A/N: This little story is inspired by the scene the quote is from and also by a very cool story for it from Holmes's POV.
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„You look gorgeous."
Did I actually say that out loud?
Holmes darts an irritated glance at me.
Despite him looking gorgeous in his after drug state, he still seems lost and very puzzled.
He ignores my comment, concentrating on Irene Adler and the newspaper she's holding up for him to read the head line.
I feel so utterly funny in my stomach. It must be the heavy painkillers I put myself under when I took all the shrapnel out of my shoulder and arm.
I cannot stop looking at Holmes; all white, ruffled shirt, mused dark curls, wide eyes.
A sudden urge overtakes me.
I need to be close to him, need to feel that he came out of his stupor with a clear mind again.
I am not sure if he was at my sick bed or if I only hallucinated.
I sit beside him hesitantly on the old settee.
I struggle for words and so does he.
We cannot look at each other. Too much has happened. But the warmth of his thigh against mine fills me with such comfortable heat, that I know we will be all right again.
When we finally share a glance, it is only for a blink of an eye. Then he rises and goes into lecture mood, letting Ms Adler and myself sit on our chairs again on the outer circle of his impressive drawing on the floor.
I stare at him.
He had taken his shirt off and looks even more gorgeous, standing before us only in his trousers, suspenders and undershirt.
I try to follow his fast, muttered explanation about the ancient culture and how the Sphinx was important to our case, but all my senses are zooming in on his fine features, his muscular arms, his well formed chest and his utterly hypnotic voice.
When he walks closer and closer towards me, a fine sweat breaks out on my skin.
Is my fever coming back? I blink, trying to sit even more straight than before, hiding my own pain.
He did not die in that blast I tried to warn him about.
Again I have to reassure myself that he is real.
His touch is so unexpected, that I forget the pain my shoulder was in just seconds before. His hand is soothing, his fingertips a promise.
I am startled about that thought but enjoy the slow caress of Holmes's hand across my upper back and towards my other shoulder as long as it lasts.
Whatever it may mean. I am very tempted to close my eyes and linger in the aftermath of that unfamiliar feeling.
The statement, that he dirtied his fluffy white tail, by going down further into the rabbit hole, made me grin just in such an inappropriately silly manner, that I am shaking my head about myself afterwards.
And I can for the life not imagine, to be just one day without him.
How that would work out as a married man; well, I'd have to find a solution to that soon.
F I N