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

[formersurgeon]

He touches her face and she makes a small sound. She leans into the kiss a little more, for a moment, then allows their lips to part, keeping her forehead against his.

"You need to understand," she whispers. "I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. I can't live with your ghost, either. If I went away, and something happened to you..."

She shakes her head slightly, again smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

"You think you're the disposable part of this picture. You're not. I...I'm better with you, Sherlock."

[i_favour_you]

"Why?" he asks, his voice just above a whisper. "Why would you say that, Watson?"

He traces his forefinger along her jawbone.

"You're perfect, and that's not a word I use lightly."

[formersurgeon]

"Because it's true."

She turns her head slightly into that touch.

"I'm not perfect, Sherlock. I'm not going to enumerate my faults here, because that's not the point. The point is that what I do, what we do, we do together. We are stronger, better, together than we are apart. And that's true for both of us. When I stayed with you, when I became your partner, I did it for me, as much as I did it for you."

[i_favour_you]

"I know," he says. But she is, and she makes him better for it.

She moves into his touch, and he finds himself fascinated by the skin of her cheek, by the line of her jaw, her neck.

"I feel like I'm being selfish, wanting you here. I don't want you to go. But I don't want you to die."

[formersurgeon]

"You're not selfish for not wanting to be alone. I don't want to die either. But I'm not leaving you."

She caresses his cheek again.

"I don't want to be alone either."

[i_favour_you]

"It's not just alone," he says. "I want you."

He does. And not just sexually. He wants her there, he wants her to challenge him, to question him, to make him better just by being there. It's selfish. He doesn't care. He wants to care.

[formersurgeon]

"I want you."

She does. In every way. She wants him to challenge her, to teach her, to help her see what he sees. To talk with, to argue with, to have her back while she has his. She wants him with her.

[i_favour_you]

Then it's decided. For the moment, at least. She is not going anywhere, and he's not going to push her away.

He kisses her again, this time more slowly, more carefully. Less sadness, more longing.

[formersurgeon]

She's relieved that he listened, that he's not fighting her, for now at least. She kisses him back, just as slowly. She's far from full strength, so she's not going to be the one to push things in any direction, but she's happy to follow his lead, as much as she can.

[i_favour_you]

He's going to get her killed. The way he killed Irene. He still remembers the letter, the one meant for him, that showed how M was following him, had targeted him and the woman he loved. What would happen now if the people following him knew how much he cared for Watson?

Selfish. He's selfish.

When he breaks the kiss this time, he moves his mouth to that place on her jaw he was examining before, and traces it down her throat.

[formersurgeon]

"Sherlock..."

She sighs, tilts her head back, gives him access to her throat, and runs the tips of her fingers along the back of his neck, following his spine.

[i_favour_you]

He smiles against her skin. She tastes like sweat and herself and it's wonderful. Her skin is warm against his neck.

"Endorphins?" he teases, quietly.

[formersurgeon]

"Endorphins," she agrees with a quiet smile. "You know, sex is a very effective pain killer..."

She moves her hand down from his neck and along his side, to tug gently at his shirt.

[i_favour_you]

He grins, leaning back enough to let her pull his shirt off.

"For someone as wonderfully self-contained as you can be, you're full of surprises." In regards to her own shirt, he moves back to the scissors, holding them up with a questioning eyebrow.

[formersurgeon]

"Self-contained doesn't mean I don't have wants."

She pulls his shirt off with her one hand, drops it off the side of the bed. When he holds up the scissors, she smiles, nods.

[i_favour_you]

He moves forward, sliding the scissors up to the sleeve he'd already cut, tracing it up towards her neck. For every shear, he moves forward to press his mouth against the skin he exposes.

"Mmm, I can imagine," he says. And he can, vividly. "Of course, you could also always tell me..."

[formersurgeon]

The slide of the cool metal against her skin, the press of his lips, is tantalizing. She laughs quietly at his words.

"You want me to tell you what I want."

[i_favour_you]

He snips the sleeve off, and moves to the other arm, repeating the motion. Scissor, mouth. Scissor, mouth.

"Yes," he murmurs. "Please, Watson."

[formersurgeon]

She draws a breath, closes her eyes. Those words, spoken against her skin. That please.

"I want you," she murmurs back. "But you want specifics, don't you?"

[i_favour_you]

"You have me, Watson," he promises.

He gets the scissors to the neck-hole of her shirt, and begins to lower it down her torso, tracing his mouth along her collarbone, her sternum.

[formersurgeon]

"You have me, Sherlock."

He starts kissing down her chest, and she makes a soft sound of need. She knows he will do anything she tells him. She wants him to touch her, to kiss her, to suck on her nipple and run his fingers over her folds and push inside her and make love to her until they both cry out in release. She wants it all.

But she wants him to have what he wants, too. She knows that he wants what she wants, and has a pretty good idea of how to make it that much better.

"Beg," she whispers. "Beg me for what you want."

[i_favour_you]

He takes in a sharp breath at her words, and moves his head up to look at her. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated.

"Please," he begs. "Please, let me undress you."

He has no qualms about being submissive sexually. About giving in completely to the lovers he takes. And he has no qualms about wanting it, desperately, from Watson. To let her instruct him, control him.

[formersurgeon]

She sees that look in his eyes, and she shivers.

Perfect.

"Yes," she says. "Undress me, Sherlock. I want to be naked for you."

[i_favour_you]

He moves to her trousers, unbuttoning the top button to slide them down her hips. As he did while he was cutting off her shirt, he presses his mouth to newly exposed skin. The flesh below her belly button, the edge of her hip. Trousers gone, he kisses the top of her thigh, and down to her kneecap.

He doesn't pull off her undergarments. Not yet. He moves back up to kiss her again before his hand goes to unclasp her brassiere.

[formersurgeon]

She traces her fingertips over his shoulder, then cups his cheek as she kisses him back. He undoes her bra, and she reaches up to slide the straps off her shoulders, wincing as she forgets and moves her bad arm.