Prompt: Precious (W. Y. Traveller)
I wrote this last night, but by the time it was done, it was too late to take the time to post, so here it is a day late. But thank you for the chance to write a little more romance!
At last, at some late hour, Watson and I returned to our rooms at the hotel. My note to young Wiggins was forgotten as I regarded my dear Watson, the blinds drawn and doors firmly shut behind us. Despite the glaze of exhaustion over his eyes after a long day and an equally long night, he seemed radiant in the lamplight; handsome in his evening best, his hair, greying at the temples, only just in disarray from the howling wind; in all respects a distinguished gentleman if I have ever known one.
I held out a hand to him, my gloves already upon the table and my overcoat left by the door, but otherwise still in full evening dress. Watson finished removing his suit jacket, revealing the tailored cut of his waistcoat underneath, which spoke in equal parts to hard-earned muscle and the comfortable life of a gentleman, and took my hand with an indulgent smile.
As suits his forthright nature, he wasted no time in closing the distance between us, his arms suddenly around me, his hands wandering, opening this, removing that, and his lips on mine, soft and warm, and invitingly insistent. From there, it was not long before we fell together onto the nearest bed, intertwined.
It was so comfortable, soft and warm and familiar that exhaustion swiftly overcame excitement, as it is wont to do, and we lay curled up together; we breathed the same air, and I felt his heart beating against my chest. And I could think of no more precious a thing.