I love GoS so much I saw the movie twice already, and I'm gonna see it so many times more! I've read a few fics on the aftermath, or the train scenes, but there are just so many scenes in the movie that worth elaboration and this is one of them.

My very first attempt. One-shot. PWP. smut. R&R please!

"Holmes!" Watson dashed through the door, drunk as an Indian. "Just had a fight!" He exclaimed, collapsing on piles of unused metal objects by the wall. He lay down on the ground. His face was burning red by the liquors. Holmes rushed to the doctor's side.

"They're not gonna have my money!" Oh, the money Holmes has given to him earlier. He has made very good use of it, invested and prospered. That is, 'til some silly detective decided to show up through the window, and gave a very generous act of charity.

"I'll have Carruthers put some fuel into that motive carriage of yours. You do have a wedding to attend." Mycroft said from across the room.

"I'll drive! Honk, honk!" Watson shouted with a laugh. Even when he was so drunk and laughing like a lunatic, he still shone so adorably bright, thought Holmes. Though he never admitted it, the detective was crazy about everything John.

"Come on, Watson. I'll get you home." Holmes softly said as he put Watson's arm around his neck, helping the doctor up. Watson threw another arm on his shoulder. Their faces were barely three inches apart. Sharp pong of assorted alcohol assailed the detective's nostrils. And just when he thought that was hurt.

"You forgot all about me, Holmes. You left me all alone." Watson pouted. Hitting Holmes with his right hand he then tucked his head on Holmes' left shoulder. Holmes swore in a split second he could see deep sadness in the drunken doctor's blurry eyes. It sliced through his heart like a hot knife. He felt a lump in his throat.

Holmes lifted his half-conscious friend up with both arms and carried him all the way to where the car was parked. He gently put Watson on the passenger seat, and then walked round the car to the driver's seat, only to find the doctor was already sitting there.

"Move it, John, you're not gonna drive." With his words he pushed Watson hard with both hands. Watson clung tight to the steering wheel. "I'll drive!" he exclaimed. "Are you trying to get both of us killed?" shouted Holmes as he continued pushing the drunk away. "Yes! And we'll get to heaven together," said John with a grin. He lifted up his right hand as in a victorious gesture, and with that the detective successfully shoved him to the other side of the seat.

Watson made a long face. He then wambled around on the seat, shaking the vehicle until his head landed on the driver's lap, his feet on the back seat.

"Either you sit properly or I'll drop you down at the next corner," said Holmes sternly.

"Go on. You're not gonna drop me." Watson said as he clutched himself closer to the driver.

Oh God. Holmes shuddered. He's not really going to lie there, is he? He froze as he felt the tip of Watson's nose touching his stomach. And the rest of his head, oh God, oh. He dared not flinched a bit at the weight of John's head in between his legs. I should as well get home as fast as I could!

Holmes let out a breath when they finally reached 221B Baker Street. God knows how long he's been holding it! Every bump on the street made him dripped with sweat. He knew his lower part was burning and certainly Watson would have felt it too. But, to his relief, when he looked down, the doctor was sound asleep.

"Get up, doc. We're here." Holmes tapped on Watson's cheek. Nothing happened. He jerked up his legs. Watson gave only an annoying moan. He then pushed the lying man hard, which sent him sliding down on to the ground. "Ah, Holmes! It hurts!" Watson shouted as he sprang to his feet. "Sleepy head," reproached Holmes as he pushed the door into the house.

Watson went straight to his bed, managed to take only his shoes off. Minutes later Holmes appeared with a glass of cold water. Apparently he's been washing his face, or maybe showering, with a bowlful of it.

"You need to drink some water, John," said Holmes as he passed the glass of water to the drowsy doctor. Watson took the glass, put it on the bedside table, and rolled the detective to one side of the bed, pushing himself up on top. Holmes' eyes widened in shock. He has never seen those beautiful blue eyes so passionate. "I don't need some water. I need you," said Watson as he lowered his lips to touch his.

Holmes quickly pulled him away. "You're too drunk," he uttered, trying to appear as collected as a startled man can be.

"Oh, hell, I am." Watson grinned. His blue eyes are now pale, but sparklingly bright. Holmes could see it clearly as those eyes got closer and closer to his face. The doctor's lips gently touched Holmes'. He licked the lower lip with his tongue before sticking it into his partner's mouth and gave him a snog. Umm, how could I resist this? The detective let out a soft moan. Watson spiraled harder at the response.

"You really don't think I knew, do you?" whispered Watson as he now caressing the back of Holmes' ear. John's warm breath sent a shiver down his neck. Knew what? It was the question the detective most fear, thus dare not ask. "That you have feelings for me." Watson stroked Holmes' private part as a reply. Holmes shuddered. He pushed the knowing hand away.

He knew. He couldn't possibly know.

Watson smirked. He continued doing what he did, nuzzling his partner's neck, rubbing his shaft. "Say it, Sherlock." He knew Watson deliberately said his name. He only called him by name when he wanted to tease him. His naughty hand never stopped petting, as a proof. "Say you don't want me to continue. Say you want me to stop. And I will."

Oh how could I not-

Even such a brilliant mind is now a haze in John's hand.

"I don't-"

"Shh!" Watson interrupted. "You forgot my stag party. You left me alone at the bar. You spoiled my luck." Holmes could feel Watson slowly moved down south. "I'm not gonna let you ruin my only chance." His only chance to do what?

