It was new, this thing between them.
Watson cradled it carefully next to his heart, as if it needed protecting. But it was, he knew, stronger already than a sprout, unfurling and growing all by itself even as he tried to carefully nurture it.
Holmes, too, though in his own way.
"Come, Watson," he said as he made for his bedroom, and Watson lowered his book with some astonishment. Holmes turned with a look of impatience. Or was it something else?
"The day has been disappointingly barren of crime. The criminals of London seem to be resting, and so shall I."
Still he stood with an air of expectance, but Watson was not sure what was being expected of him.
"And?" he said, inclining his head. He looked at Holmes. Come, Watson, he had said. "You... you wish for me to join you?"
Not naturally at all! Watson sat flabbergasted.
"Holmes, I- I would love to join you," he finally said, and anything he might have wanted to add was cut short by Holmes.
"Very good. Come along, then."
And Watson came along. He walked as in a dream, following his friend and lover (for that was what they were, now, was it not?). He lay down beside him.
They had never done this before.
"You may hold me," Holmes said generously, as if granting him a wish, when clearly it was his own. Finally, Watson smiled.
"Gladly," he murmured, and readily turned to embrace Holmes. His heart sped up, even now. Such an intimate gesture! His arms pulled taught, and Holmes sighed with something like relief.
"Wonderful, my dear fe- my dear."
Overcome with emotion, Watson pressed his face into Holmes' shoulder, inhaling deeply, and then pressed a kiss to him. He smelled faintly of tobacco.
"A stellar idea," he whispered, and though he could not see Holmes' face he knew his schoolgirl blush. "Just splendid."
"Be quiet, now," Holmes instructed, "for if you are not then perhaps we will not slumber after all."
"Oh?" With closed eyes, Watson smiled into him. "I would be amenable. But I feel you are right. You should rest. I am sure very soon an exciting case will make its way to our doorstep."
"Mmh," Holmes said, and said nothing else. He was warm and surprisingly still in his arms, the restlessness that had plagued him all day slowly draining from his high-strung frame as he relaxed into Watson, who was grateful for it.
Watson bent his knees, pulling them upwards into Holmes, moving their legs together, and with a rather content sigh Holmes snuggled backwards against him. Snuggled! Holmes!
Pondering the verb and the movement, Watson's eyes fluttered to a close, and his breathing slowed in synchrony with Holmes', and the last thing he thought was that this particular new thing would not remain novel for long, between them. Not if he had a say in it.
