AU

[i_favour_you]

Follows this.

It wasn't until he found the beach that he realized they had made it to Cape May. Of all of New Jersey, this was possibly his least favorite place. It was so nice here. Cosy shops, happy people, and homes that cost far too much money.

Also, art supply stores. Sherlock purchases the needle, thread, alcohol, and some glue. Can't look too obvious, even with the blood under his fingernails and the tears in his tee-shirt. Not long after, he parks the stolen car in front of a chain hotel and goes in as calmly as possible to book them a room. His body is vibrating with panic. He can't remain this calm for much longer. Watson is bleeding. She's injured. He has to smile and wait in line and be bloody calm.

He pulls a coat out of the bag of clothes to put over Watson's shoulders once he gets back to the car.

"There's a vending machine and room service," he tells her. "We can get you orange juice and water for the blood loss."

Comments

[i_favour_you]

He makes a small keening noise as he kisses her. The sharpness of her nails versus the softness of her mouth is incredibly arousing. If only he could shut off the part of his brain that reminds him over and over that wanting her is dangerous. Loving her.

"How's the arm?" he murmurs, moving back enough to try to take off her shirt.

[formersurgeon]

She moves to help him, wincing as she moves the arm in question.

"It hurts, but not as much. Still stiff, though."

Once they manage to take the shirt off, she glances at the gauze, sees the thin line of blood that has seeped through. Not terrible.

[i_favour_you]

He traces his hand above the gauze and leans down to press his lips gently to where the blood marks it. He'll protect her, he decides. Always protect her.

"They'll pay for it," he says.

[formersurgeon]

"They've done worse," she says quietly. "I'll be fine, Sherlock. I promise."

She leans in to press her lips to his forehead.

[i_favour_you]

"They'll pay for that, too."

She kisses his forehead, and he's shaken by how intimate this is. They're both half-naked, holding each other, and talking. Even with Irene, sex came first, and then talking. Never like this.

[formersurgeon]

"Are you okay?"

Even as the words leave her lips, she sighs inwardly, and closes her eyes.

"You don't like that question. You've never liked that question. But I'm not the only one they've hurt. And we need to take care of ourselves, and each other, if we're going to survive this."

[i_favour_you]

"My dear Watson," he says, reaching up to cup her face. "Whenever am I not?"

He isn't, now. Not really. Right now, he's aching. Aching and wanting at the same time.

[formersurgeon]

She cups his face as well. She knows the answer to that question. And knows that it's not what he wants to hear. He's not okay, and she needs to watch him. Needs to make sure this doesn't destroy him.

She leans in, draws him closer, kisses him.

[i_favour_you]

She kisses him, and he relaxes into her. Leans his body against hers, just exists with this kiss, with their contact. There are condoms in the bag on the floor, and he's still got his trousers on, and there's just never enough time---but he'll worry about them later. This kiss is wonderful.

It's her, bringing him back. It's what she does.

[formersurgeon]

If they could be like this forever, just like this, just holding each other, kissing each other, being with each other...

But they can't. Not now, not yet. They don't have time.

So she moves her hand from his face, runs it down his back, slips her fingertips beneath the waistband of his trousers.

[i_favour_you]

"Watson," he breathes against her lips as her fingertips go beneath his trousers. Of course, it's probably a bit strange to call someone by their surname in a sexual situation, so he looks down at her and tries again.

"Joan," he says.

[formersurgeon]

Her hand pauses, and she looks up at him, meets his eyes.

"No. You were right the first time."

She's been Watson to him through everything, through the struggles they've had and the victories, through every moment as they've become friends, then more. She's Watson. His Watson.

[i_favour_you]

He smiles, slowly but genuinely.

"Watson," he says. His dear Watson.

He leans down to kiss her again, and he puts an arm around her to turn them both over, to have her on top of him. In control.

[formersurgeon]

Her laugh is short, and a little strained by the flare of pain in her arm. It's not too bad, though. She kisses him, then pushes herself up to look down at him.

"Sherlock," she whispers.

She moves her hurt arm deliberately, and uses that hand to caress his cheek. Then she kisses his lips, then his chin, then his neck, working her way down.

[i_favour_you]

He lets out a little moan as her mouth touches a sensitive place on his neck, and then down his chest. There are fulfilled fantasies and then there are fulfilled fantasies, and then there's this.

[formersurgeon]

Oh that's a beautiful sound. She kisses her way down his chest, taking a slow moment to lick, kiss, then gently bite each nipple.

[i_favour_you]

He lets out a little sigh at her mouth, and her teeth against his nipples. They've never been particularly sensitive, but the sharpness of her teeth bring that out, followed by the warmth of her mouth.

"73 positions," he says. "I've just thought of another."

[formersurgeon]

"Mmm. What would that be?"

She continues kissing down his chest, slowly. As she gets to his belly, she starts undoing his belt.

[i_favour_you]

Anticipation curls warm in his stomach as she starts to undo his belt.

"I would much, much rather show you," he says.

[formersurgeon]

"When?"

She undoes the button, drags down the zipper, and starts to pull his trousers down.

[i_favour_you]

He wants to say now. There isn't time now. He wants to say soon, but he has no idea when they might have an opportunity any time in the near future. It isn't fair, he rarely allows himself to feel anything for anyone, and now that he does, he can't even act on it.

A quick shag isn't what Watson deserves.

He lifts up his hips to help her pull off his clothing.

[formersurgeon]

He doesn't answer, and that in and of itself is telling, that it's not now, and he can't say there will be a when. They don't know. They can't know.

So she pulls his trousers off, dropping them over the side of the bed. His boxers follow them. She sits back on her heels, and just looks at him for a long moment, taking in every line and curve and slope of his body, every scar, every trace of ink decorating his skin. If she had the time, she'd spend it examining him, discovering him, every inch. She knows he would do the same.

[i_favour_you]

He feels, oddly enough, vulnerable under her gaze. He's not overtly well endowed, and he has some scarring left from old injuries, including old track marks, and stretch marks from weight rapidly lost and eventually regained during his addiction. None of these things are normally visible, apart from the thin scar on his face from the day Bell had died.

She, conversely, is beautiful. She could easily have been a statue, with all of her perfect lines.

[formersurgeon]

To her, of course, he's beautiful. Every part of him.

She reaches out, touches his hip, and lowers her head to press her lips to the tip of his cock, then take him into her mouth.

[i_favour_you]

She presses her lips to him, but as she moves to take him into her mouth, he reaches out a hand to stop her.

"Wait," he says. "The---the condoms are---"