Compound a Felony: #teasertuesday

John Watson runs a bath

Happily for us, filling the bath in the first floor washroom only took ten minutes, and it didn't require the attendance of anyone but the individual or individuals directly intent on the bath itself. Our lengthy occupation of 221B Baker Street had facilitated quite a number of improvements over the years, this being the best of them, in my opinion. Holmes might have agreed with me on the subject, but I suspected he would agree with just about anything I posited at the moment.

"It's nearly ready," I said to him, carding my hand through his hair. He nuzzled into my palm and smiled sleepily at me. "Up you get."

He groaned as he stood, and no wonder: underneath his dressing gown, his backside blazed hot with the overlapping prints of my hands. He gripped my arm hard as he eased himself upright, wincing and grinning. He looked terribly smug for a fellow who'd just earned himself a pretty keen spanking.

"Not too sore, are you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "You'll have to try harder than that," he murmured.

I escorted him into the washroom and closed the door behind us. Holmes slipped his dressing gown from his shoulders and I caught it before it fell to the floor. His arse and the tops of his thighs were still red.

"Ooh," Holmes said, dipping a toe into the water. "John, it's cold."

"Not any colder than usual," I said, laying the larger towel across the radiator.

There was the splash of a lanky detective stepping into a lukewarm hip bath, and then a hiss as that same detective sank into a crouch. When I turned around, he was holding his arms above the surface of the water and regarding me with a wounded expression: big silver eyes and pouting lips.

"I thought this was supposed to be a nice treat," he said. "After... all that fuss."

I perched myself on the edge of the tub and rolled up my sleeves. Dipping my hands into the water, I said, "You'll thank me later. The cool water will help all that blood I've brought to the surface."

"I know what it's for," Holmes complained, tipping his head forward in order to allow me to wet his hair with a small tin cup. "I just don't have to like it very much."

"Well," said I, and picked up the soap nearby, "you certainly don't. I'll warm you up again later, how's that?"

He made a noise of approval as I began to rub my lathered fingers through his hair. His arms relaxed and his knees sank apart as I worked, and soon he was sighing and humming to himself.

"Eyes closed," I said, rinsing my hands and taking up the tin cup again. He mumbled an affirmative, and I began to wash the soap from his hair. When it was clean, I had to get up to get the cup of vinegar diluted in rosemary tea, and when I sat down again Holmes peeked up at me.

I bent to kiss him, and he smiled against my mouth. Then he lowered his head again and I poured the warm tea and vinegar rinse slowly over his hair. The ritual of it had subdued me, and I moved slowly, listening to the soft sound of him breathing barely an inch above the water, the gentle lap of the water against the sides of the tub as he shifted, the distorted squeak of his toes on the metal bottom. When the tea and vinegar was gone, mingled with the bath water, I put the cup aside and kissed the top of Holmes's head.

"Ready to get out?" I asked, almost in a whisper.

Holmes nodded. He took my proffered hands and I helped him to his feet. I fetched the towel, warm now from the radiator, and laid it across his shoulders. He stood still as I dried off his back and arms, and then spread his arms so that I could dry his chest and ribs. He leaned on my shoulder as he stepped out of the tub, and I gave him the smaller towel to dry his hair while I knelt to dry his legs. I patted his soft cock and bollocks with the towel and kissed his hip, and above me he laughed and stroked my head.

I got to my feet again, with some assistance, and looked up into his face. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and his smile was soft and fond. He bent to kiss my mouth, hit mostly upon my moustache, and I kissed him again to make up for it.

"Come on," I said. I slid his dressing gown up his arms and tied it closed for him, and led him, docile, by the hand back to our bedroom.

"Well," Holmes said, wincing slightly as he sat down on the bed so that I could comb and tame his clean hair, "I suppose that wasn't all bad. It did take the edge off the sting."

"Good," I said. "I am a doctor; I know what I'm doing."

He grinned at me. "That you do, my dear fellow. That, you do."

***

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