A/N: AND A VERY HAPPY 158th BIRTHDAY TO MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES! So wootwoot to that ;) Anyway, thanks for all the reviews; I feel as though the fandome has exploded since the second movie came out, so thanks for being so great and giving me so much feedback to make these shorts as good as possible! Onward!
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc
"After this, therefore because of this"
Title: Pensive
Category: Bookverse
Rating: T+
Warnings: Sexual themes! O.O
Disclaimer: Tried to steal it in the dead of night, but Sherlock Holmes continues to be not mine! Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, folks.
Pensive
Sherlock Holmes, dressed to the nines in comfort, languidity, and little else, was resting pleasantly and musing upon the make-up of the world in one of his favorite places to be: draped across his mattress, limp white sheets tangled around him, with mid-morning sunlight streaming in and casting a hallow glow upon the dresser and the foot of the bed.
His head, of course, was rested upon his personal heated pillow, better known as Watson.
Here he could spend his morning hours silentsly reviewing details of cases or of chemical experiments without interruption. He could also contemplate ethics, morals, beekeeping, or, as he often opted, simply meditated on his own happiness and the steady rise and fall of Watson's chest with his each breath. Ear pressed above the doctor's heart, he also spent time composing music for his fiddle using the cadence of said heart as a metronome.
Unfortunately, this morning, his heated pillow had morphed into a heated, talking pillow.
"Holmes."
Watson's voice was faintly hoarse, like a window with frost over it, or a blade that has given way to rust. In this case, the Sandman's grains clogged his throat.
"Mm," the consulting detective hardly sounded any better. He was lost to articulation.
"Have you ever though of having children?"
The idea of talking annoyed him, so he smirked against the physician's sternum and answered, "Have—or rather—had you? I never got that impression"
Watson's prominent knuckles rubbed into Holmes' temples and mussed his hair further.
"How rude."
"How arbitrary."
The blond shifted his head, so, grumbling, Holmes lifted his own from his chest to meet his gaze.
"I was just wondering, because you're so brilliant. You and Mr. Mycroft both. Your parents must have been geniuses as well."
"Perhaps," he skirted the discussion lazily in tone, but he leaned down to lay atop the doctor until their foreheads touched. Holmes' colorless eyes veened down with an unearthly glow like two glass orbs, totally unyielding.
The doctor flinched under the gaze. "Alright. You don't want to discuss them. I respect that."
"Good,"
He closed his eyes, perfectly comfortable lying flush against the physician, and ready to return to personal meditation.
"It's just—" Ugh. "God, your children would be brilliant." Holmes eyes open again. "Think of all the good they would do for the world."
"No. Prodigy in progeny leads to corruption." The consulting detective dissented.
"Oh?"
"Look at Professor Moriarty. Generations of selective breeding that incarnidined his bloodline."
Empathetic sapphire pools darkened, and the dark-haired man could see his reflection in them, beckoning him to delve down and immerse himself in the tepid waters of Watson's soul. It was tempting.
"Sorry then. I was just curious."
"Don't be. And I'm sorry too, for the vulgar sarcasm before."
They sat in silence for another moment, though at this point Holmes didn't trust it.
"I wonder, though, could you breed anything evil, Holmes?"
"Easily, my dear," he rejoined.
"Certainly ingenuity, but could cold blood morph from your own?"
Kissing the blond's brow, he smiled faintly. "It depends on who I am sharing genes with. If I bred with you, for example, that would hardly be a concern."
Those painful knuckles found his scalp again. "You're full of cruelty on this morn," he complained, insulted.
In response, he chuckled and slung an arm around his companion's frail shoulders. "You misunderstood me," he informed him. "I speak not of intellect, but of virtue. Were we able to have children, I mean to say that unlike with the Professor, there would be no danger of a seed of evil being planted in it. Rather, the posterity would be invariably good."
He hadn't intended to sound quite so convictive by the end of the impromptu monologue, and judging from the wide blue eyes gazing at him, Watson had not anticipated it.
"Holmes…"
"Watson, may I ask you something now?"
"Of course!"
"Would you please stop talking?" He queried with a polite grin.
Affronted, but then bemused, the doctor nodded and dropped back down among the pillows, permitting the dark-haired man to reclaim his spot upon his blissfully silent, heated pillow.
So there we go :) I was pretty happy with this story, and found it fitting for Holmes' bday. It was possibly the only positive thing that came out of being in study hall senior year of high school XD In case it wasn't clear, the "vulgar sarcasm" is Holmes suggesting that Watson has had illegitimate children before, or failed to "think" about having children. We all know what a ladies' man he tends to be, regardless of his affair with Holmes ;)
One more short story after this, then we dive into stories based off of the second movie, promise. Be there or be rectangular! And don't forget to have some honey to celebrate our favorite sleuth's big day!