, "then neither do you."

After another, gentler swat he pulled away and bent to pick up the scattered clothing he had dropped.

[mustbethetruth]

“A true consequence to be sure,” he says with a grin, though really it hadn't been a consequence at all, and if he hadn't had been worn out, it may have inspired him to a third turn. As it is, he stands back and watches Watson recover the clothes he dropped, shamelessly watching Watson's behind. The temptation is far too much to resist, and he reaches out and gives Watson's ass a light slap.

“It seems only right that you might have a taste of your own very bitter medicine.” Will they ever get to the bed? He's starting to wonder, but he still isn't any more eager to fall asleep. It's almost as if he's absorbing these playful moments straight into his soul, however silly that might sound; after such an intense case, however, Holmes must return to his human self, and teasing Watson like this is like immersing himself in a pool of humanity.

[lightconductor]

Watson gave a bit of a jump. He glanced over his shoulder, laughing, and bent to pick up the collar that had he had dropped in his surprise. He couldn't quite name what had possessed him to indulge in something so outlandish as a little playful spanking, but he was glad he had, and he was glad it had been received so well.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Watson said, smirking. "Is such punishment really deserved? How cruel you are."

He continued to be surprised at just how far he was willing to push himself with Holmes, what boundaries he was willing to explore. With most women, he wouldn't have dared, and it would have gone badly if he had.

[mustbethetruth]

Once Watson stands, Holmes encircles his arms around Watson's waist and backs him into the bedroom, stealing a quick kiss. Their clothes are somewhat squished between them, but he can't really bring himself to care, particularly when he gets the genius idea to lay his hands on Watson's arse as they're walking.

"I believe a jailer ought to live a night in his prison," he says, smiling against Watson's lips before he kisses him again. "If you can't handle the punishment, then don't dole it out."

[lightconductor]

Smiling against Holmes's lips, Watson gladly let himself be guided backwards, and rather haphazardly dropped the bundle of clothing in the corner before he slipped away to escape towards the bed. "It doesn't seem," he said, "like so terrible a prison." He slid into the bed, reflecting briefly on how it really wasn't any longer merely Holmes's bed. The beds in their home were shared, now, despite the names that were attached to them, and that was certainly the way things should be.

"I think I can take anything you care to dish out," he added.