The Darkest Shadow
Jun. 1st, 2012 09:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Darkest Shadow
Pairing: Moran/Watson, Holmes/Watson, Mentions of Watson/Mary
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,848
Summary: Watson finds himself struggling against his own shadows in the midst of Moriarty's game.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the SHKink Meme
In dealing with Moriarty, Watson had already come to expect the absolute worst from the man. Holmes’ mixed feelings of fear and admiration said more than enough about the type of person they found themselves against. But looking back to the hotel as though he could see the damage done by Moriarty’s hired gun among that left by the bombing, Watson felt truly sick.
After all, Holmes wasn’t the only one to notice the smell of that cigarette at the opera, but Watson was more than used to the phantoms of war haunting him. The idea that after such an absence thoughts of the colonel, of all people, would come back now seemed almost fitting. So he gave the shadow no thought, thinking him nothing more than another ghost.
Resting his hand where he was certain the man had rested his elbow to line up the shot, Watson clenched his jaw bitterly as he moved it away just as quickly. Looking back to Holmes, he tried his best to focus on what the man was saying, only to find himself looking at the spot again.
He could nearly envision the colonel he’d known crouched there with his gun. Perfectly calm and at ease with the idea of taking a man’s life, as a soldier ought to be when the time called for it. When his life was threatened or in the course of battle, not to simply eliminate a man as a sort of duty to a madman. And while Watson was not one to deny Sherlock’s deductions, a surprisingly large part of him wanted to deny the colonel’s involvement in this twisted game.
~&~
“I despise every bit of this,” Moran complained bitterly.
Looking up from where he lay, Watson chuckled softly. “The heat isn’t that bad, is it?” He questioned casually. The look Moran shot him said more than enough on the matter, causing the doctor to laugh even more.
Of course the heat was miserable. Most of the men had taken to spending their days half dressed, Watson being no different than the rest, lying about with his shirt and jacket long forgotten. The weather was nothing short of disgusting and made him hate the entire situation all the more. Only a true animal would choose to wage war under such miserable conditions, let alone live in them.
Rolling onto his side, he looked over to where Moran was pacing, not making things any easier on himself what with the way he was still in full dress. Of course, such a thing was hardly worth Watson’s complaints. If anything, he rather liked it. The way Moran moved from one end to another, turning sharply on his heel only to do it all over again.
His skin was moist with sweat, giving the colonel a look of sheer urgency if the wild look in his eyes were to be trusted. Watching a particular bead of sweat trace its way down Moran’s neck, Watson silently wished the man would give up his battle of wills with the heat and simply strip. Anything to stop the endless motions that made the doctor feel even more miserable from the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Instead, though, Moran clenched his hands behind his back as though he might actually stand at ease as he continued moving like an enraged beast.
“Ever the hunter.”
Stopping in his tracks, Moran’s head snapped to look at him. Face impassive, those narrowed eyes made Watson shift uncomfortably.
“Did you say something?” Moran asked, even though it was only the two of them there.
Licking his lips, Watson didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes darted to catch the slight motion. He could either play the fool as well or take the risk of finding himself at the discretion of the man.
“You act as though you’re some animal. Stop moving if the heat is that bothersome.”
“Are you giving me orders?” Moran questioned as he let his hands fall to his side.
Watson rose to his feet once he caught on to the sudden ease in which Moran moved closer to him, but by then it was too late. Moran had him cornered, hands casually resting on either side of Watson’s head as he leaned in closer.
“I asked you a question.”
Swallowing down the lump that seemed to have developed in his throat from breathing in Moran’s air every time the man exhaled, Watson tried to stay focused. Thought of the endless amount of time Moran spent complaining about the heat in full dress. Sweat building at his brow before it slide down the sun kissed skin only to get lost beneath the collar when Watson’s eyes, hands and tongue couldn’t.
Cocking his head to the side, Watson nodded. “Yes. I will not stay here to listen to you complain as though you are some child. Either remove your uniform or stop speaking of this at once.”
Moran cocked his head to the side as well, eyes still wide, but well guarded. The tension in his body remained absent, but Watson was beginning to think that that wasn’t all that good to begin with. Matching the slow, deep breaths the other was taking, he decided to play with fire and goad the man.
“Well which is it, you bastard?”
Within the blink of an eye Watson found himself on his back.
~&~
“Watson!”
Snapping to attention, he looked about wildly until he realized that the cold he felt was to be expected rather than that of stifling heat. He was in France with Holmes on a case, he had to tell himself repeatedly just to get the thought through his head. Glancing over at the concerned look on Holmes’ face, he frowned.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been most distract ever since the bombing.”
“Is there another way one is expected to react after such?” Watson snapped.
Sitting a little straighter, Holmes stared at him with his head tilted subtly to the side. To anyone else, it would’ve appeared as though the doctor had merely offended the detective and that Holmes was simply thinking of what to do about it. Of course, Watson knew from the dreadful feeling rising in his stomach, he could not have been so fortunate.
“It was only after we deduced that there was a shooter involved in the bombing did this sudden mood strike you. To anyone else, one might think you were merely as worried about this fascinating game Moriarty has devised as I am, but that would be far too obvious.”
“Of course I’m worried about Moriarty, Holmes. The man wants both of us dead,” Watson said in an exasperated tone.
Sherlock’s brows raised slightly before he nodded in agreement. “But of course. That, however, doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been thinking of something else. Your new bride would be the logical choice, but you were far more present until this evening’s events which leads me to believe that you more than know of the colonel, don’t you Watson?”
