A/N:
Title: Heartlines
Disclaimer: All characters are copyright their respective owners.
Warnings: A large amount of fluff. Possibly a fatal amount.
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 639
Point of view: 1st person
Prompt: Requested fic from elibean over on my tumblr account. I was looking for a prompt for a fluffy fic and she provided the ship.
(Note: this is set as a flash back after "the red headed league". And yes, this is in the book universe.)
It had been damp in the bank's cellar and my joints ached from the squatting that I had done for such a long period of time. My left hand was still stiff from the cold, but right held on to the lingering traces of warmth, given to me by another. It was a rather strange thing, that which had happened, as it was something which I never would have thought to occur.
As stated, this phenomenon occurred in the depths of a prominent London bank, while my companion Holmes, his small entourage, and myself waited for the perpetrators of a would-be crime to show their faces. Being that we had little idea as to when the criminals would be arriving, we waited in that cellar for a good amount of time.
Now as time passed, which it did, albeit very slowly, I became acutely aware of a presence behind me. Believing it to be one of the criminals come to cut our throats, I discretely drew my revolver from my coat pocket and turned around on my toes, prepared to fight. Needless to say I was quite surprised when the figure behind me revealed itself to only be Holmes. I opened my mouth to speak, but he silenced me by shaking his head to-and-fro. He carefully maneuvered himself, shuffling his feet in the quietest way possible, until his body was parallel to mine; his left leg pressed up against mine in a way that sent an unusual warmth up through my body. It was the oddest sensation, pleasurable but odd, this feeling of warmth and I shivered from the strangeness of it all. Holmes, obviously intrigued by my movements, moved his hand onto my thigh as if in an effort to steady me; slowly he moved his hand closer to mine, finally resting his on top of mine before firmly clasping it. Perhaps he thought that I was still very cold, and that by holding my hand as tight as he was would somehow warm me up.
And that is exactly what it did.
This feeling was completely new to me and that simple action of Holmes grasping my hand in such a manner cause the feeling of warmth I had experienced earlier to intensify ten-fold. It brought back memories of school days and first loves and summers long past. It caused something in me. Something which I had never experienced.
Put simply, the feeling was euphoric.
Enthralling.
Fantastic.
Spectacular.
There are not enough words to describe how I felt in those moments in that dank, dark place, hands clasped oh-so-tight with those of a good friend. I did not think much of anything in those moments. I did not think of the case before us. Or those behind. I only thought of what was occurring then and I certaintly did not consider what this gesture might mean for the future.
I did not think that I would return to 221b Baker Street, our hands still tightly clasped. Nor did I think that we would be sprawled out on his couch together, my head in his lap, as he explained his latests feat in the science of deduction. I would never had expected myself to take hold of that precious face and bring my lips to his.
Never.
All I thought in that moment, as we squatted in that cellar, was something simple, yet an exact representation of my feelings. I looked at the subtle outline of his face in the darkness, wih the warmth tingling throughout my body, and let a sigh escape my lips:
"Quel bel homme."*
A/N: *what a beautiful man
I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the shortness, but I hope that it was still enjoyable!