Disclaimer: I neither own, nor make money off of, Sherlock Holmes, Watson, or anything associated with them.
Drabble Prompt: Rent-boy
Holmes lay in the mid-morning sun, sated and drowsy. His unkempt locks were stuck to his forehead to what he knew was a charming effect. He was rather well pleased with himself, more so than usual, and he dipped his hand off the bed to retrieve the violin from where it had been lain an hour ago. The bow, however, was quite out of his reach.
Watson sauntered in from the washroom, towel in hand, his bare chest momentarily distracting the other man. Holmes composed himself in an instant, however.
"Watson, I seem to be out of range of the bow, be a good man and hand it to us?"
Watson stopped in his pace across the room, unable, at first, to believe what he was hearing.
"And ring Nanny for some tea, won't you, before you go? I've a splitting headache."
"Ring her yourself."
"What?" Holmes laughed. "Don't be like that, Watson, after all we've shared together this afternoon. Really, it stings me."
Watson slapped the towel down on the bed, his blue eyes as hard as diamonds.
"I'm not your dammed rent-boy, Holmes. I won't be treated as such. How dare you presume to order me about!"
Holmes, suddenly lost for words, could not form a response faster than his friend could move, and in a moment, Watson's mahogany walking stick was pressed against Holmes' adams' apple, and his lips against Holmes' ear.
"Never," he seethed, "forget who is in charge here."