DISCLAIMER: The Princess doesn't own anything but the simple bear necessities.
Shadow the Cat: This fiction takes place somewhere after A Game Of Shadows.
Princess: Hey Hey! I have a dare for the fans of the Russian fake-lesbian group, t.A.T.u.!
Pie: Can you pick out which song I use in this oneshot? Answer will be at the bottom.
Princess: Also, this is the first in a series of Sherlock Holmes/John Watson romance fics. They'll very in legth, but they are going to get published. I promise you.
Pie: *lifts right hand, left hand placed on Bible* Anywayz, enjoy your crappy slash fic.
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I, Dr. John Watson, shoved open the door on Baker Street and let it slam behind me. I stomped through the hallway.
I had followed Sherlock Holmes back to his house after a particularly difficult case. I was exhausted, and didn't feel like walking across town to get to my house, where my wife Mary was.
I'll just stay at Holmes' place tonight; Mary won't mind, I justified to myself as I pounded tiredly up the stairs, Hell, she thinks I'm still in Germany. I'm not due back until tomorrow. I'll just spend the night here like I used to.
But in the back of my mind, a series of words throbbed against my skull.
If you stay here tonight, your life will never be the same.
Meh, just some stupid thing. Nothing to be worried about.
I opened the door to where Holmes usually stayed and stormed in.
Sherlock Holmes was stretched out in his favorite chair, his pipe in one hand while the other hung limply over the arm of the chair. His eyes were glazed as he stared at the flames. They licked hypnotically at the metal gate which kept them back.
It was like the flames danced for me and Holmes.
My pounding heart was calmed. My purpetual anger at the cold sleuth became background noise. My exhaustion was now overwhelming.
I made my way over to the small couch at the other end of the room and sat down. I let my eyes drift closed.
"Good job, my dear Watson." Came a strong, but undeniably spent voice.
My head lolled to the side but I refused to open my eyes.
"Whatever you say, your Highness," I mumbled. Why does this man make me so strangely angry? Yes, I'm very mad at him. But...
The problm is I can't stay mad at him.
"You say something, Doctor?" I could hear his goofy smile. And, the same with pretty much everything he does, the smile is contagious.
"Nothing at all, Holmes."
"Oh, but I think you did,"
"Never mind it, Holmes."
"You know me, Watson. I'll mind it for the rest of my exitance until you tell me." I sighed.
"Shut your face and go to sleep." A thoaty chuckle from Holmes and it was silent, save the crackling of the all-but-forgotten fire.
I tried to imagine the way the orange, yellow, and sometimes red flames danced. The flames danced to its own music. The thick paper, thrown haphazardly into the fire crackled loudly, causing the flames to dart from one side of the fireplace to the other.
Ah, it was a game of tag. The flames were chasing each other around in unpredicible circles.
Around... in a circle...
The darkness of sleep massaged up my legs, but a soft hand on my shoulder scared it away.
I jumped.
I turned and saw Holmes, crouched on the floor, hugging his knees.
He looked... scared and... child-like.
"Watson?" he asked nervously, his puppy dog eyes flashing back and forth, like someone would come in the room soon and ruin this moment.
This moment of almost perfect peace where, for once, our lives weren't about cases and missing husbands and missing businesses and stolen money or dead fathers.
It was about us.
Us and the flames.
"Yes Holmes?" Holmes finally met my eyes, a pleading look in the pools of brown.
Somewhere, miles from the surface of those beautiful orbs of darkness and light, I saw a joking glint.
"There's a spider on my chair. Can I sit with you?" I chuckled and patted the cushion next to mine. My eyelids got heavy again, and I lowered them, trying to think about the fire and not about the sudden extra weight on the other side of the couch.
Around and around and around the flames stirred. Around and around... and around... all in a circle it twirled... around...
A sudden connection of what I guessed was our knees and we both jumped away from each other, our hearts racing.
This happened again with shoulders and hips.
Soon, sleep was unappetizeing.
