I confess that there have been times in which I have longed to hit my dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes. Despite the unfeelingness with which he tormented me, I had never acted upon these shameful desires, until now.

My fist made a satisfying crack as it connected soundly with his jaw. Holmes staggered back, shocked that I should show my anger in such a physical way.

"How did you expect me to react? I thought you were dead," I growled at him.

"Why, Watson, I don't know how you could have leapt to such a conclusion. I am, after all, here before you, heart beating, and jaw aching."

He was taking the matter too lightly, I thought angrily and I was sorely tempted to strike him again.

"Watson, my dear fellow-"

"No. I am angry at you. Furious, in fact, and I fully intend to remain that way."

"You know I'm sorry, Watson. What more do you want me to say?"

"That isn't enough. You can't erase three years with two words!"

He opened his mouth but I turned to hurry from the room, to wanting to hear what he would say. "Watson, wait."

"What?" I snarled, purposefully not turning around as I knew that if I took one look at his expression I would surrender.

"Please." The broken whisper made my heart wrench painfully. I was tempted to forgive him, but what he had done was too serious and, for both our sakes, I could not. Instead I stood, arms folded tightly, as I waited.

He placed a hand hesitatingly on my shoulder. I tensed but a traitorous part of my mind rejoiced at the feel of his touch. It was too distracting and I hastily shrugged it off, turning as I did to face the man I loved.

He had something burning in his eyes though I told myself it was not possible that it could be love. He frowned and I felt as if he was reading each fleeting thought that passed unheeded through my mind. There were times when it was a damned inconvenience to be in love with a man as brilliant as Holmes, who was accomplished like no other at reading the thoughts of those around him.

Holmes reached forward to trace his long fingers over my cheekbone, determination now in his eyes.

"Holmes, no." I whispered, fighting to keep the longing from my voice.

He ignored me as I had half hoped he would. Holmes leaned forward and brushed his lips gently across mine in a way that made me clench my hands into tight fists.

The second kiss was less chaste. My knees buckled and I would have fallen had Holmes not chosen that moment to snake his arms around my waist, pulling me down onto the chaise as I yielded to temptation.

---

"Holmes," I asked much later as the world's only consulting detective dozed, head resting upon my shoulder, "What would you have done had I refused you?"

"You would not have. You are not adept at hiding emotion. Perhaps well enough to fool anyone else, but not me."

"Sometimes I think it would be easier to be in love with Lestrade," I remarked, sighing.

Holmes laughed. "Easier perhaps, but not nearly as interesting."

I'm not sure what I think of that section. I just wanted to put some of- well, it didn't turn out the way I had hoped. I don't know if I should keep it at all.