Watson draped himself over the desk. Boy, I'm out of character, he thought.

Grudgingly, Holmes spared a glance from his experiment in blood chromoscopy. "Watson!" he ejaculated. "Is that a red rose I see? And aren't you a bit chilled, my boy?"

"Rose, Holmes? I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about." Watson winced as the thorns bit into his gums. He plucked the stem out from between its teeth and set it on the mantle. "You know, sometimes I feel as if you really don't notice my presence."

Holmes tilted his head and regarded Watson. I am continually aware of your presence, Watson. Should he say it aloud? He thought not. Instead he said: "Of the 'Scarlet Glory' variety, I should think. Locally grown in a hothouse near a bread factory." At Watson's look he continued, "The aroma, Watson. I have a highly trained sense of smell."

"I... see." Holmes could feel that Watson was giving him that huffy, "I'm Going To Go Read Those Sea Novels But Really I'm Going To Be Glaring At You Through The Pages" look.

Holmes looked at Watson more carefully. The breath was deepening, and the face was red. Annoyance, he perceived. But also -- he glanced down -- arousal. It was a little known fact, he hoped, that Watson enjoyed being teased.

I wonder if he knows how I do enjoy being teased, Watson mused, staring intently at his book, which he'd grabbed in a show of supreme Fluster. "Holmes?"

"Watson?" Holmes replied. He loved this, the game that Watson's lovemaking could become. Already Holmes was having difficulty controlling himself, keeping the distance necessary for this chase. Watson's naked presence in his drawing room was terribly distracting. It was the challenge he loved the most.

"I see the experiment you're working on has distracted your hearing as well?" Watson kept his voice light, rather than biting.

"I'll be finished shortly," Holmes said mildly. "Was there something you wanted to bring to my attention? and could you put that lovely rose in a vase before it withers?"

Watson held back from commenting on Holmes' word choice. "Not in the slightest -- I admit, I was going to say something, but it's entirely slipped my mind." He went back to his book.

Holmes had made the great mistake of glancing around at Watson while he spoke. He froze, taking a good look for the first time. And another look. And another. His brain stuttered, then stopped.

Watson had the same look on his face that would normally precede a "Holmes, how could you possibly..." He leaned on the desk casually. God, but that was some muscle. "Yes? Is... is something wrong?"

"I -- I -- I" Holmes knew how Watson loved making him stutter. He hated being made to stutter. It meant that Watson had won. Or perhaps, he thought, he might win after all. He stopped trying to speak, took a huge breath, and lunged.

The sudden sensation of his back against the carpet and lips pressed to his mouth made Watson's pulse start to rocket into areas that he'd've been concerned about had he been tending to a patient. Being a man of action, he reciprocated.

Holmes reciprocated Watson's reciprocations. After much mutual reciprocating had gone on, he pulled away. This time Watson examined him closely. Holmes looked dreamy. His eyes weren't quite focusing, and that pale skin for once was ruddy. Game to me, Watson thought smugly. "Happy Valentine's Day, Holmes," he murmured.