When there wasn't a reason to be together I now realized, - a new case, a set tea or coffee date, I felt incredibly naked around the inquisitive eyes of this sleuth when he was this close. There needed to be a distance between us on the couch where we could pretend that the other wasn't there for us to be comfortable right now.
We just stared at the flames and pretended that this wasn't the most awkward we'd ever been around each other.
And then I heard him yawn. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his eyes fall and his body go limp.
His head and body fell against me with a low thump.
I smiled down at the mop of black hair. I couldn't resist anymore; I reached out and felt the silky hair. My hand seemed to work on its own, moving down the detective's hairline and across his face. Black stubble jabbed at me, silk-like skin lay in between the unshaved hairs.
My fingers suddenly stopped at his perfect, pink lips. Wind whispered through the drafty window downstairs. Air whistled through Holmes's lips, his hot breath leaving a trail of warm moisture on my outstretched hand.
I smiled; I loved the constant reminder that Holmes was't quite dead yet.
I left my hand just in front of Holmes's lips for what seemed like hours, wanting more of the warm perfection.
Against my better judgement, I let my hand go farther down his sculpted body, until I felt a gentle ba-bom, ba-bom, ba-bom, and the soft rising and falling of his chest. The rhythmic waves of life calmed me almost to the point of sleep.
Almost.
And then a voice startled me.
It was carefree, joking.
"Are you feeling me up, Watson?" I ripped my hand away from him, my face heating up.
A strange hurt look crossed Holmes's face as his now-open eyes searched my face.
He reached out his hand, despite my efforts to keep myself away from him, he grabbed my wrist, pulling it back over closer to him. He set it right on his chest, over his heart, and held my hand close to him. Ba-bom, ba-bom, ba-bom...
My head snapped over to him and our eyes met.
Something sparked inside of our eyes and I thought about everything we've been through.
Everything I felt when he came back from the fights, broken and bloodied. Everything I felt when I thought he had died so many times. Everything I felt when I looked in his face.
It all came back to me.
I felt as if my soul had left my body and was watching from the corner as the famed detective's eyes closed half-way as he leaned just a bit closer to his good friend and partner.
I shot back into my body, just in time to close my eyes and fold into the brilliant man.
His lips were so soft. They tasted like... smoke and sugar. Strawberries and chocolate. Tea and cookies. But, more importantly, his lips tasted like Sherlock Holmes.
How could I have known him for this long and never tried something so perfect and life-changing?
A sudden clink of my wedding ring against something on Holmes and I was brought back to my senses.
I quickly shoved Holmes away from me.
He leaped back and off the couch. What hurt the most was that I could read every emotion he felt just by the way his sensual brown eyes flashed.
Pain. Disappointment. Nervousness. Sadness. As if he'd been betrayed by the one he trusted the most.
Which I don't understand because he was the one who kissed me.
"Sorry Watson." Holmes said emotionlessly, regaining his composure. His eyes went cold.
I don't care.
I married a beautiful woman who loves me. MARRIED.
My thoughts drifted back to the kiss.
It seemed so pure, so innocent, as if we had never kissed anyone before tonight.
Nah no no no no no no no...
The aisle stretched out in front of me and Mary. It seemed a mile long, though it was only about twenty feet.
When I got to the end and I glanced down and there was... Holmes.
Uhm...
First meeting Mary. A ball... Her golden hair blew behind her beautifully. Holmes tapped my shoulder and told me to go for it.
First time at a party wth alcohol and troubled teens... Holmes had dragged me there, telling me that the ones organized by teens in an abandoned warehouse were always better than the balls thrown by state. It was the best party I'd ever been to.
Every memory I have, Holmes is in it. He haunts me.
But...
I can't tell if that's a bad thing.
Because I...
"I need you," I whispered the newfound knowledge. A small gasp ripped through me.
That's why I truly had to force myself to move away from my home here with Holmes. That's why I stare in wonder every time I see a case come together in Holmes's mind.
That is why I feel this way.
Shaking myself form my useless stupor, I jolted up and walked over to Holmes.
I saw his eyes flash nervously, not knowing whether I was about to rip him apart or just walk past him and into the rain.
