Boundaries between Watson and Holmes are few. They do have two unspoken rules: 1) Feelings for each other are not verbalized, not to each other and never to anyone else. 2) Touch is only utilitarian. Sherlock may shake her awake. Watson may tend to his wounds. Physical demonstrations of affection in private and especially in public are forbidden.
Holmes and Watson follow the rules, but anomalies have occurred during their time together. Meaningless little incidents that they never discuss. These are boxed up tightly, stored out of sight and any emotional residue quickly swept away.
Box #1 - The Small Incident in the Kitchen
The long dismal case from the prior week drags itself into the brownstone's kitchen, waiting for Holmes and Watson to attend to it. Grey morning light finds Sherlock, groggy and rumpled, scrambling eggs in a large bowl set on the counter. He can feel winter beginning to seep up through the bare floor. Watson, yawning, shuffles in, warm from sleep, deep in her old red sweater, hair in disarray. They mumble their "mornings," and she reaches up and in front of him to get her mug from the cabinet. He inexplicably moves towards her rather than away. Her shoulder brushes his arm as she brings the cup down. They stand there, leaning into each other, avoiding eye contact, both relishing the warmth of proximity, the way their heads are almost touching but not quite, the only sound, the whisper of their breathing. The moment lasts for a few seconds but is enough to bring them comfort: they are here together no matter what else is going on around them. As if by cue the moment ends, she lets her head graze his shoulder as she turns toward the coffee pot. He allows himself a tender glance in her direction, a breath is taken and the morning routine resumes. Attention quickly turns to the case that sits at the kitchen table, demanding to be solved. The day begins.
Box #2 - The Remote Control Incident
"Sherlock Holmes you give me that remote control right now!" She had been watching the game. Sherlock, finding it a bore, had started changing channels.
Sherlock stands over Watson, holding the remote control over his head, "What are you going to do about it Watson? I clearly have the advantage here. Height and might," he makes a face at her. Barefoot, Watson is a good deal shorter than Holmes but her anger evens out the fight.
She gets close to him, looking up into his face, "Someone told me recently that I should learn to fight dirty. The way you are standing there Sherlock, you are leaving yourself vulnerable to a well placed knee."
Sherlock quickly lowers his hand and turns away. Watson is not one for idle threats. She grabs him at the waist reaching around from the back and wrestling for the remote. As they tussle, she hears something, hard to identify at first, but as he begins shaking she realizes - he is laughing! A real laugh, not the fake ha-has he uses for effect but the guttural wheezing of his uncontrolled laughter.
"Oh my god, Sherlock, you're ticklish!" she says as she targets his sides. Feeling him wriggle and squirm as his laughter escalates makes her start giggling.
"Watson, stop! ... Stop that." He tries to stop the laughter and place authority into his voice. "I ... I ... I am not ticklish ..." Sherlock quickly gives up on authority, and moves on to pleading. "Watson stop, please ... stop." shaking with laughter, he curls into himself but Watson is relentless. Dropping to his knees, and then on the floor, she stays on top of him laughing as much as he is.
Feeling merciful, she stops. "How did I not know this?" He is now flat on his back on the floor, tears rolling down his face, both are laughing at the ridiculousness of their behavior. The laughter begins to abate as they try to catch their breath. He still clutches the remote as she lays on top of him, face to face, relaxed, happy, something that for them doesn't happen very often.
He reaches up with the non-remote holding hand to touch her face but thinks better of it and stops, gesticulating instead, "I'll strike a bargain with you," he says, "you don't tell anyone my ... you know ... weakness and you can have the remote."
She squints her eyes and considers the offer, "Mmmm..."
"And..." Sherlock quickly adds, "... And I will make you those disgusting sauerkraut laden sausages you like to eat while you watch your game." He raises his eyebrows and nods his head in expectation of her approval.
"Will you watch the game with me?" She asks with childlike innocence in her voice.
His look gets soft and his face shows how touched he is, but just for a split second, and then normal Sherlock is back, "Come now, Watson, no. I draw the line at..." She keeps staring straight into his eyes, until he breaks, "Alright, alright, I will. But no one, you tell no one about ... you know." He makes a tickling gesture with his free hand. Watson nods her affirmation. He hands her the remote and begins to sit up as she crawls off of him. Watson spots his polka dot sock covered feet and wonders. She makes a quick grab and tickles the underside of his foot, leaving him painfully giggling on the floor as she runs away. Sherlock catches his breath and calls after her, "That's it, Watson. There will be no mustard for you!"
Box #3 - The Calligraphy Incident
"Practicing your calligraphy Sherlock?" Watson says flippantly as she walks into the lock room. Two boxes full of files waiting to be reviewed sit dejected and ignored by his feet. Black ink, brushes and different grades of paper are strewn on the table in front of him.
"Hanzi, Watson! Chinese calligraphy, I assume you are familiar ..."
"Yes" she cuts him off before the lecture begins, "I was forced to learn. I'm rusty but I can read and almost write..." She looks sternly at him, "The real question here is why are you playing rather than working. That's not like you."
"Play, Watson, as you call this, is vital for the proper function of the human brain. It allows for different avenues of synapses to be forged, creative leaps to be made that can then lead to..." He keeps working as he expounds on the virtue of disciplined recreation.
"Okay, okay, I get it..." she says, trying to derail this lecture as well. "Why don't I take one of these boxes while you play."
"No, no, Watson, I'm through with this for now. Your nagging has broken my concentration." She rolls her eyes at him. He continues "I have some errands to run. Leave these case boxes for me. I'd rather you review the medical reports up in the media room."
He washes his brush in the water bowl and places it on the table. Picking up the sheet he has been working on, he is in front of her in two quick steps. Sherlock cavalierly hands her the sheet of paper face down with a surprisingly insecure and boyish look upon his face. She accepts the sheet as he quickly exits.
Watson shakes her head. Sometimes it's not worth the time to figure out what Sherlock is up to. She turns the page over. It consists of one perfectly executed character - 爱. Her face softens and her cheeks flush. The hanzi character for love - ài. Her heart beats a little faster and her eyes moisten as she walks over to the table, picks up the brush and leaves her reply on the same page. Watson grabs one of the case boxes, opens it and leaves the calligraphied sheet laying loosely atop the files for him to find. Closing the box, a half smile inches across her face and she heads up to the media room.