A/N: The writer's block is gone, hallelujah! I've had it for three weeks and it's been positively awful-worst I've ever had. But I finally got out of it, so here's the next chapter! A huge thanks to all who have stuck around to read this after the ridiculously long wait.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. (Also, this is totally unbeta'ed, so I disclaim any mistakes as my own silliness.)

Rating: T for, um...implications...

Summary: Holmes baits Watson in front of Lestrade-only Lestrade doesn't notice. Movieverse.

God, Lestrade could be boring at times. Watson had a great deal of respect for the Inspector, but after tracking down a pack of criminals with hardly a break in three days, he wanted to go home, not listen to the particulars of which constable caught which thief.

"It's alright, Watson, we'll be done soon," Holmes muttered, seemingly reading his thoughts. He kept his face turned to Lestrade, who was reading off the information from a few papers scattered across the desk.

A sigh almost escaped Watson, but he caught himself and fought it back as Lestrade pushed the papers across the desk and tilted it for Holmes to read. Holmes brushed his hand against Watson's in apology.

Oh no. It was that hand that got him in trouble last time, when it caused his brain to immediately stop. Holmes had been far from complaining about the treatment he'd been given afterwards, but honestly, how could Watson be held accountable for his actions when that hand bumped his?

All Holmes did was prop his chin up on his other hand, still staring unconcernedly at the paper as though he didn't notice that Watson had gone completely stiff next to him. It was a good thing Lestrade was too focused on explaining what Holmes likely already knew, or Watson would have to do some explaining on his own part.

"Clarke really did a good portion of the work in setting the trap, organizing the units and the like, but—"

"Yet you receive the credit for his job well done? I must say, the Yard continues to baffle me in that regard."

Even as Holmes delivered his expected disparaging remark, he brushed his fingers across the back of Watson's hand. Watson unfroze himself enough to level a glare at his partner, but Holmes only shot him an amused glance in return and brought his attention back to Lestrade.

Those fingers were doing more than lightly touching his now. Holmes slid his thumb up the side of Watson's hand and then across his knuckles, darting in to pluck at the vaguely webbed skin separating each digit. The whole time, Watson fought to keep silent, biting back the noises hovering in the back of his throat.

From the look on Holmes' face, he must know what this was doing to Watson. He'd always had a secret fascination with Holmes' hands, though by all appearances it wasn't a secret any longer. God, Holmes had to know how this was affecting him, because he practically worshipped those hands in his writing.

This would teach him to think twice about what he put in print.

Abruptly, Holmes' thumb disappeared as he moved his hand above the desk to straighten the papers and push them back towards Lestrade. "You said there's one more thief that hasn't been caught yet?"

Lestrade flushed, and Watson would've sympathized with the Inspector ordinarily, but he was too busy being glad that Holmes was no longer intent on dismantling him. "That's right, but I've sent Clarke and a few others you don't know out to bring him in. We should have him within the hour if all goes well."

"Very good. See that you inform me when you do." Holmes dropped his hand below the top of the desk again and instantly seized Watson's hand, entangling their fingers and grinding Watson's between his own. The struggle to stay silent vanished out the window as Watson let a strangled gasp that drew a puzzled glance from Lestrade.

"Are you well, Dr. Watson?" Lestrade asked, leaning forward with a look of concerned bewilderment.

"I'm—I'm fine, I—" Watson fumbled for an explanation to hold Lestrade off until he could find an excuse to leave.

Quickly, Holmes shifted his hand to a less visibly intimate position covering Watson's. He lifted it above the desk, examining a spot of flawless skin he kept tilted away from Lestrade's view. "It appears you managed to cut yourself, Watson. Was it on the chair or the desk, I wonder?"

"It's just a scratch, really," Watson temporized, playing along.

Holmes shook his head. "We should be leaving, in any case. Wire me when you bring in that last thief." He stood and pressed his thumb over the imaginary cut as though applying pressure, tugging Watson to his feet in the process.

"I will. Terribly sorry, doctor," Lestrade apologized, rising as well.

"Nothing to be sorry about, I assure you," Watson said over his shoulder as Holmes hurried them out to the street.

He held his tongue until the cab lurched into motion, then gave Holmes' shoulder a hard shove. "That was completely unnecessary and frustrating, not to mention dangerous—I almost gave us away—and you'd better repay me for this—"

Holmes slid to his knees and smiled at Watson. "I intend to," he said serenely from between his legs. "We have at least two minutes until we reach Baker Street."

Watson's eyes widened. "That isn't enough time, is it?"

Holmes, Watson discovered, was a fast worker.

You have NO IDEA how badly I wanted to call this chapter 'Like a Vulcan' (only partly as a joke). Because seriously, even though hot handsex is traditionally reserved for Kirk and Spock, Watson is totally obsessed with Holmes' hands. It's practically canon. XD

Reviews are looooooooove. :) And I promise the next chapter won't take nearly as long to post!