I grabbed his collar and I watched his regal demeanor drop.
I dragged him over to the couch and shoved him down. He looked up to me, his lips slightly parted so I could see the shock of white.
Before he could do anything, I trapped his hips between my knees and kissed him again.
My hands rested on either side of his face, while one of his was combing through my short dark hair. The other was drawing invisible circles on my back.
His long, beautiful neck was arched up so he could get at me. He parted his lips first, allowing our kiss to deepen.
When we were both starved for air, we pulled away and pressed out foreheads together, breathing hard.
"Why did you push me away?" Holmes asked quietly, his eyes shut.
"Mary,"
"Why'd you bring me back?"
"The realization that I need you," I felt his lips turn up in a small smile.
"But what about Mary?" I quickly shushed him.
"No. Not a word about Mary. This one night," my voice dropped until I began to growl at him. "Is ours."
Holmes smiled at me, before digging his finger nails into my thighs. My back arched into him, and I threw my head back in pleasure.
Mary has, and will never make me feel this way.
As if this love was opening a door I couldn't - and didn't want to close.
As if this love was picking me up off the ground after a fight didn't go my way.
As if this love was inside my pores.
I screamed aloud when squeezed tighter, his nails almost ripping my pants.
He used his position to pick me up and damn near throw me down onto the couch before crawling on top of me and kissing me with a force I've never felt before.
Ah, so this is love.
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I awoke in the morning with Holmes's blanket against my bare skin, another warmth at my side.
When I turned to look, I saw him.
Holmes was lying next to me, a look of complete and utter peace on his face.
It all came crashing down on me then.
The kisses, the discarded clothes, the hands dancing across each other's skin, the eyes seeing each other truly for the first time.
But, I didn't feel... dirty, after doing what I did with Holmes last night.
I finally feel pure.
Holmes's eyes flicked open and immediately smiled upon seeing me.
"Good sleep?" he asked in a full voice.
"The very best." I smiled back at him.
He inched closer to me, but I was the one that tackled him. I straddled his waist, kissing him.
His hands flew to the small of my back and began moving me up his torso. I didn't really understand what was happening until his tongue began dancing along my stomach, moving down.
I was incredibly surprised when he picked me up and threw me onto the bed. Before I had time to think, Holmes already had his head between my thighs.
The next five minutes were taken up by my screams of pleasure. The next twenty by his.
Soon it was late in the afternoon and I realized in horror that I had to get back to my house soon.
"Already?" Holmes asked sadly as I pulled on my shirt and adjusted my jacket.
"Holmes, there is no way I'd let tonight be the last night we do this. We'll do this again soon. I promise." I turned to him and we kissed passionately. Holmes had me up against the wall before I had time to object, his hand was already squeezing my crotch through the pants. I moaned into the kiss and grasped at his bare hips.
I whined when he stepped away from me.
"Goodbye Watson." He declared, kissing me once more before walking away, leaving me with tighter pants and a blank look on my face.
I shook myself off, exiting the house and began walking down Baker Street. It gave me time to think.
Think about what I was going to tell Mary.
I didn't have enough time because, sooner than I had hoped, I had found myself on the porch of the house I shared with my wife.
I sighed and walked in.
"I'm back!" I called. Mary arrived in the hallway, wiping her wet hands with a dishtowel.
"Welcome home, John!" she smiled sweetly.
I couldn't help but miss Holmes's little grin when I'd walk through the door to his house. No comment, just a grin. It was comforting.
Mary came up to me and kissed me on the cheek before going back to doing whatever she was doing.
Hopefully I didn't have to wait long before I could even just see Holmes again.
I smiled.
I'll see you soon, Sherlock Holmes.
I promise.
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Princess: The answer isssssss - when Watson was saying that Mary could never make him feel this way, I almost took the chorus of the t.A.T.u. song...
Pie: SHOW ME LOVE! Bwahahahahahahaha!
Princess: And always remember:
Pie: Reviews = Faster Updates. Any flames will be deleted upon arrival in my email. Hope you liked this shitty slash fic. Bye bye.