Title: Would Be
Author: Tiamat's Child
Rating: R
Characters: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes spends a lot of time on his daydreams. Slash.
Would Be
Tiamat's Child
In Holmes' mind Watson would be fascinated with the faint marks of the syringe on his left arm. The pale scars and the blue veins that trace tracks of blood beneath Holmes' skin would draw him. Homes can shut his eyes and call the imagining up, make it nearly real.
Watson's fingers would be curious, through, almost clinical but not quite, because clinical is the cool coat of ceramic glaze over metal and Watson's touch is warm and bare, and a little cutting, a little sharp. Holmes knows precisely how sensitive the skin on the inside of his arm and wrist is, so her knows he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open, at least not at first. It would be too overwhelming, too much for a single slice of moment to carry, no matter how much he might want the sight memory later.
But he might manage to force his eyelids up, just for an instant, and see, and the strength of Watson's focus, all that quiet, knowing attention turned on him, would be more than enough to close his eyes again. But he'd still be able to see that image, and that, as much as Watson's thoughtful touch, would turn his breathing shallow and trembling.
Watson would turn his wrist to catch the light and say, I wish you'd be more careful. You're going to collapse a vein someday.
Watson worries too much. He's fine, and he's always careful, but he wouldn't be able to say so just then, even though he'd want to, because Watson's words would gust breath across his skin and that would be very distracting. He might make a small sound, a gasp or a barely there, air filled moan, or something of the sort. And that would make Watson smile, he knows it, and though he wouldn't be able to see that smile, he thinks that he'd probably be able to hear it, as Watson's own breathing changed.
And then he'd startle all over again at the soft, somewhat strange sensation of Watson kissing his wrist, and then his palm, and carefully folding his fingers closed.
He'd open his eyes then, and find Watson watching him. There would be a question there, unspoken but still present. For all of the thought and time he's spent on this scenario, working out every piece and every instant, Holmes still hasn't figured out what the answer would be.