The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

what you will do next but you don't wish to tell me, do you?"
    "But I will," he said at once. "If you truly wish to know then I will tell you; I have no desire to ever repeat the past few weeks."
    His face was a picture of agonised indecision and I was unable to help myself. I laughed.
    "Holmes, I have never seen such conflict on a human countenance. Very well, keep your secret; all will be revealed to me soon enough, I have no doubt. But you must promise me that you do not endanger yourself by your reticence."
    For I knew him well enough to be sure that were there any danger to any other life than his own then he would not hesitate to confide in me, but he was often appallingly careless with his own well-being.
    "I promise. But ... Watson, truly?" He looked slightly puzzled by my mirth. "You don't want to know?"
    I moved closer to him on the settee and felt him lean into my touch, pressing us together from shoulder to knee.
    "Of course I want to know," I said mildly. "You know that I am always fascinated by your cases. But I think that my desire to know is not so strong as your desire to keep your secret and only reveal all with a dramatic flourish at the end."
    "If you're quite sure..."
    "Hush. I am."
    Looking relieved, he grinned boyishly at me. "You realise that my reticence is entirely your fault. The way you look at me when I present you with the final result – without having explained my deductions as we go along – is the most wonderfully endearing thing I have ever seen; if I show you too much of my method of working then you will conclude that I am a very ordinary individual after all."
    " My fault?" I exclaimed, highly amused. "And I suppose that if I asked Lestrade about your demeanour before we met then he would tell me that you were the most garrulous fellow imaginable."
    "Well, perhaps not," Holmes admitted, delicately licking a smear of chocolate from one of his long fingers. "But I was slightly more forthcoming when not in your presence. That first time in the hansom cab outside Lauriston Gardens, you looked at me with such amazement. I barely knew you, but even then I thought that if I could manage to make this handsome chap look like that several times a week then that would be a rather good way to pass the time."
    Charming as the sentiment was, I found my attention drifting elsewhere. Holmes's hands had long held a fascination for me – being narrow yet strong, and capable of drawing heartbreaking melodies from his violin or knocking a man unconscious – and to watch him slowly sucking chocolate off his own fingers made warmth pool low in my stomach.
    When Holmes heard my half-strangled noise he turned to look at me. My feelings must have been written all over my face, for the next instant he said "Oh," very softly and drew his damp fingertips down my warm cheek and along the side of my throat.
    "Furthermore," he murmured, leaning in towards me, "my bed was far too large and empty without you."
    And then he kissed me. His lips tasted faintly of chocolate and I opened my mouth against his with a little gasp of relief. It felt like months since I had kissed him, as opposed to mere hours, and I cradled his face in my hands as our lips brushed and parted and met again.
    After a short while he pulled back and, thinking that his exhaustion meant that he had gone as far as he wished to that evening, I started to let him go. However, his intentions became clear the next instant, when he trailed the tip of one long finger through the last smear of mousse still clinging to the dish and then dragged it across my lips briefly before leaning in and kissing me.
    Smiling against his lips, I responded enthusiastically to this rarely-seen, tender side of my lover, and let him kiss the sweet, rich taste into my mouth. When we parted to breathe, I gripped his wrist and drew his fingers into my mouth, licking and sucking them until they were cleaned of every trace of chocolate and Holmes's eyes had gone very dark as he watched me.
    Finally, I let his fingers slide slowly out of my mouth, and he asked huskily, "Good God. Do you have the slightest idea of how much I want you?"
    "Yes," I answered unsteadily, acutely aware of the tremor in my own voice and of the fact that my trousers were beginning to feel decidedly constricting across my groin.
    With a low noise of impatience he surged forward and kissed me, bearing me down onto my back on the settee. I heard a gentle thud as the bowl fell to the rug, and then