Sherlock Holmes - Sweet Dreams
Title: Sweet Dreams
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: M
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Neither of the gentlemen contained herein were created by me.
Summary: Holmes goes to Watson with an embarrassing problem.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: non-explicit discussions of sex and sexuality.
Word Count: 1300
Author's Notes: For a prompt on shkinkmeme (when is it not?)
Holmes had been fidgety and skittish all day. This was not entirely unusual, but it was always cause for concern. It normally meant that he'd gotten himself into some sort of trouble that he couldn't sort out on his own, but was unwilling to ask for help in solving. I would, once again, have to coax him into letting me know what the matter was so we could sort it out. For such an intelligent man, he could be damnably stupid at times.
“Holmes, please sit down, you are frightening the dog.”
He looked at me as though he'd forgotten I was in the room, but, alarmingly, followed the order. It was obviously worse than I had imagined.
“Would you like to tell me what's the matter, or will I have to make deliberately bad attempts to deduce it to goad you into correcting me?”
“You do that?” He seemed surprised, and I smiled privately at that.
“Yes, when I have to, but don't tell anyone.” I winked at him in an attempt to put him at ease, and sat down beside him on the settee. “So, what will it be?”
He sighed, and it was a sad little noise if ever there was one, Sherlock Holmes admitting defeat, but I was nonetheless glad of it. “I think...I think I may be in need of you in a medical capacity. I have had a...worrying experience these past few mornings.” He looked away, and I could tell that whatever was bothering him was not something he was comfortable discussing, but if it had to do with his health, then I felt responsible as his physician.
“Whatever it is, Holmes, I am sure to have heard it before. You needn't be embarrassed, no matter how delicate you think the subject might be.” I raised my arm to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, hoping that he might feel secure enough in telling me, as embarrassing ailments were often the most dangerous.
“Thank you, Watson. I have no doubt that I can trust your discretion,” he relaxed visibly and turned to face me properly, “I'm not sure how much of a cause for concern it is, but these past few mornings I've noticed...that is to say, there has been...and unusual discharge in my underwear when I have woken up. I am in no pain, the discharge is fairly thick, white in colour, and somewhat bitter to the taste.”
Well. I had certainly heard that one before. Though never as a medical complaint.
“And this has never happened before?” Surely this couldn't be his only experience with the phenomenon.
“No. No, never. Should I be worried?”
Who would ever have thought? Sherlock Holmes had finally discovered, at the age of thirty-two, the joy of women. I wondered who the particular damsel in question might be. He had seemed to take something of a shine to the young lady who had been looking to locate her father's will the other week, so perhaps she was the object of his apparently brand-new fantasies. I should, probably, merely have informed him of the facts and left him to his own devices, but I was dying to know who might have captured the amorous interest of Sherlock Holmes.
“I don't think it should be anything particularly worrying, no; though I am curious to know if you might remember what you were dreaming about on these occasions.”
At this he flushed bright red and averted his eyes shyly. Ah, he clearly remembered, then. With his marvellous imagination, I could only expect that Holmes' fantasies would be worth hearing about for the educational value alone, not to mention the fact that he had finally been brought down to the level of mortal man in regards to the physical body.
“You.” Came a very small whisper, and for a moment I didn't comprehend what he was saying. That was most certainly not what I had been expecting. Now I found it was imperative that I learned more.
“Oh,” I choked out as evenly as I could, “and what might I have been doing?”
He blushed further, and hung his head. “You were...you...you kissed me.” I could see him trembling slightly, and instantly felt remorse for my probing. “Do you think it's some kind of physiological punishment? For imagining that?”
I found myself in a very bad position indeed. Holmes was clearly suffering, believing himself not only to be ill but that it was his own fault. Additionally, I had just found out that I was the subject of his fantasies. He looked like he badly needed a hug, but that did not seem like the wisest course of action, given the information I had at hand. Of course, it is at times like these where I inevitably dig myself into a deeper hole, because at that moment, my curiosity got the better of me.
“Just kissing you?” Dammit. That was not at all what I'd meant to say.
He nodded vehemently, like a child confessing the truth. “You held my face, and you kissed me. Is that important?”
