Notes: This is for The Phantomess of the Opera. I felt like I owed her some cutesiness, now that I am in a much better mood.
Disclaimer: I do not own the boys, much as I want to. I only own the plot, dialogue, etc.
Tumble
'Watson, where the devil has the slipper with the tobacco gone?' inquired my dear friend Sherlock Holmes one evening, as I sat before the fire in our rooms on Baker Street.
'I wouldn't know Holmes, I only smoke ships', as you know,' I replied, turning the page of my book idly.
'Bother!' cried Holmes, throwing his hands up and nearly knocking the clock of the mantle. 'I cannot seem to find anything anymore.'
'Well Holmes, perhaps if you actually cleaned this room once in a while, you would not be missing things,' I suggested. Holmes merely glared at me before cracking a slight smile.
'Thank you for the advice, Watson. I appreciate your wisdom,' he chuckled, and then he stepped away from the fire. He tripped, however, on the very tobacco-filled Persian slipper that he been searching for. This would have been of little consequence had the act of tripping and falling not sent him sprawling across my lap, with his thin hands landing on either side of my head, his legs entangled with mine, and our noses very nearly touching, perhaps an inch apart.
I must confess that this turn of events shocked me greatly and I could not speak, but then Holmes slowly, slowly moved even closer, until our lips brushed when he spoke.
'Watson, dear boy, do you object to this?' he asked, his breath ghosting over my lips and sending thrills up my spine.
I grinned cheekily. 'Not at all, Holmes,' I replied. 'On the contrary, I really do think you should stumble more often.'
'Pfft!' he scoffed before kissing me. 'I suppose that now you are grateful that I never tidy this place.'
'Indeed I am, Holmes. Indeed I am.' I kissed him again to prove my point.