"Indulge my desire." Watson threw him glowing lustful eyes, his hands removing Holmes' pants. Before Holmes could even panic, Watson engulfed the now very rigid erection in his month. He could feel the slippery tongue fiddled up and down and around his least sensible part. He knew his brain was incapable of functioning as literally all the blood in his veins rushed down there, the organ his beloved doctor so eagerly devoured. If only he knew I didn't forget his stag, that I wanted no one else around him but me. At least he could hold it a little longer. If this is how I can make up to him, then I'll do my best. He tried to concentrate hard against the even harder blows Watson was giving. Hang on, Holmes. Only it was nearly impossible. The doctor surely learned a man's anatomy all too well. Not now. No!

He swallowed it all. Watson grinned and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he climbed back up Holmes' chest. He thrust his tongue into Holmes' mouth and flipped it. Holmes savored it too and oh he could taste it all, the flavor of his own semen.

"I can't get enough of you, Holmes." Watson whispered into Holmes' ear, and once again the brilliant mind was blown away. He didn't even realize the naughty doctor's hands were now busy unbuttoning his shirt. Before he knew it, he was all naked and the doctor was examining his nipple, with his tongue!

Holmes writhed and groaned wildly, which only sent the tongue waggling faster. At one point he hit something hard, something very personal of John's that he has always been longing for. He reached out his hand to feel it. Watson suddenly backed away.

"Oh, you are so wrong to mess with me, Holmes," said Watson fiercely. "So wrong!" He stripped off his clothes in anger. Soon enough, Watson stood there, very naked, his personal weapon stiff, swollen and sticking up right into Holmes' face.

Breathe-

Holmes gasped for air when Watson turned and walked to his chest and searching for something in its drawers. He savored the sight: the broad shoulders, the bare skin that went pink with heat, and the tight white butt he imagined himself clenching. He had no idea what Watson was doing until he turned back with his shaft and fingers all glistened. Holmes went pale for a moment.

Oh hell no-

"Oh hell yes" Watson grinned his most mischievous grin. He pressed himself on Holmes and purred into his ears, "Beg me, Holmes. I know you need it. I know you need me." Holmes could feel it, clearly, every inch that their skin touched, the boner pressing hard on his thigh, the fingers that leisurely entered his entrance. "I need it, John." With both his hands he cupped the doctor's cheeks and pulled him down for a heated kiss. "I need you."

Watson sent his third finger up into Holmes' ass. Holmes arched. His neck contracted. "Say you love me, Holmes. You know I need to hear it," said Watson as he moved his three fingers inside. "Please John, I-" Holmes begged, hardly breathe. "Say it," fingers in and out, Watson insisted.

"Fuck it, John. Please! I need you."

John pulled his fingers out. He spread the detective's legs, looking over shaking body to see the face he dearly loved. Why don't you say it, you fool? He silently asked as he thrust himself inside Holmes' body. He could feel Holmes trembling. Don't you know I hear every thought of yours? Watson paused for a moment until the detective calmed, then slowly pulled out and thrust himself back in. I know you hear me too, you silly self-denial bastard. He thought as he watched the man below twisted at his prod. If only you would be true to your feelings, just once. You know I would give up the whole world just to be with you. He thrust all his sadness into his partner. Then I would get away from this marriage madness, and we could run away to exotic places where you can do all kinds of crazy experiments you want. His thrust was harder and faster now that sadness turned into anger. And I would take care of you and you alone. You selfish bastard! How many times do I have to call you this! He continuously slammed his rage into his partner. Holmes cried out loud but Watson didn't let out a sound. Instead, tears were flowing down both his cheeks. Why don't you say the word? He shook violently as he burst inside Holmes, then collapsed next to him, and passed out.

Holmes panted. If heaven were real then he had just visited one. But he wasn't sure if Watson was there, too. Even through the haze, he could still see the grief on his face. He could feel the anger in his body. Oh didn't he know it all?

He turned towards the man next to him and gently stroked the tear lines down the cheek with the back of his hand. His angel breathed steadily. All seemed so peaceful after the storm. If only we could stay like this forever.

"Holmes," murmured Watson in his sleep, "I love you." With that word a chill ran through Holmes' spines. I'm sorry, John. You could call me selfish all you want, but how can I make you sacrifice everything in your life, just for me? How could I possibly?

He gave the doctor a meaningful, lasting kiss. It would not be long until dawn breaks.

He didn't flinch a bit even when the engine stopped rolling. Holmes reached for him, but changed his mind. He gestured for the bagpipes to start. Watson opened his eyes, but still refused to move, or gave up his coat.

"John," called Holmes with his usual deep voice. Watson threw him a glaring. He took the hand offered, though, and stepped out of the cart with difficulty. His legs parted. His clothes were filthy. At least he could have dressed his groom more properly, Watson scorned.

"I can't walk," Watson muttered panicky, his eyes bewildered as he felt sharp pang in his lower back part as he tried to move, a mixed sense of pain and pleasure. "What have you done to me, Holmes?" Watson hissed, demanding an answer.

"Same thing you did to me." Holmes gave a cunning smile. Surely a doctor knows his body well.

"But why?"

"Why did I do it? Or why didn't I do it while you were conscious?" Holmes smirked. Watson threw him a fist. With a straight look into his eyes, he composedly said, "I want you to remember me."

"But I don't remember anything!" muttered Watson through gritted teeth.

"At least you know my feelings," replied Holmes with a wink. The feelings I have for you, John. Once you get through that door, you would no longer be mine, but Mary's. At least I would have something, and so would you, to hold on to: the memories of that one night I am only yours, and you only mine.

The detective lifted his arm. "Shall we?" John took hold of it as they staggered in to his wedding.