Haha! Got ya!
*holding tightly to a plot hedgehog* look! I caught one! It was sneaking back to raid my fridge.
Title: The Table Incident
Rating: 12-ish
Synopsis: This is elena_c's birthday drabble, albeit rather late. Watson does rather like Holmes's hands.
Notes: This was written using Google Docs. It's quite a handy thing to have a word processor online you can work on your documents wherever you happen to be :)
The Table Incident
Like any middle aged bachelor who's friend happens to be the world's foremost consulting detective, I was wont to find myself in many unusual locations.
This was perhaps the strangest.
We were huddled together under a table at one of London's finest Italian restaurants. How we came to be here is a long story, but the basic outline is that Holmes was on the trail of a jewel thief that had led us to this most finely (albeit slightly stained) floored dinning room. Our suspect had been seated at the table, along with his extended family.
With noting but feet to observe and the body of my companion pressed rather pleasingly to my person it was easy for ones mind to wander. Holmes's mind was clearly following a similar path to mine for he leaned over and pressed his lips to my ear: "Perhaps this rather excellent restaurant will give us a take-away order of sorbet that I can then apply rather lavishly to your person."
Blushing I shushed him.
"I wish they'd hurry up." Holmes murmured under his breath.
"My foot's gone to sleep." I replied, trying to shift into a more comfortable position.
"I'm glad that's the only thing," he added cheekily whilst tickling my inner thigh.
"Holmes!" I batted his hand away, "this really isn't the time to be amorous!"
"Really? I thought this was really a rather intimate location."
"We can get under the table at home, please Holmes, behave. I knew we shouldn't have had that bottle of wine over dinner."
"What are you talking about? I'm not drunk."
"No, but get a few glasses of wine inside of you and you become considerably frisky."
"Shush..."
The clink of glasses and murmur of voices above us indicated that our criminal was about to leave. Holmes and I quickly moved into a position where we would be able to observe their exit. Unfortunately, a rather rotund gentlewoman wearing the latest high heeled fashion stepped back onto Holmes's hand. The trickle of blood from Holmes's lip told me that he was doing his best not to scream, as quick as it had happened it was over.
What the other dinners thought of our less than ceremonious departure from under the table, I hasten to think. Apologising to the shocked dinners, I ran after the fleeing body of Sherlock Holmes, catching him on the street corner.
"Holmes! Are you alright?"
He replied with an expressive steam of expletives that made even this old soldier blush with embarrassment.
"Let me see." He held our his hand, "well, nothing seems broken. We'd best get back to Baker Street so I can take a proper look." I held out my arm, hailed a passing hansom cab and after giving our address I bundled the slightly shell-shocked looking Holmes into the back of it.
During our short journey I held Holmes's hand and examined it closely. I had few opportunities during our day to day existence to examine Holmes's hands closely, and it was an experience I had often longed for. I ran my fingers slowly across the back of his rough, chemical stained and beautiful hand. I took his long fingers with their ability to create the most marvellous music and caressed them lovingly. I recalled the way he often touched me, gently exploring and playing every inch of my body. I shuddered slightly, and raised the hand to my lips and gave it a soft, lingering kiss.
"You have an extraordinary bedside manner, Watson." I jumped slightly and let go of his hand. I'd almost forgotten he was sitting beside me.
I smiled weakly at him, "sorry I ummm..."
"I understand. They do say that a kiss cures all ailments."
"They do?"
"I believe so. Perhaps you would care to join me in a little experiment, there is a rather painful ache on my inner thigh."
Teehee... I really must stop doing this:
Title: The Table Incident
Rating: 12-ish
Synopsis: This is elena_c's birthday drabble, albeit rather late. Watson does rather like Holmes's hands.
Notes: This was written using Google Docs. It's quite a handy thing to have a word processor online you can work on your documents wherever you happen to be :)
The Table Incident
Like any middle aged bachelor who's friend happens to be the world's foremost consulting detective, I was wont to find myself in many unusual locations.
This was perhaps the strangest.
We were huddled together under a table at one of London's finest Italian restaurants. How we came to be here is a long story, but the basic outline is that Holmes was on the trail of a jewel thief that had led us to this most finely (albeit slightly stained) floored dinning room. Our suspect had been seated at the table, along with his extended family.
With noting but feet to observe and the body of my companion pressed rather pleasingly to my person it was easy for ones mind to wander. Holmes's mind was clearly following a similar path to mine for he leaned over and pressed his lips to my ear: "Perhaps this rather excellent restaurant will give us a take-away order of sorbet that I can then apply rather lavishly to your person."
Blushing I shushed him.
"I wish they'd hurry up." Holmes murmured under his breath.
"My foot's gone to sleep." I replied, trying to shift into a more comfortable position.
"I'm glad that's the only thing," he added cheekily whilst tickling my inner thigh.
"Holmes!" I batted his hand away, "this really isn't the time to be amorous!"
"Really? I thought this was really a rather intimate location."
"We can get under the table at home, please Holmes, behave. I knew we shouldn't have had that bottle of wine over dinner."
"What are you talking about? I'm not drunk."
"No, but get a few glasses of wine inside of you and you become considerably frisky."
"Shush..."
The clink of glasses and murmur of voices above us indicated that our criminal was about to leave. Holmes and I quickly moved into a position where we would be able to observe their exit. Unfortunately, a rather rotund gentlewoman wearing the latest high heeled fashion stepped back onto Holmes's hand. The trickle of blood from Holmes's lip told me that he was doing his best not to scream, as quick as it had happened it was over.
What the other dinners thought of our less than ceremonious departure from under the table, I hasten to think. Apologising to the shocked dinners, I ran after the fleeing body of Sherlock Holmes, catching him on the street corner.
"Holmes! Are you alright?"
He replied with an expressive steam of expletives that made even this old soldier blush with embarrassment.
"Let me see." He held our his hand, "well, nothing seems broken. We'd best get back to Baker Street so I can take a proper look." I held out my arm, hailed a passing hansom cab and after giving our address I bundled the slightly shell-shocked looking Holmes into the back of it.
During our short journey I held Holmes's hand and examined it closely. I had few opportunities during our day to day existence to examine Holmes's hands closely, and it was an experience I had often longed for. I ran my fingers slowly across the back of his rough, chemical stained and beautiful hand. I took his long fingers with their ability to create the most marvellous music and caressed them lovingly. I recalled the way he often touched me, gently exploring and playing every inch of my body. I shuddered slightly, and raised the hand to my lips and gave it a soft, lingering kiss.
"You have an extraordinary bedside manner, Watson." I jumped slightly and let go of his hand. I'd almost forgotten he was sitting beside me.
I smiled weakly at him, "sorry I ummm..."
"I understand. They do say that a kiss cures all ailments."
"They do?"
"I believe so. Perhaps you would care to join me in a little experiment, there is a rather painful ache on my inner thigh."
Teehee... I really must stop doing this: