"Watson, I admit, her navel is perfect!"
Holmes's voice reached the ears of sleeping colleague in that August morning, in a sultry, semi-deserted London.
Watson jumped: he had fallen asleep half naked, on top of the embroidered sheets, a gift from his girlfriend.
"Holmes, but I say, you gone mad?"
"Absolutely, I was just a statement. So, it's ten, plans to stay in bed for a long time? "
"No ... no, excuse me, but it is Sunday ... I have no special efforts, if not a walk with Mary and tea from the prospective in-laws." - And smiled, distracted by the selection of clothes for the afternoon.
"We have lunch together, so ..." - confidently asked Holmes, with a whisper.
"If you go ... yes, of course, take a bath and catch up." - The doctor said, smiling.
"I will, I fill the tub, I promise not to mess ... like the last time ..."
"Oh yes, when he threw a salamander in water, to verify that his experiment, I remember perfectly Holmes." - Retorted severely, and then laughing in his mustache.
Holmes withdrew timidly in the next room, opening the taps and melting salts.
Watson watched him, but then, seeing that everything was in order, he immersed himself comfortable.
Holmes followed with an obvious embarrassment that graceful movement, in which the countenance of his friend met with perfect foam, creating a wave by the hypnotic effect.
"Sherlock, what happens?" - Churches with unusual gentleness in his voice.
"Nothing ... nothing ... John"
"But my body knows, indeed, is mutual ..."
"Yes, but she is my doctor."
"This does not take away our confidence, maybe when we wore silly disguises, such as when ..." - and began to laugh cheerful, and then go out in front of the dark face of the other.
"Holmes ... but what's the matter?"
"Nothing ... I thought."
"What?"
"The Watson serves in the towel?"
"He was thinking about this?"
"No."
"So what Holmes?"
"It does not matter."
"I care Sherlock!" - Replied annoyed.
"John ..." - and inspired, and then rising, as he crouched near the edge of the tub, copper, rather than valuable.
Watson grabbed his left wrist, to lock it.
"I have to change me John, for our lunch ... he changed his mind?"
"I want to eat with her, I thought it was clear." - He said almost lost.
"Yes, like the sun ... thanks John, I knock when it's ready, see you later." - And disappeared.
They had reached the carriage, conducted by Watson, a village outside London, where he often went to spend a few hours in peace, far from the case, never pull the plug on the same arguments and speculations, that occasion was different, the silence unfamiliar with each other.
Holmes had said a blanket, and then set the table with plates and napkins, simple enough for that picnic.
"I thought he preferred to go by Mac Neal."
"No, Watson, I think that this hill is enchanting grandmother and then committed itself to prepare ... let's see ... ... salad sandwich with chicken and boiled eggs, jams, beer, French cheese ... and, yes, it is fresh ..."
"Thank you, she will not drink Holmes?"
"Of course we can ... yes ... we tu, at least in these pleasant circumstances?" - And laughed nervously.
"No problem, we might as well do it forever."
"She is too austere doctor to give me so much ..." - and smiled.
"And you're too stubborn to admit what's bothering you Sherlock."
The detective coughed.
"Do not strangle you, before you drink, it will pass quickly ..." - he said, giving him the slight blows on his back.
"John I'm not dying!" - Protested, trying to free herself, but Watson stopped him in his strong embrace, pulling him to give him a kiss on the temple, by tightening the eyelids, giving something profound in that action.
"You are unbearable Sherlock ..." - whispered, hooking Holmes's chin with his knuckles pale, but he decided, turning his face reddened, with an incredible passion to kiss him.
Holmes thought for a second that his heart might dissolve, and then receive the kiss as a gift of inestimable value.
"John ..." - murmured, stretching out below him, which took place between the legs of Holmes, still stroking the shoulders, back, slipping down to its lean hips, pressing them against their own, making you feel unequivocally: "I Sherlock ... I want so I'm going crazy for days ... no, it's a lie ... since I know you ... "- and kissed him again.
Holmes broke off only when he began to make effort to breathe.
"But then John ... Miss Mary ... I do not understand."
Watson made a strange face, as annoyed by the curiosity, but the reason was different.
"I'll tell you a story ... Sherlock begins when everyone started to ask a sign, a gesture, a choice, to suit their shameless selfishness. My father was the first on the list: I enlisted, fought with honor, returning from the war wounded, maimed for little ... My mother, however, did nothing but embroidery, imagine how many kits would prepare for future grandchildren ... I do not know even if there are any, but she has on file all its dilemmas, knowing Mary. They give my life for granted, pre-built binary forcing above, of whom proud power, then to me that is good or not, they never cared, you know? "
"I'm sorry John ..." - and he murmured, his cheeks were touched with another kiss.
"If they only knew ... You have taught me what I know, I've opened a thousand doors, and never set limits to my decisions, but above all you Sherlock ... trust me you gave your life to me on numerous occasions ..."
"You're all that I have John, you're all I want for me ... I love you, John ... I love you" - and holding him, this time he was kissing him intensely.
The glare of the streetlight came directly from the open window in the chamber Holmes was three in the morning.
"Yes ... ... confirm your belly button is the perfection of John" - the abs and laughing bit him lightly, and then drawing arabesques fans of saliva, as his breathing.
Watson got stuck their fingers through his locks dark and rebellious, while his moans acuivano the excitement of Holmes, who came up fast, to imprison her in the mouth of her lover, who was ready to receive him, for a second time.
"The center of my world ... you are this John ... forever." - Whispered moved, while the roughness of its members ran between the legs of Watson, intoxicated by too many feelings to be able to replicate something, if not just another kiss.
THE END
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