I couldn't help but laugh at the innocence of it all. “You have incredibly modest fantasies, Holmes.”
The look he gave me might have killed another man, but it didn't do much to dampen my mirth. “Perhaps I should have mentioned first off that what you've been experiencing is completely normal. Or, it would considerably more normal for a teenager, but it does happen to mature men as well from time to time. It's just obviously taken you a little longer to develop.”
“You mean I'm not ill?” I worried that if any more blood rushed to his face, his fingers may start falling off, the depth of his blush was so great. I would have liked to do something to ease his embarrassment, but I couldn't think what.
“No. This is nothing to be ashamed of, Holmes. It's perfectly natural, if a little late. Your mysterious white discharge is semen. Reproductive fluid, nothing more. It won't do you any harm, and it doesn't hurt, does it?” He shook his head. “That's all right, then. You'll be fine, and I imagine it will become less frequent with time.” I gave his thigh a reassuring pat and sat back, not wanting to leave him for fear he'd think I was offended.
“You're not angry with me?”
“Why should I be? You were genuinely concerned about your health. I wish you'd come to me more often, actually.”
“I...I meant about...the other thing.” He was looking away again, and I knew now what he was worried about.
“Holmes, we cannot truly control our fantasies. I'm sorry that I implied that I needed to know - it was cruel and not especially professional of me. I am terribly flattered, though.”
He looked back at me then, and his expression was so overwhelmingly grateful - more than I'd ever seen it before - that I couldn't help myself. I moved my hand to his face, and then leaned forward to kiss him gently. When I drew back again, he was staring at me in shock, and it was my time to blush.
“Sorry.” I mumbled and looked away.
“Whatever for?”
“For that. Obviously. I didn't mean to take advantage, you just put the idea in my head and it seemed like a good one at the time.”
“Watson, you literally just made my dreams come true. Please, do not apologise to me unless you regret it.”
I looked at him again, and he was back to his seriously, slightly exasperated and terribly superior usual self, and I found that my urge to repeat the gesture was not lessened by it. I smiled broadly.
“I don't regret it.”
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: M
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Neither of the gentlemen contained herein were created by me.
Summary: Holmes goes to Watson with an embarrassing problem.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: non-explicit discussions of sex and sexuality.
Word Count: 1300
Author's Notes: For a prompt on shkinkmeme (when is it not?)
Holmes had been fidgety and skittish all day. This was not entirely unusual, but it was always cause for concern. It normally meant that he'd gotten himself into some sort of trouble that he couldn't sort out on his own, but was unwilling to ask for help in solving. I would, once again, have to coax him into letting me know what the matter was so we could sort it out. For such an intelligent man, he could be damnably stupid at times.
“Holmes, please sit down, you are frightening the dog.”
He looked at me as though he'd forgotten I was in the room, but, alarmingly, followed the order. It was obviously worse than I had imagined.
“Would you like to tell me what's the matter, or will I have to make deliberately bad attempts to deduce it to goad you into correcting me?”
“You do that?” He seemed surprised, and I smiled privately at that.
“Yes, when I have to, but don't tell anyone.” I winked at him in an attempt to put him at ease, and sat down beside him on the settee. “So, what will it be?”
He sighed, and it was a sad little noise if ever there was one, Sherlock Holmes admitting defeat, but I was nonetheless glad of it. “I think...I think I may be in need of you in a medical capacity. I have had a...worrying experience these past few mornings.” He looked away, and I could tell that whatever was bothering him was not something he was comfortable discussing, but if it had to do with his health, then I felt responsible as his physician.
“Whatever it is, Holmes, I am sure to have heard it before. You needn't be embarrassed, no matter how delicate you think the subject might be.” I raised my arm to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, hoping that he might feel secure enough in telling me, as embarrassing ailments were often the most dangerous.
“Thank you, Watson. I have no doubt that I can trust your discretion,” he relaxed visibly and turned to face me properly, “I'm not sure how much of a cause for concern it is, but these past few mornings I've noticed...that is to say, there has been...and unusual discharge in my underwear when I have woken up. I am in no pain, the discharge is fairly thick, white in colour, and somewhat bitter to the taste.”
Well. I had certainly heard that one before. Though never as a medical complaint.
“And this has never happened before?” Surely this couldn't be his only experience with the phenomenon.
“No. No, never. Should I be worried?”
Who would ever have thought? Sherlock Holmes had finally discovered, at the age of thirty-two, the joy of women. I wondered who the particular damsel in question might be. He had seemed to take something of a shine to the young lady who had been looking to locate her father's will the other week, so perhaps she was the object of his apparently brand-new fantasies. I should, probably, merely have informed him of the facts and left him to his own devices, but I was dying to know who might have captured the amorous interest of Sherlock Holmes.
“I don't think it should be anything particularly worrying, no; though I am curious to know if you might remember what you were dreaming about on these occasions.”
At this he flushed bright red and averted his eyes shyly. Ah, he clearly remembered, then. With his marvellous imagination, I could only expect that Holmes' fantasies would be worth hearing about for the educational value alone, not to mention the fact that he had finally been brought down to the level of mortal man in regards to the physical body.
“You.” Came a very small whisper, and for a moment I didn't comprehend what he was saying. That was most certainly not what I had been expecting. Now I found it was imperative that I learned more.
“Oh,” I choked out as evenly as I could, “and what might I have been doing?”
He blushed further, and hung his head. “You were...you...you kissed me.” I could see him trembling slightly, and instantly felt remorse for my probing. “Do you think it's some kind of physiological punishment? For imagining that?”
I found myself in a very bad position indeed. Holmes was clearly suffering, believing himself not only to be ill but that it was his own fault. Additionally, I had just found out that I was the subject of his fantasies. He looked like he badly needed a hug, but that did not seem like the wisest course of action, given the information I had at hand. Of course, it is at times like these where I inevitably dig myself into a deeper hole, because at that moment, my curiosity got the better of me.
“Just kissing you?” Dammit. That was not at all what I'd meant to say.
He nodded vehemently, like a child confessing the truth. “You held my face, and you kissed me. Is that important?”
I couldn't help but laugh at the innocence of it all. “You have incredibly modest fantasies, Holmes.”
The look he gave me might have killed another man, but it didn't do much to dampen my mirth. “Perhaps I should have mentioned first off that what you've been experiencing is completely normal. Or, it would considerably more normal for a teenager, but it does happen to mature men as well from time to time. It's just obviously taken you a little longer to develop.”
“You mean I'm not ill?” I worried that if any more blood rushed to his face, his fingers may start falling off, the depth of his blush was so great. I would have liked to do something to ease his embarrassment, but I couldn't think what.
“No. This is nothing to be ashamed of, Holmes. It's perfectly natural, if a little late. Your mysterious white discharge is semen. Reproductive fluid, nothing more. It won't do you any harm, and it doesn't hurt, does it?” He shook his head. “That's all right, then. You'll be fine, and I imagine it will become less frequent with time.” I gave his thigh a reassuring pat and sat back, not wanting to leave him for fear he'd think I was offended.
“You're not angry with me?”
“Why should I be? You were genuinely concerned about your health. I wish you'd come to me more often, actually.”
“I...I meant about...the other thing.” He was looking away again, and I knew now what he was worried about.
“Holmes, we cannot truly control our fantasies. I'm sorry that I implied that I needed to know - it was cruel and not especially professional of me. I am terribly flattered, though.”
He looked back at me then, and his expression was so overwhelmingly grateful - more than I'd ever seen it before - that I couldn't help myself. I moved my hand to his face, and then leaned forward to kiss him gently. When I drew back again, he was staring at me in shock, and it was my time to blush.
“Sorry.” I mumbled and looked away.
“Whatever for?”
“For that. Obviously. I didn't mean to take advantage, you just put the idea in my head and it seemed like a good one at the time.”
“Watson, you literally just made my dreams come true. Please, do not apologise to me unless you regret it.”
I looked at him again, and he was back to his seriously, slightly exasperated and terribly superior usual self, and I found that my urge to repeat the gesture was not lessened by it. I smiled broadly.
“I don't regret it.”