The yacht was steadily making its way across the baby blue waters towards the coordinates Sherlock and Watson had worked out for the sunken ship. The varnished wooden deck in back shone in the hot sun and Sherlock, in his green swim trunks stood watching the water swirl behind the boat. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of Watson emerging from downstairs. His eyes scrunched and squinted as if he was looking directly into the sun.
Watson wore a white string bikini, a floppy hat and nothing else. Sherlock panicked. She was gorgeous. He didn't know where to look. Well, he knew where he wanted to look but instead he looked into her eyes.
"For goodness sakes, Watson, put something on!" he hissed at her.
Joan looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sherlock, I am wearing a bathing suit. We are in the middle of the ocean..."
He cut her off, "Yes. On a ship, rife with Australian sailors, many who appear to have had one Fosters too many..." He knew was being foolish and had no right to tell her what to do or how to look, but panic set in when he thought of any one of those tanned, blonde Aussies hitting on Watson and what her response might be.
"Shut up, Sherlock. You're usually berating me for Victorian prudishness and now ..."
He grabbed a beach towel from the deck, "Here put this on?"
"No!" Joan looked at him sternly, "Come here, you need sunscreen. You're turning red as a beet. Lay on your stomach."
He knew he was burning; his winter white skin was no match for the summer sun of this latitude. Sherlock grudgingly acquiesced, placed the towel down on the wooden bench, and lay as requested.
"You're burning. You're already red and hot to the touch," she chided him as she squirted the cold sunscreen onto his shoulders.
"It's not just the sun," he mumbled into his arms folded before him.
Watson slathered sunscreen on his back and shoulders enjoying the good strong feel of his muscles and taking time to get a closer look at his tattoos. The only other time she'd been in this position, she was removing a bullet from his back. Sherlock, for his part was also enjoying the sunscreen application, much more so than he'd ever let on.
"Turn over," she demanded. His chest needed protecting too, she rationalized. She was doing this for him as any good partner would.
"That's alright, Watson I can do this myself." He turned over an attempted to sit up but she gently pushed him flat back down.
"I don't mind," And before he could resist further, Joan was making sure his chest was as well protected as his back. He closed his eyes while she applied the lotion because the woman was too close, more than half-naked and touching him, causing all manner of impure thoughts and images to march through his mind about his partner.
She noticed the small astrological tattoo at his lower waist. Scorpio. She delicately went to apply sunscreen there and that's when he stopped her while he still could.
"You're turn." He popped up and took the tube from her hands. She did not resist. They switched places.
His hands were strong, yet quite gentle. He slowly covered her back, memorizing every freckle and dimple, forcing himself to stop at the bikini line. Sherlock quietly asked her to flip over. She did. He looked at her laying in front of him. Joan squinted up at him, daring him to try placing sunscreen on her chest and tummy. After a brief staring contest, she finally gave him permission with a dip of her head and laid back to let him apply the sunscreen. It proved a little too pleasurable for both of them.
Joan sat up, cleared her throat trying to find her voice, "I forgot to ask, could you uhm ... help me with something ... in uh, ... my cabin?"
Sherlock enthusiastically nodded yes, eyes wide, he grabbed the towel that Watson had just been laying on, held it in front of him and followed her downstairs.