The Watson Fever
Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Warnings: Fluffiness, cuteness, hotness, ness-ness… Anything you can think of *g*.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Holmes feels hot and Watson mistakes the symptoms.
A/N: Had there been stethoscopes in the Victorian era? I don’t know. Writer’s freedom…
When Watson entered the room, closing the door with a gentle click, he felt something was different. The curtains were drawn shut, the gaslights were flickering, Gladstone snored in front of the fire. Fire. In August? Very odd. Holmes study looked like the ordinary mess he obviously needed to work proficiently. But the detective was nowhere to be seen.
“Holmes?” Watson hooked his coat and hat, slowly observing the scenery. A tray with untouched food and a pot of tea, two cups, both empty.
“Holmes?” A low rumbling sound coming from Holmes’ bedroom answered his call. A couple of hurried steps brought him to the slightly ajar door. He opened it and peered into the overheated room.
“Holmes? ‘s everything all right?” Holmes lay in his bed, the sheets up to his ears. He looked tired and disheveled.
“Watson. Come inside. I feel fine. Just a little bit… cold.”
“Cold? It’s searing hot in here! How could you stand this heat? But maybe you caught a cold? How many times did I tell you to wear a coat, not just this… worn out jacket you like so much. Really. Sometimes…” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “…I get the impression you do it on purpose to upset your doctor.” He checked the detective’s temperature by touching his forehead with a cool palm. Holmes smiled weakly.
“No. I… I… just like this jacket, Watson. I’m cold.”
“Holmes, I assure you: You are burning hot! Let me see your tongue.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m simply cold. Nothing serious, I’m sure.”
“Holmes…!” Under Watson’s glaring gaze Holmes did as he was told. Touching the stubbled chin very lightly Watson took a skeptical look. But Holmes’ tongue showed no abnormality.
“Hm…” Watson was at a loss. “I need my bag.” He stood up from the edge of the bed. Holmes, eyes still closed, licked his lips, trying to catch the point where Watson’s thumb had rested. He smelled good, his doctor. He felt his heartbeat sped up as Watson’s weight dipped the mattress again.
“Open your eyes please.” Holmes stared at him, unblinking, a faint smile on his lips. Watson noticed the extremely dilated pupils, feeling Holmes’ breath on his face. He took the stethoscope out of his bag and commanded:
“Put aside the sheets. I want to check on your heartbeat.”
Without any protest Holmes flung the sheets aside, revealing his naked, slightly moist chest. ‘He smells good,’ thought Watson, before he pressed the cold disc onto the heated skin. Holmes flinched a little, drawing in air between clenched teeth.
“Strong and steady even if a little too fast. Did you eat anything today!” Holmes shook his head.
“And drink? How much did you drink?”
“Don’t know. A cup or two.”
“That’s not enough. Your body needs much more liquid. Anything that pains you?” Holmes cleared his throat, smiling, just to prove that Watson was right. His throat was dry as a desert.
“Hm. It could be the beginning of a tropical fever. But there is no sweat… or just too little. Have you been to the lavatory?”
At this question Holmes started to cough so heavily that he nearly choked on his own spit, bending his body forward so, that Watson could pat his back, concerned, not noticing Holmes’ wide grinning face.
“I have been, Watson.” He whispered eventually.
“Hm. You didn’t eat, drink, you feel cold though it is hot… Your heart beats too fast and your pupils are dilated. No pain in your limbs, maybe? Holmes. Answer truthfully! It could be a rare kind of a fever. Even a new one.”
“Yes… actually. There is something… painful…” Gently taking Watson’s hand he showed the doctor, what he meant. Touching the protruding length Watson’s eyes grew wide.
“Holmes. What games are you playing with me?” The look of pure innocence on Holmes’ face made Watson grin himself.
“I’m not so bad as a doctor, you know.”
“I know. And this new fever… We should name it after you. I think I’m infected with the Watson Fever…” And with that he closed his eyes and Watson bent down catching the pouting lips in a gentle kiss.
“I hope it isn’t contagious…”
“Of course not…” Holmes panted between kisses. “I’ve got the fever and you are my medicine.”
“Yes Holmes. I hereby declare you’ve got Watson Fever and I fortunately can provide the only medicine that fits.” He discarded his clothes and slipped beneath the sheets, snuggling close to his patient.
“A Watson…” Holmes arched into the sweet caresses of his doctor. Smiling he started shivering when Watson licked the hot skin of his breast.
“How does that feel?”
“Better… heavenly sweetness… pleasure… sheer bliss… oh!” Holmes’ sighed heavily as Watson licked first his navel, his abdomen and finally the aching flesh of his erection.
“I’m the only medicine, Holmes. Do you think you can take it?”
“Oh yes, Watson! Please. Give it… to me…”
“Here. You must take… it all… Is it good?”
“Yes! Watson…!” Gripping the sinewy form Watson relentlessly gave all he has got to fight against this new kind of a fever. Holmes convulsed around him, clenching his teeth, ripping at Watson’s hair, digging his nails into his shoulder blades, holding him tight against his now very hot and sweaty body.
“Yes… yes! More!” And Watson obeyed. Now shivering himself like a leave in a storm he filled Holmes with his essence.
They lay panting for a while, then Watson started to tickle Holmes’ stomach with his mustache, licking away the mess the detective had made. Holmes giggled and nearly died of joyful exhaustion, cradling the doctor’s head on his chest.
“Watson… not…” But suddenly he went still.
“The fever… it is chronic, am I right?” Watson nodded.
“I fear so.”
“Then I’ll have to take my… medicine on a daily basis…?” Watson sighed at Homes’ neck.
“I think that will be inevitable.”
“And if I don’t get it regularly… Do you think… I will die then?” Watson lifted his head and looked into the wide brown orbs.
“No. I don’t think so. As long as I live you will live, too. And if I die first…” He couldn’t speak any longer, tears filling his eyes.
“When you die first… I think I will follow you. Can’t live without you…” Holmes whispered.
“Sherlock.” A kiss tasting of tears sealed the detective’s lips. He took it without remorse, mingling his own tears with the doctor’s.
“As long as we live, then. John.” And with that they fell into a peaceful slumber, as close entangled as they could be.