He looked intently at Holmes; his unshaven face was flushed with desire. He could feel the heat radiating from his body; every muscle, limb and curve ...as pressed against him. Watson's heart skipped a beat. He gripped the front of Holmes's shirt, roughly bringing his mouth close to his but stopping short of kissing him. Instead he moved his hand to the buttons on Holmes's trousers. He could feel Holmes straining against the material. He undid the buttons one by one, admiring the look of taut. Now there was blackness again, no, not quite blackness, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. He could see the red numbers of a clock across the room showing 3:17. Then he realized that he was not wearing his glasses; how the hell was he seeing across the room?He threw the covers off and went to sit up. Again, something was not right. The pain that usually accompanied moving was not there. He felt great, his back did not hurt, his throat did not hurt, he moved smoothly, lightly and. More

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