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly before fixing his friend with a frown. While he knew he had nothing to hide where Holmes was concerned, mostly because of how impossible such a thing was, the words simply wouldn’t come. But when dealing with the great Sherlock Holmes, words weren’t always the most necessary of things. No sooner had Watson decided on being honest was the detective starting in on more of his theories.
“You served together with him. Likely for some time. But the way your shoulder’s are set indicates that you harbor feelings of discontent in his regard. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s now working for the man who wants to kill us as part of his insidious plans and the fact that you were far closer to him then most men tend to be.”
Emboldened by the look of absolute shock at the claim on the doctor’s face, Holmes continued on. “Your paths crossed. As soldiers, you bonded as soldiers do until it somehow became something far more… Spartan. You fell in love with him, feelings which were in some way reciprocated and remained as such until your return to London, where you tried to make yourself believe such behavior was merely the result of being in a foreign land in the company of men for so long or a boyish farce.”
It was almost funny how accurate Holmes tended to be in regard to his assumptions. If the night’s mistake was weighing hard on him, he had just more than made up for it with. He definitely cleared up the issue of what exactly Watson was to say to him.
~&~
Taking a deep breath, Watson stared at the ceiling as Moran carefully brushed the tips of his fingers along his side, eyes watching for some sort of tell the doctor refused to give. It was all a game, he thought as he relaxed the shoulder to which Moran’s other hand was pressed against, feeling the pressure increase as the man shifted. If he was going to attempt to gain the upper hand in all of this, he would most assuredly have to catch the man off guard, an almost impossible feat with Moran straddling his waist, still in that damn uniform.
“Well haven’t you just become quite the bold soldier,” Moran taunted. Leaning in closer, lips brushing against Watson’s jaw as he did, he whispered, “Such behavior towards a commanding officer can’t be tolerated though.”
“Can’t it?” Watson questioned in as clear a voice as possible.
“No. If word was to get out, someone might assume they could do the same and I’d hate to waste a bullet on my own men.”
“So you’re going to shoot me?”
Leaning back just far enough to look at him, Moran looked most upset before a small smile broke across his face. Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head. “Tempting, but no.”
Watson rolled his eyes. Resting a hand on Moran’s hip and calf, he quickly flipped the man over until he found himself straddling the other. Smirking at the look of complete shock on the colonel’s face, Watson felt a bit proud, knowing that he had caught the vigilant hunter by surprise.
“I will never understand how you came to be a colonel. You take even the simplest of orders so poorly,” Watson muttered as he began to unbutton the man’s jacket.
Lying back, hand resting behind his head, Moran shrugged. “Luck. Skill. Murder.”
“That’s a horrible joke,” Watson laughed.
Feeling the body beneath him shifting, Watson stopped his task to grip Moran’s shoulders. Amused, Moran merely smiled at him as he continued to move until they were sitting face to face, the doctor still straddling his waist. When Watson was certain that the man wasn’t up to anything, he continued his task of undressing him, body stiffly alert.
Finally getting the jacket and the shirt under it off, Watson slowly ran his hand up Moran’s exposed chest overjoyed to feel that warm, moist skin at last. So much laid bare, sinewy muscles taught despite the relaxed way the man sat there. Coiled for an attack that may never come.
Catching the interested way the colonel stared at him, he ducked his head as he cleared his throat. “Well… Now isn’t this better?”
Instead of replying, the colonel wrapped an arm around his waist as he pressed their bodies flush against each other. Chest to chest, growing arousal brushing against another every time they shifted. Both inadvertently and purposefully.
Eyes drifting shut as he felt the colonel’s mouth begin moving his neck, Watson gripped at his shoulders, hips slowly building up a steady pace as they rocked against Moran’s. Nose brushing against his ear, Watson could feel the man smirk right before he himself on his back once again.
Kneeling between his legs, Moran leaned forward and whispered, “Do shut up, doctor.”
~&~
“Well, if you have nothing to say, I suggest we get some rest. There’s quite the long day ahead of us,” Holmes said as he started to rise to his feet.
Watching the man look at him, Watson finally found his voice after catching the hurt look in the other’s eyes as he turned.
“You’re right, as usual. I loved him bitterly.”
“Well, it’s good to know that my powers of observation remain intact,” Holmes stated curtly.
Shaking his head, Watson rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “He was a great man, Holmes.”
“Well, I suppose this is to be expected since, as Ovid said, every lover is a soldier,” he said as he turned to face him.
Watson glared at him. “Is it wrong for me to expect you to be less of an arse?”
“Quite if you are going to be so daft. What next, Watson? You confessing that you now have troubles believing our shooter was in fact him? Because I can most assure you-“
“It’s not that. It’s merely…” Sighing, Watson tried to find the right words. He certainly didn’t doubt Moran’s involvement, but that didn’t quite help the dull ache that seemed to resonate through his entire body. “Things ended so abruptly I… I know for certain he appears to be involved, but you of all people should understand the complexities of the heart versus the mind.”
At that, the anger in the man’s eyes died away as he fell silent. Instead of being on guard at the comment, or at the very least offended, he looked almost as defeated as he had when he was forced to admit that he was wrong.
“Quite.”
“Yes,” Watson said as he looked away guiltily.
Sitting down next to him, once again, Holmes imitated his stiff back and crossed legged position on the floor of the gypsy tent. Staring out the same bit of nothing in particular, though not seeing what the doctor did in it, he eventually gave up and rested his head on the man’s shoulder.
“So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life,” Holmes said softly.
Resting a hand on his friend’s thigh, Watson nodded. “I’d feel the same way as I do now if ever I was to lose you, old cock.”
“A statement I doubt either of us is willing to test, mother hen,” he replied curtly. Still, he placed his hand over Watson’s, intertwining their fingers. “Although, the sentiment is shared.”
Meeting the blank look in his friend’s eyes, Watson slowly smiled, a small laugh erupting from his chest. Cupping the back of Holmes’ head, he kissed the man out of pure love as he tried to banish the thoughts of the past.
~&~
His lips part almost as soon as Moran kissed him. Burying his fingers in the colonel’s hair, he pressed himself against the other. No matter how hard he tried, things between them were rarely gentle. They kissed as though they wanted to steal the very life from one another, teeth scraping against tongues, biting at lips in a manner that was too soft to be cruel, but too painful to be playful.
Moran was a hunter at his core, an animal waiting for the attack, and it was all Watson could do to fight back, even when he wanted nothing more than to be taken by the beast of a man. He dragged his nails down the expanse of the colonel’s back. Gripped angrily at the hem of his pants as they rutted against one another like randy school boys. The delicious feel of Moran’s own arousal so close to his own and yet not nearly close enough.
Rolling them over once again, Watson broke the kiss as he sat up. He loved the look of impatience that riddled the man’s features. Undoing his own pants, Watson happily kicked them off before placing a hand over Moran’s heart. The colonel rested a hand over the doctor’s, taking it to his lips to kiss at his knuckles. Cupping the man’s cheek, Watson placed a chaste kiss to his lips. Even with all the words education and the company of soldiers could teach, it was the tenderest of touches that confirmed what they both already knew.
But the moment was over as quickly as it had started as soon as Watson pressed his lips to the relatively new wound on Moran’s shoulder. It hopefully wouldn’t scar too badly as he had done his best to ensure as much when attempting to dig out the bullet an Afghan had left there. Moran’s hand rubbed at his neck gently, a touch filled with care and love before pushing his head further down.
Watson nuzzled at the obvious bulge in Moran’s pants before rising to his feet. “You keep the vaseline at your desk, no?”
Without waiting for an answer, he made his way over to it. Of course it was right next to Moran’s gun as it would seem he enjoyed working the substance into what he loved, although it was used for cleaning the man’s gun far more often as of late, he thought bitterly.
Snapping himself out of such revelries, Watson reached for it. The fact that he was interrupted in his task by the hand at his neck, pressing the side of his face into the wood of the desk was nothing. Mouth open to complain the only sound to come out was a moan as the first of the colonel’s fingers pressed into.
At that he’d lost control of the game, Moran’s fingers thrusting shallowly as he made quick work of stretching the tight ring of muscles. Could all but feel the man’s eyes watching him as he jacked his hand back and forth quickly. Hips moving back to meet the quick movements, he went stiff as those expert fingers brushed against that spot inside him.
“Good heavens, now,” he demanded in a shaky breath, body already aching for the inevitable.
“Right away, sir.”
Gasping at the sudden emptiness, Watson shifted restlessly. The feeling of Moran’s knuckles dragging over his spine made him shiver, lifting his arse shamelessly when the man stop right at base. Lifting his head enough to bite down on his hand, Watson tried desperately to save face by quieting himself. He was practically shaking from the want to get fucked and knew that if he didn’t stop himself, he would undoubtedly beg for such as he had during other encounters. Plead for the colonel to just take him hard and fast until all he could remember was the feeling and the taste of the desk beneath his gasping mouth.
Thankfully the colonel seemed no better off. Thrusting into the doctor, he pressed himself against the man’s back, nose buried in his hair as they both adjust to the feeling. Between the sensation of the colonel’s breathing against him and the sudden fullness, Watson was nearly positive that he couldn’t ever be happier than he was then.
That was when Moran chose to move. Nearly pulling all the way out, he snapped his hips back, fingers digging into Watson’s skin as he did. It was the kind of rough, merciless fuck that the doctor had come to adore. It wasn’t the clumsy behavior of two boys or even the usual care one was expected to use with a woman. It was something that he could only ever relate to Moran. The man fucked like he shot. An almost obscene amount of focus, breath audible as he moved steadily as though the frantic pace to which they moved required little effort at all.
Quite the counterpoint to the usually reserved doctor who was coming undone beneath him. Even with his hand all but suffocating him, Watson still found the sounds of his own moaning loud in comparison to Moran’s careful breathing. The hand that wrapped itself around his prick made him dig his teeth into his hand harder. When he finally came hard enough to make his see stars, he was positive he could taste blood as he removed his hand from his mouth with a whimper.
Resting his head against the desk as he tried to catch his breath, he listened carefully to Moran’s breathing. Quickening alongside his thrust until that one sharp intake of breath as he went perfectly still, spilling himself into the doctor.
~&~
Soft breaths in and out were all he could focus on as he held Holmes in his arms. Nose pressed against Holmes’ hair, he tried not to think of anything. Not Moran perched upon that tower, proving that his aim hadn’t diminished in the slightest since the last time they’d met. He didn’t want to think of the willingness the other showed in trying to kill him as it left him to believe that their experience was only memorable to one of them. And most importantly, he didn’t want to think about the way his body tensed every time Holmes stopped fidgeting.
“Did you miss me?” Holmes questioned, foot bobbing restlessly while the rest of him remained perfectly still.
Frowning, Watson moved carefully to look at him. “Hmm?”
“You had said you would miss as much as you did Moran should I ever leave you,” Holmes said casually as he would one of his vest, when he bothered to ask at all.
Shaking his head as he smiled ruefully, Watson tightened his grip on the man, careful of his shoulder as he did.
“Does your chest still hurt?”
“Quite.”
“Then I believe you have your answer,” Watson said softly.
Shifting carefully, Holmes looked up at him. It was one of those looks that almost let Watson see the gears of thought turn in his head as words formed behind his lips.
“I’m… sorry that your former lover is a hired gun for Moriarty.”
Watson nodded in agreement, focusing on Sim, who lay asleep on the other end of the train car, curled up in ball. Focusing on the present, the dire situation that lay of ahead of them was the important part. Far more important than the pain he felt over Holmes nearly dying or not being remembered by Moran, not that he wanted to figure out which.
Blinking at the feel of a hand stroking his hair, he looked at Holmes. Right arm held tightly at his side and curled up to the doctor, he still managed to be the comforting one, even though none of Watson’s problems seemed as large in comparison. Holmes was seriously injured and had very nearly died. He had no right to be acting as though he was even capable of being the stronger one out of the two. Looking at the other, ready to issue his complaints, Watson found himself cut off.
“That Moran fellow really is an interesting one,” Holmes stated as he curled bits of Watson’s hair around his fingers. “If not his trying to shoot us and the man he killed today, I would almost understand what you saw in him.”
“It’s in the past. Now get some rest. You need it.”
“No, I believe it is you that is in need of sleep, Watson. You rest.”
“Holmes—“
“It’s not as though I am likely to get it anyways, considering what you gave me. Come now, lie down.”
Gently maneuvering them both so they were lying down in the car, face to face, Holmes stroked his head again as he smiled kindly. Watson smiled back before pressing his ear to the man’s chest. His heart was still beating rather rapidly, but the fact that it was beating was more than enough for him as he reluctantly closed his eyes.
~&~
“If I open my eyes, I had better not see you cleaning that damn gun again,” Watson threatened half heartedly from where he was sprawled out on the floor. Certainly there were better places for him to lie, but they never seemed quite as cool as the ground.
There was a knowing chuckle from where Moran was. Watson didn’t open his eyes though. He knew exactly how the colonel must’ve looked sitting on the edge of his desk, relaxed as he cleaned his gun, uncaring about the fact that they both had failed to find the energy to redress themselves. After all, while what they had done was more than pleasant enough, it had only made the heat problem far worse.
Rolling over to lie on his stomach, he rested his head on his arms, eyes opening only to prevent himself from falling asleep in such a state.
“That man I told you was right, you know,” he said, trying to fill the soothing quiet with any noise possible.
Moran’s brow creased slightly as he tried to place what the doctor was talking about. When it finally came to him, he laughed. “The one who predicted his death?”
“Yes. His body was found exactly how he predicted it. Rather strange, no?”
“I still say someone told him ahead of time,” Moran argued, unwilling to buy into the story.
Scoffing, the doctor shook his head. “Either way, he’s gone now.”
“Don’t seem so upset. He did tell you that he would be.”
“Thank you for your poor humor,” Watson said with a roll of his eyes.
Smiling, Moran got up from his perch and made his way over to the tired man. Sitting down next to him, he nudged at the doctor with the gun. “Did you hear of the tiger?”
“Everyone’s heard of that tiger,” Watson said, swatting at the man’s hand. “It ate someone recently, didn’t it?”
“Yes. And I intend to kill it.”
“Sebastian,” he sighed, finding the man’s given name was the only thing that tended to cut through his wild hunting fantasies. Sitting up, he gave the other a stern look as he said, “Is this your way of predicting your own death.”
“The only thing nearing death is that tiger,” Moran stated, far off, overjoyed look in his eyes. “I’ll even have its pelt made into a rug for you.”
“Right, just what I need. A tiger skin rug.” Shaking his head, Watson sighed. It was futile to argue with the man, but he couldn’t help. He understood that nothing satisfied the man like hunt, but this was just suicidal. Prodding at the bullet wound marring the man’s chest, said, “Must you continue to challenge death?”
Moran knocked his hand away brusquely. “It’s nothing.”
“Anther inch left and you’d be dead.”
“But I’m not.”
“And if he was to shoot you again? If someone or thing actually did get the better of you?” He argued a bit frantically.
Smirking, the colonel boasted proudly, “There’s not a man or beast alive that’s hurt me and lived.”
Frowning, Watson looked away angrily, only to have Moran cup his cheek. Looking back at the man, they stared at each other. His silent fears and concerns as genuine as the colonel’s belief that no harm to could done to. That he could just come back from anything.
“I’d be doing a great service, getting rid of that tiger,” Moran pointed out, wholeheartedly believing in the lie, partly because it was true.
~&~
Lips barely parted, he couldn’t imagine saying a word. The entire world seemed to have faded away once he spotted the man responsible for shooting Rene. His blood immediately ran cold from the idea that he might just as easily be the next to find himself dying helplessly as so many others looked on. But for the first time since seeing the man, Watson noticed the difference. The lose stance and slack facial features, eyes that almost seemed sorry.
Not for what he’d done, never for that. Moran probably got the same kind of joy out of shooting men as he did animals. But rather it seemed to be for him and him only. A look that said so much far too late to do anything more than make him feel as though he may be sick under the gaze. Completely incapable of taking pleasure in the fact that Moran did remember him, for better or worse.
But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Turning his attentions back to Simza and her brother, he did as much as he could knowing that he could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. Looking back at where he had spotted the man, he frowned when he saw nothing more than shocked on lookers, Moran once again nothing more than a shadow of man he used to love. A dark shadow out to help take away the man that he refused to live without.
Rushing to his feet, Watson looked at Simza, knowing he should attempt to comfort her before hurrying off to find Holmes. Even if Moran got away and Rene lay dead, incapable of helping them now, they had still foiled Moriarty’s current plan and he was certain, together, they could just as easily stop his next one until they found a way to see the man hung for his crimes since not even death had been successful against Sherlock and himself.
Pairing: Moran/Watson, Holmes/Watson, Mentions of Watson/Mary
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,848
Summary: Watson finds himself struggling against his own shadows in the midst of Moriarty's game.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the SHKink Meme
In dealing with Moriarty, Watson had already come to expect the absolute worst from the man. Holmes’ mixed feelings of fear and admiration said more than enough about the type of person they found themselves against. But looking back to the hotel as though he could see the damage done by Moriarty’s hired gun among that left by the bombing, Watson felt truly sick.
After all, Holmes wasn’t the only one to notice the smell of that cigarette at the opera, but Watson was more than used to the phantoms of war haunting him. The idea that after such an absence thoughts of the colonel, of all people, would come back now seemed almost fitting. So he gave the shadow no thought, thinking him nothing more than another ghost.
Resting his hand where he was certain the man had rested his elbow to line up the shot, Watson clenched his jaw bitterly as he moved it away just as quickly. Looking back to Holmes, he tried his best to focus on what the man was saying, only to find himself looking at the spot again.
He could nearly envision the colonel he’d known crouched there with his gun. Perfectly calm and at ease with the idea of taking a man’s life, as a soldier ought to be when the time called for it. When his life was threatened or in the course of battle, not to simply eliminate a man as a sort of duty to a madman. And while Watson was not one to deny Sherlock’s deductions, a surprisingly large part of him wanted to deny the colonel’s involvement in this twisted game.
~&~
“I despise every bit of this,” Moran complained bitterly.
Looking up from where he lay, Watson chuckled softly. “The heat isn’t that bad, is it?” He questioned casually. The look Moran shot him said more than enough on the matter, causing the doctor to laugh even more.
Of course the heat was miserable. Most of the men had taken to spending their days half dressed, Watson being no different than the rest, lying about with his shirt and jacket long forgotten. The weather was nothing short of disgusting and made him hate the entire situation all the more. Only a true animal would choose to wage war under such miserable conditions, let alone live in them.
Rolling onto his side, he looked over to where Moran was pacing, not making things any easier on himself what with the way he was still in full dress. Of course, such a thing was hardly worth Watson’s complaints. If anything, he rather liked it. The way Moran moved from one end to another, turning sharply on his heel only to do it all over again.
His skin was moist with sweat, giving the colonel a look of sheer urgency if the wild look in his eyes were to be trusted. Watching a particular bead of sweat trace its way down Moran’s neck, Watson silently wished the man would give up his battle of wills with the heat and simply strip. Anything to stop the endless motions that made the doctor feel even more miserable from the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Instead, though, Moran clenched his hands behind his back as though he might actually stand at ease as he continued moving like an enraged beast.
“Ever the hunter.”
Stopping in his tracks, Moran’s head snapped to look at him. Face impassive, those narrowed eyes made Watson shift uncomfortably.
“Did you say something?” Moran asked, even though it was only the two of them there.
Licking his lips, Watson didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes darted to catch the slight motion. He could either play the fool as well or take the risk of finding himself at the discretion of the man.
“You act as though you’re some animal. Stop moving if the heat is that bothersome.”
“Are you giving me orders?” Moran questioned as he let his hands fall to his side.
Watson rose to his feet once he caught on to the sudden ease in which Moran moved closer to him, but by then it was too late. Moran had him cornered, hands casually resting on either side of Watson’s head as he leaned in closer.
“I asked you a question.”
Swallowing down the lump that seemed to have developed in his throat from breathing in Moran’s air every time the man exhaled, Watson tried to stay focused. Thought of the endless amount of time Moran spent complaining about the heat in full dress. Sweat building at his brow before it slide down the sun kissed skin only to get lost beneath the collar when Watson’s eyes, hands and tongue couldn’t.
Cocking his head to the side, Watson nodded. “Yes. I will not stay here to listen to you complain as though you are some child. Either remove your uniform or stop speaking of this at once.”
Moran cocked his head to the side as well, eyes still wide, but well guarded. The tension in his body remained absent, but Watson was beginning to think that that wasn’t all that good to begin with. Matching the slow, deep breaths the other was taking, he decided to play with fire and goad the man.
“Well which is it, you bastard?”
Within the blink of an eye Watson found himself on his back.
~&~
“Watson!”
Snapping to attention, he looked about wildly until he realized that the cold he felt was to be expected rather than that of stifling heat. He was in France with Holmes on a case, he had to tell himself repeatedly just to get the thought through his head. Glancing over at the concerned look on Holmes’ face, he frowned.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been most distract ever since the bombing.”
“Is there another way one is expected to react after such?” Watson snapped.
Sitting a little straighter, Holmes stared at him with his head tilted subtly to the side. To anyone else, it would’ve appeared as though the doctor had merely offended the detective and that Holmes was simply thinking of what to do about it. Of course, Watson knew from the dreadful feeling rising in his stomach, he could not have been so fortunate.
“It was only after we deduced that there was a shooter involved in the bombing did this sudden mood strike you. To anyone else, one might think you were merely as worried about this fascinating game Moriarty has devised as I am, but that would be far too obvious.”
“Of course I’m worried about Moriarty, Holmes. The man wants both of us dead,” Watson said in an exasperated tone.
Sherlock’s brows raised slightly before he nodded in agreement. “But of course. That, however, doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been thinking of something else. Your new bride would be the logical choice, but you were far more present until this evening’s events which leads me to believe that you more than know of the colonel, don’t you Watson?”
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly before fixing his friend with a frown. While he knew he had nothing to hide where Holmes was concerned, mostly because of how impossible such a thing was, the words simply wouldn’t come. But when dealing with the great Sherlock Holmes, words weren’t always the most necessary of things. No sooner had Watson decided on being honest was the detective starting in on more of his theories.
“You served together with him. Likely for some time. But the way your shoulder’s are set indicates that you harbor feelings of discontent in his regard. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s now working for the man who wants to kill us as part of his insidious plans and the fact that you were far closer to him then most men tend to be.”
Emboldened by the look of absolute shock at the claim on the doctor’s face, Holmes continued on. “Your paths crossed. As soldiers, you bonded as soldiers do until it somehow became something far more… Spartan. You fell in love with him, feelings which were in some way reciprocated and remained as such until your return to London, where you tried to make yourself believe such behavior was merely the result of being in a foreign land in the company of men for so long or a boyish farce.”
It was almost funny how accurate Holmes tended to be in regard to his assumptions. If the night’s mistake was weighing hard on him, he had just more than made up for it with. He definitely cleared up the issue of what exactly Watson was to say to him.
~&~
Taking a deep breath, Watson stared at the ceiling as Moran carefully brushed the tips of his fingers along his side, eyes watching for some sort of tell the doctor refused to give. It was all a game, he thought as he relaxed the shoulder to which Moran’s other hand was pressed against, feeling the pressure increase as the man shifted. If he was going to attempt to gain the upper hand in all of this, he would most assuredly have to catch the man off guard, an almost impossible feat with Moran straddling his waist, still in that damn uniform.
“Well haven’t you just become quite the bold soldier,” Moran taunted. Leaning in closer, lips brushing against Watson’s jaw as he did, he whispered, “Such behavior towards a commanding officer can’t be tolerated though.”
“Can’t it?” Watson questioned in as clear a voice as possible.
“No. If word was to get out, someone might assume they could do the same and I’d hate to waste a bullet on my own men.”
“So you’re going to shoot me?”
Leaning back just far enough to look at him, Moran looked most upset before a small smile broke across his face. Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head. “Tempting, but no.”
Watson rolled his eyes. Resting a hand on Moran’s hip and calf, he quickly flipped the man over until he found himself straddling the other. Smirking at the look of complete shock on the colonel’s face, Watson felt a bit proud, knowing that he had caught the vigilant hunter by surprise.
“I will never understand how you came to be a colonel. You take even the simplest of orders so poorly,” Watson muttered as he began to unbutton the man’s jacket.
Lying back, hand resting behind his head, Moran shrugged. “Luck. Skill. Murder.”
“That’s a horrible joke,” Watson laughed.
Feeling the body beneath him shifting, Watson stopped his task to grip Moran’s shoulders. Amused, Moran merely smiled at him as he continued to move until they were sitting face to face, the doctor still straddling his waist. When Watson was certain that the man wasn’t up to anything, he continued his task of undressing him, body stiffly alert.
Finally getting the jacket and the shirt under it off, Watson slowly ran his hand up Moran’s exposed chest overjoyed to feel that warm, moist skin at last. So much laid bare, sinewy muscles taught despite the relaxed way the man sat there. Coiled for an attack that may never come.
Catching the interested way the colonel stared at him, he ducked his head as he cleared his throat. “Well… Now isn’t this better?”
Instead of replying, the colonel wrapped an arm around his waist as he pressed their bodies flush against each other. Chest to chest, growing arousal brushing against another every time they shifted. Both inadvertently and purposefully.
Eyes drifting shut as he felt the colonel’s mouth begin moving his neck, Watson gripped at his shoulders, hips slowly building up a steady pace as they rocked against Moran’s. Nose brushing against his ear, Watson could feel the man smirk right before he himself on his back once again.
Kneeling between his legs, Moran leaned forward and whispered, “Do shut up, doctor.”
~&~
“Well, if you have nothing to say, I suggest we get some rest. There’s quite the long day ahead of us,” Holmes said as he started to rise to his feet.
Watching the man look at him, Watson finally found his voice after catching the hurt look in the other’s eyes as he turned.
“You’re right, as usual. I loved him bitterly.”
“Well, it’s good to know that my powers of observation remain intact,” Holmes stated curtly.
Shaking his head, Watson rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “He was a great man, Holmes.”
“Well, I suppose this is to be expected since, as Ovid said, every lover is a soldier,” he said as he turned to face him.
Watson glared at him. “Is it wrong for me to expect you to be less of an arse?”
“Quite if you are going to be so daft. What next, Watson? You confessing that you now have troubles believing our shooter was in fact him? Because I can most assure you-“
“It’s not that. It’s merely…” Sighing, Watson tried to find the right words. He certainly didn’t doubt Moran’s involvement, but that didn’t quite help the dull ache that seemed to resonate through his entire body. “Things ended so abruptly I… I know for certain he appears to be involved, but you of all people should understand the complexities of the heart versus the mind.”
At that, the anger in the man’s eyes died away as he fell silent. Instead of being on guard at the comment, or at the very least offended, he looked almost as defeated as he had when he was forced to admit that he was wrong.
“Quite.”
“Yes,” Watson said as he looked away guiltily.
Sitting down next to him, once again, Holmes imitated his stiff back and crossed legged position on the floor of the gypsy tent. Staring out the same bit of nothing in particular, though not seeing what the doctor did in it, he eventually gave up and rested his head on the man’s shoulder.
“So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life,” Holmes said softly.
Resting a hand on his friend’s thigh, Watson nodded. “I’d feel the same way as I do now if ever I was to lose you, old cock.”
“A statement I doubt either of us is willing to test, mother hen,” he replied curtly. Still, he placed his hand over Watson’s, intertwining their fingers. “Although, the sentiment is shared.”
Meeting the blank look in his friend’s eyes, Watson slowly smiled, a small laugh erupting from his chest. Cupping the back of Holmes’ head, he kissed the man out of pure love as he tried to banish the thoughts of the past.
~&~
His lips part almost as soon as Moran kissed him. Burying his fingers in the colonel’s hair, he pressed himself against the other. No matter how hard he tried, things between them were rarely gentle. They kissed as though they wanted to steal the very life from one another, teeth scraping against tongues, biting at lips in a manner that was too soft to be cruel, but too painful to be playful.
Moran was a hunter at his core, an animal waiting for the attack, and it was all Watson could do to fight back, even when he wanted nothing more than to be taken by the beast of a man. He dragged his nails down the expanse of the colonel’s back. Gripped angrily at the hem of his pants as they rutted against one another like randy school boys. The delicious feel of Moran’s own arousal so close to his own and yet not nearly close enough.
Rolling them over once again, Watson broke the kiss as he sat up. He loved the look of impatience that riddled the man’s features. Undoing his own pants, Watson happily kicked them off before placing a hand over Moran’s heart. The colonel rested a hand over the doctor’s, taking it to his lips to kiss at his knuckles. Cupping the man’s cheek, Watson placed a chaste kiss to his lips. Even with all the words education and the company of soldiers could teach, it was the tenderest of touches that confirmed what they both already knew.
But the moment was over as quickly as it had started as soon as Watson pressed his lips to the relatively new wound on Moran’s shoulder. It hopefully wouldn’t scar too badly as he had done his best to ensure as much when attempting to dig out the bullet an Afghan had left there. Moran’s hand rubbed at his neck gently, a touch filled with care and love before pushing his head further down.
Watson nuzzled at the obvious bulge in Moran’s pants before rising to his feet. “You keep the vaseline at your desk, no?”
Without waiting for an answer, he made his way over to it. Of course it was right next to Moran’s gun as it would seem he enjoyed working the substance into what he loved, although it was used for cleaning the man’s gun far more often as of late, he thought bitterly.
Snapping himself out of such revelries, Watson reached for it. The fact that he was interrupted in his task by the hand at his neck, pressing the side of his face into the wood of the desk was nothing. Mouth open to complain the only sound to come out was a moan as the first of the colonel’s fingers pressed into.
At that he’d lost control of the game, Moran’s fingers thrusting shallowly as he made quick work of stretching the tight ring of muscles. Could all but feel the man’s eyes watching him as he jacked his hand back and forth quickly. Hips moving back to meet the quick movements, he went stiff as those expert fingers brushed against that spot inside him.
“Good heavens, now,” he demanded in a shaky breath, body already aching for the inevitable.
“Right away, sir.”
Gasping at the sudden emptiness, Watson shifted restlessly. The feeling of Moran’s knuckles dragging over his spine made him shiver, lifting his arse shamelessly when the man stop right at base. Lifting his head enough to bite down on his hand, Watson tried desperately to save face by quieting himself. He was practically shaking from the want to get fucked and knew that if he didn’t stop himself, he would undoubtedly beg for such as he had during other encounters. Plead for the colonel to just take him hard and fast until all he could remember was the feeling and the taste of the desk beneath his gasping mouth.
Thankfully the colonel seemed no better off. Thrusting into the doctor, he pressed himself against the man’s back, nose buried in his hair as they both adjust to the feeling. Between the sensation of the colonel’s breathing against him and the sudden fullness, Watson was nearly positive that he couldn’t ever be happier than he was then.
That was when Moran chose to move. Nearly pulling all the way out, he snapped his hips back, fingers digging into Watson’s skin as he did. It was the kind of rough, merciless fuck that the doctor had come to adore. It wasn’t the clumsy behavior of two boys or even the usual care one was expected to use with a woman. It was something that he could only ever relate to Moran. The man fucked like he shot. An almost obscene amount of focus, breath audible as he moved steadily as though the frantic pace to which they moved required little effort at all.
Quite the counterpoint to the usually reserved doctor who was coming undone beneath him. Even with his hand all but suffocating him, Watson still found the sounds of his own moaning loud in comparison to Moran’s careful breathing. The hand that wrapped itself around his prick made him dig his teeth into his hand harder. When he finally came hard enough to make his see stars, he was positive he could taste blood as he removed his hand from his mouth with a whimper.
Resting his head against the desk as he tried to catch his breath, he listened carefully to Moran’s breathing. Quickening alongside his thrust until that one sharp intake of breath as he went perfectly still, spilling himself into the doctor.
~&~
Soft breaths in and out were all he could focus on as he held Holmes in his arms. Nose pressed against Holmes’ hair, he tried not to think of anything. Not Moran perched upon that tower, proving that his aim hadn’t diminished in the slightest since the last time they’d met. He didn’t want to think of the willingness the other showed in trying to kill him as it left him to believe that their experience was only memorable to one of them. And most importantly, he didn’t want to think about the way his body tensed every time Holmes stopped fidgeting.
“Did you miss me?” Holmes questioned, foot bobbing restlessly while the rest of him remained perfectly still.
Frowning, Watson moved carefully to look at him. “Hmm?”
“You had said you would miss as much as you did Moran should I ever leave you,” Holmes said casually as he would one of his vest, when he bothered to ask at all.
Shaking his head as he smiled ruefully, Watson tightened his grip on the man, careful of his shoulder as he did.
“Does your chest still hurt?”
“Quite.”
“Then I believe you have your answer,” Watson said softly.
Shifting carefully, Holmes looked up at him. It was one of those looks that almost let Watson see the gears of thought turn in his head as words formed behind his lips.
“I’m… sorry that your former lover is a hired gun for Moriarty.”
Watson nodded in agreement, focusing on Sim, who lay asleep on the other end of the train car, curled up in ball. Focusing on the present, the dire situation that lay of ahead of them was the important part. Far more important than the pain he felt over Holmes nearly dying or not being remembered by Moran, not that he wanted to figure out which.
Blinking at the feel of a hand stroking his hair, he looked at Holmes. Right arm held tightly at his side and curled up to the doctor, he still managed to be the comforting one, even though none of Watson’s problems seemed as large in comparison. Holmes was seriously injured and had very nearly died. He had no right to be acting as though he was even capable of being the stronger one out of the two. Looking at the other, ready to issue his complaints, Watson found himself cut off.
“That Moran fellow really is an interesting one,” Holmes stated as he curled bits of Watson’s hair around his fingers. “If not his trying to shoot us and the man he killed today, I would almost understand what you saw in him.”
“It’s in the past. Now get some rest. You need it.”
“No, I believe it is you that is in need of sleep, Watson. You rest.”
“Holmes—“
“It’s not as though I am likely to get it anyways, considering what you gave me. Come now, lie down.”
Gently maneuvering them both so they were lying down in the car, face to face, Holmes stroked his head again as he smiled kindly. Watson smiled back before pressing his ear to the man’s chest. His heart was still beating rather rapidly, but the fact that it was beating was more than enough for him as he reluctantly closed his eyes.
~&~
“If I open my eyes, I had better not see you cleaning that damn gun again,” Watson threatened half heartedly from where he was sprawled out on the floor. Certainly there were better places for him to lie, but they never seemed quite as cool as the ground.
There was a knowing chuckle from where Moran was. Watson didn’t open his eyes though. He knew exactly how the colonel must’ve looked sitting on the edge of his desk, relaxed as he cleaned his gun, uncaring about the fact that they both had failed to find the energy to redress themselves. After all, while what they had done was more than pleasant enough, it had only made the heat problem far worse.
Rolling over to lie on his stomach, he rested his head on his arms, eyes opening only to prevent himself from falling asleep in such a state.
“That man I told you was right, you know,” he said, trying to fill the soothing quiet with any noise possible.
Moran’s brow creased slightly as he tried to place what the doctor was talking about. When it finally came to him, he laughed. “The one who predicted his death?”
“Yes. His body was found exactly how he predicted it. Rather strange, no?”
“I still say someone told him ahead of time,” Moran argued, unwilling to buy into the story.
Scoffing, the doctor shook his head. “Either way, he’s gone now.”
“Don’t seem so upset. He did tell you that he would be.”
“Thank you for your poor humor,” Watson said with a roll of his eyes.
Smiling, Moran got up from his perch and made his way over to the tired man. Sitting down next to him, he nudged at the doctor with the gun. “Did you hear of the tiger?”
“Everyone’s heard of that tiger,” Watson said, swatting at the man’s hand. “It ate someone recently, didn’t it?”
“Yes. And I intend to kill it.”
“Sebastian,” he sighed, finding the man’s given name was the only thing that tended to cut through his wild hunting fantasies. Sitting up, he gave the other a stern look as he said, “Is this your way of predicting your own death.”
“The only thing nearing death is that tiger,” Moran stated, far off, overjoyed look in his eyes. “I’ll even have its pelt made into a rug for you.”
“Right, just what I need. A tiger skin rug.” Shaking his head, Watson sighed. It was futile to argue with the man, but he couldn’t help. He understood that nothing satisfied the man like hunt, but this was just suicidal. Prodding at the bullet wound marring the man’s chest, said, “Must you continue to challenge death?”
Moran knocked his hand away brusquely. “It’s nothing.”
“Anther inch left and you’d be dead.”
“But I’m not.”
“And if he was to shoot you again? If someone or thing actually did get the better of you?” He argued a bit frantically.
Smirking, the colonel boasted proudly, “There’s not a man or beast alive that’s hurt me and lived.”
Frowning, Watson looked away angrily, only to have Moran cup his cheek. Looking back at the man, they stared at each other. His silent fears and concerns as genuine as the colonel’s belief that no harm to could done to. That he could just come back from anything.
“I’d be doing a great service, getting rid of that tiger,” Moran pointed out, wholeheartedly believing in the lie, partly because it was true.
~&~
Lips barely parted, he couldn’t imagine saying a word. The entire world seemed to have faded away once he spotted the man responsible for shooting Rene. His blood immediately ran cold from the idea that he might just as easily be the next to find himself dying helplessly as so many others looked on. But for the first time since seeing the man, Watson noticed the difference. The lose stance and slack facial features, eyes that almost seemed sorry.
Not for what he’d done, never for that. Moran probably got the same kind of joy out of shooting men as he did animals. But rather it seemed to be for him and him only. A look that said so much far too late to do anything more than make him feel as though he may be sick under the gaze. Completely incapable of taking pleasure in the fact that Moran did remember him, for better or worse.
But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Turning his attentions back to Simza and her brother, he did as much as he could knowing that he could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. Looking back at where he had spotted the man, he frowned when he saw nothing more than shocked on lookers, Moran once again nothing more than a shadow of man he used to love. A dark shadow out to help take away the man that he refused to live without.
Rushing to his feet, Watson looked at Simza, knowing he should attempt to comfort her before hurrying off to find Holmes. Even if Moran got away and Rene lay dead, incapable of helping them now, they had still foiled Moriarty’s current plan and he was certain, together, they could just as easily stop his next one until they found a way to see the man hung for his crimes since not even death had been successful against Sherlock and himself.
