Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Word count: ~ 800
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Imagination – a power of its own.
A/N: In my dream it had been a bit longer. Maybe I add something more. But I’m too tired at the moment. Beg your pardon. Special thanks to nodbear. My lovely beta-reader.
Sitting on the edge of his bed he silently watched him. Dr. John Hamish Watson, his dear friend, fellow lodger and doctor. He was sleeping, and in his sleep still smiling. Was he dreaming? And about what? Holmes leaned forward, carefully. His white shirt a stark contrast to his dark hair. He leaned closer until he felt Watson’s breath on his face. Smooth and calm and gentle. ‘I shall not touch him…’, he thought, his hand hovering an inch above the clean shaven chin, the lips, the cheeks, the tender skin of the eyelids.
Watson moaned in his sleep. Holmes descended lower. Now his forehead nearly touched Watson’s face. He closed his eyes and breathed, smelling the scent, feeling the warmth… Watson stirred again and sighed. He had to smile. Slowly he let his hand wander. Never touching the warm skin, just pretending to do it. Over the broad chest, down over navel and abdomen to his prick. He kept it hovering there, and he shivered slightly. Watson responded in his sleep. He felt Holmes’ presence, and dreamt of what he dared not to think of in broad daylight. He touched his prick, felt it hardening, and moaned again.
Holmes closed his eyes, his hand still not touching anything. His own prick twitched in his pajama trousers. But he didn’t feel the urgency to do something about it. He was half hard and a tenderness rose up in his belly. Slowly he let his hand explore the firm muscles of Watson’s abdomen, once again over his navel, round and hardly to be seen. ‘Touch him.’ No! He would not. Silencing the little voice inside his head he remained still and waiting on the bed. He would stay there all night long. Like a guardian, an angel. Heaven sent.
Heavenly scent… With flaring nostrils he bowed his head down once more. What was it? Soap? Tobacco. Sweat. His tongue moved, sliding between his teeth. No! ‘Don’t touch him!’ He bit down on his lower lip, straightening his back he let his head roll back.
“Watson…” Just a whisper.
“Holmes.” A smile and an answer. He grabbed his own flesh, touching his right breast with his left hand. He could feel his collar bone under skin soft as silk. ‘Too skinny,’ in Watson’s opinion. His right knee nearly touched Watson’s thigh. With a small effort he drew the blanket over Watson’s sleeping form. He vanished as silently as he had come.
He woke up suddenly. Standing up to follow a natural desire he found a warm spot near his right side on the bed. ‘Holmes’, he thought. ‘Must have been searching for something…’ Yawning he stood up making his way to the lavatory.
They paths crossed in the living-room. Holmes, drowsy with red-rimmed eyes and hair standing up in all directions, looked wearily at him. He gave him a small glance and turned to his experiments again.
“Were you searching for something in particular in my bedroom, Holmes?” An arched eyebrow and a mumbled “Don’t know what you are talking about”, made Watson suspicious.
“You didn’t sit on the edge of my bed, did you?”
“Gladstone, maybe.” Now it was Watson’s turn to arch an eyebrow. He closed the gap, grabbing Holme’s arm he turned the detective to face him.
“You maybe a good actor, Holmes, but you never could lie to me. What happened?”
“Watson. I swear… I was just…”
“Watching me? Sleeping?” Holmes nodded.
“What for?” Holmes avoided his eyes. Shrugging he said:
“I imagined how it would be to…”
“…how it would be to…”
“…to touch the one… the one you love…” Brown eyes met blue.
“I can feel you. In my dreams. So tender…” Watson whispered, touching Holmes’ cheek hesitantly. Holmes’ closed his eyes, nestling his face closer into Watson’s palm he let out a deep breath.
“I imagined to be the one… the one you love…” Watson said nothing, instead he drew Holmes closer to himself.
“And if… you were the one? The one I love?” A sob and tears spilled out of Holmes’s eyes. Hanging down his head he touched Watson’s chest with his forehead, his hands hanging limp at his sides, opening and closing unconsciously.
“No. I could never imagine…” Cradling his head, hands in black hair Watson smiled and said:
“You don’t need to. You’re the one.” Black lashes, wet with tears, a face open and vulnerable looked up at him.
“No…” A faint whisper. The answer was a smile and a kiss on burning lips. Holmes tried to retreat, but the strong arms of his doctor held him tight. He struggled, tried to escape. He had no chance. He gave up and Watson carried him back into his bed and there… an angel unfolded its wings…