I blew out my candle, it was 1am. I had at least three hours of sleep to get before Holmes would decide that it would be wondrous to practice violin. I shuffled in the pale light of the moon to my cold bed. I looked out my window on to Baker Street where we reside.
Not but ten minutes after I lay to sleep, I am roused by creak outside my door. Being the war veteran I am, I silently pull my pistol into my hand from the nightstand. Surely this intruder could not evade Holmes for long. I began to sit up and prepare. Maybe my mind was tricking me….
The door knob began to twist. The pale moonlight allowed me to work out Holmes features. "Jesus…. Holmes, I could have shot you! What do you need my attentions for this late at night? And I will have you know that my room is not a practice space." He walked silently and slowly towards my bed. I put the pistol back on the nightstand.
He sat next to me on the bed bringing his knees up to his chest. "Oh Doctor Watson I can't sleep."
"Well I can… could before a certain insomniac detective sought out my attentions tonight." I said I bit more bitterly than needed.
"Doctor you have to help me!"
"Holmes! Control your voice! Anyways whine and wailing is not becoming for a man your age."
"WATSON!"
"Holmes!!" I said back sharply covering his mouth with my hand.
For a moment, which felt like honey covered forever, we sat just facing each other. I still had my hand over his mouth. His blue eyes gazed at me wantonly, our breathing became heavy. Memories of lolling the sands of Afghanistan with soldiers who had big blue eyes and perfectly toned bodies came flooding back to me.
I dragged my hand down the side of his face, feeling the harsh angles of his cheekbones. My hand began to seem of its own accord. Pushing itself to the back of Holmes neck and tangling in his hair. Soldiers with bruised lips and shallow breaths, the heat of the day matched by the heat of the night.
I must deny myself. Those years are over. No longer young and stupid at love. Lust no longer guides me away from the morals of society. I must maintain my gentlemanly stance.
"For who?" Holmes asked as if he were reading my mind.
I hid not the shock that now coursed through my very being. Holmes knows my thoughts as well as I do. Now do not get the idea I was sitting there like a daft cow with my mouth gaping open but I was quite lost in my thoughts. But a man of action never stops, and my dearies, Holmes is a man of action.
He pushed forwards and pressed his lips to mine. Chaste and perfect.
"Before you start bubbling with excuses like some rattled school girl, lay down so I can sleep while you prattle on."
I did as he said. Normally I would, as he so kindly put it, prattle on about every little detail. Tonight though was not the night. I turned on my side and placed my arm where it always should have been, around Holmes tiny waist. He smiled and we shared one last chaste kiss.
Perhaps that's all it will come to; chaste kisses under my warm duvet. Then again it's not Afghanistan, its Baker Street in the middle of gentlemen's society.