The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

since I deduced from this that his stay in the hut on the moor had been truly uncomfortable.
    It was down to me, therefore, to rouse us both enough to get into bed, for we certainly could not spend the night on the settee. Once beneath the blankets Holmes curled his long torso against mine and, in very short order, I followed him down into sleep.
    * * * *
    At breakfast the following morning, I found that I was ravenous. Holmes joined me at the table, although I suspected that it was more for the sake of my company than any real appetite on his part, for he never ate very much when engaged upon a case, and the knowledge made me smile.
    Sir Henry walked in as I was lingering over my second cup of coffee and listening to Holmes's account of what he had done thus far that morning, for he had been afoot earlier than I.
    "Good morning, Holmes," said the baronet genially. "You look like a general who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff. Did you both sleep well?"
    "Oh yes, very well indeed," said Holmes smoothly, without so much as a glance at me. "Last night's sleeping arrangements were a marked improvement on my hut, I assure you."
    I hastily took another mouthful of coffee, my mind flooded with the memory of how, bare hours earlier, Holmes's lips had moved gently against the back of my neck as he spoke.
    "'In dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, I cried to dream again.'"
    His voice was low and husky with sleep, and I smiled without opening my eyes. I had often heard him quote from the more martial of Shakespeare's works, but this was the first inkling I had had that he might know other, softer pieces.
    "Save that this is not a dream," I murmured softly, unwilling to break the morning's hush, "and you are very far from being a brutish, unfeeling monster like Caliban."
    "You must have thought me one."
    He was curled up behind me, one arm around my waist, and his warm palm smoothed circles on my stomach as I chided him softly, "Oh, hush. Let us not begin that discussion again; it is done."
    A comfortable silence fell between us. Last night, what with one thing and another, the curtains had not been fully closed and there was a chink of dark gray sky visible, beginning to lighten with the sunrise, and a shaft of light lying on my face. It was what had awoken me, but I was divinely warm and comfortable where I was and not at all inclined to arise and dispel it.
    Holmes stirred a little behind me and I knew that he would not stay much longer. Doubtless he had been awake even before me and his mind was already racing ahead, considering the strategy for the resolution of the case.
    As if on cue, he whispered into my hair, "I should leave and let you sleep."
    Smiling again, I reached down and twined my fingers with the longer ones resting on my stomach.
    "You should be asleep," I chastised him gently. "You must be exhausted after living in that hut for so long."
    "I can't," he admitted, shifting again restlessly. "There is so much to do if we are to bring things here to a successful conclusion. I shall sleep when we are back in Baker Street."
    Languorously, I stretched, hearing his breath stutter as the movement pressed my hips back against his morning arousal. The hand that had been caressing my stomach started to drift downwards, and I covered it with my own and encouraged him wordlessly.
    "Is there the slightest chance that I could persuade you not to arise just yet?" I asked, and gave a small moan as his fingers curled around my erection and began to stroke. There was a gentle kiss on my shoulder as he hummed in pleasure.
    "Oh, I would say there is a very good chance indeed. After weeks without you, I am like a starving man at a banquet."
    I came back to myself with a jump. Holmes had kicked me as he stretched out his legs under the table and I was sure it had not been accidental, for my face felt rather warm and I was conscious that a foolish smile was tugging at the corners of my mouth.
    "You look rather flushed, Dr. Watson," Sir Henry remarked, breaking off from a conversation with Holmes – which I had entirely failed to follow – that had left him looking slightly dismayed about something.
    "Do I? My goodness. I ... that is..."
    "I am not at all surprised," Holmes cut suavely across my stumbling reply. "That is your second cup of coffee; you must be rather warm by now."
    "Yes, I am rather," I agreed meekly.
    At the nape of my neck there was a