the sum of john watson’s medical abilities: tea
But tea can accomplish a lot!
I should probably go to sleep…
I should probably-
just accept your fate…
Reasons to be Grateful to Fandom
I’ve written nearly 400,000 words about two characters I believe to be soulmates.
A year ago today, they led me to my own.
Love you, Harry.
I have nooooo idea what I thought I was doing there on Hound Tor in Dartmoor, just no idea at all.
who the king truly love? — maybe, only himself.
“Who do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by:
Richard loves Richard, that is, I and I.”
one last night of dancing lessons.
Such a sad title..such pretty art.
"Mary, have you seen my tie? The striped one."
Toasted Marshmallow Chocolate Mousse
tag your fucking porn
First: This looks like a wee, toasted bit of heaven. Second: The comments!
Sherlock thought John’s sweat-soaked body seemed more explicit with the lamp left on, like artfully lit pornography.
My but your hair grows fast beautiful man.
Wait. Why am I looking at your hair? Oh, I remember, because you’re gorgeous all over not just where you are most bodacious.
Basically I never remember things like this, so I’m grateful the people who work in the London tube system continue to remind me of such simple wisdom.
Step By Step
"I don’t really know how to dance."
Maiko Sato Mayfair Jr. (yes, a woman can be junior, something Maiko still explains with more good grace than her friends think reasonable) nodded at her prospective client.
"But I was invited to an old friend’s wedding."
The small man across from Maiko sat in his chair so stiffly he appeared bound to it.
"And he asked me to lead the waltz."
Hands and knees pressed together, John Watson’s body language was not just closed, it was locked down tight.
"We were good mates. Served in the army together."
Maiko Mayfair, third generation owner of Blue Crane Dance Studio, nodded sympathetically. Dance with people long enough, hold them close, your hand on their shoulder or arm or waist, and if you are quiet and attentive and very like Maiko, you’ll learn to see. Observe. To hear the meaningful places where people pause. There was something her client was not saying. She patiently waited for him to say it.
"I want to do this right."
The man was breathing deeper, gearing up to fight or flee.
"They’ve been through so, so much. The…grooms."
John Watson looked Maiko Mayfair right in the eyes but did not see her. Instead he saw what he sees ever since being invalided home: A potential obstacle, something to push past.
Maiko Mayfair is a dancer right down to her DNA. She knows how to move. She is no one’s obstacle. “How sweet your friends found one another. May I ask their names?”
John Watson blinked. Coughed on his surprise. He blinked some more, until his vision cleared and he finally saw a woman, not a wall.
This was the third studio he’d come to and he’d have gone to a fourth and a fifth until he didn’t see someone slyly narrow their eyes, until he didn’t notice a flaring of nostrils as if something smelled bad, until he found a place that didn’t care he was the best man at the wedding of two men.
"Uh, Rémy and JJ."
Maiko grinned, leaned forward in her chair. “A waltz at a wedding, I do love them. I have just the instructor for you, John. Unique. I think you’ll get along. Tomorrow, six pm?”
Sometimes John likes waiting. He can rest then. When there’s nothing happening there’s nothing against which to rail.
So John didn’t mind that the waltz instructor was ten minutes late. Sat tight in his hardbacked chair in an empty studio, John quietly watched women and men tango in the studio across the hall. Idly he wondered what that felt like, holding a stranger so close, looking them in the eye, moving together as if you belonged.
When a flash of sequins sparked in the doorway the good doctor registered nothing more than their gleam.
Then he saw everything else.
A man. Tall. Six feet.
A man. Sloe eyed, dark haired.
A man. Dressed in a…dress. A long one of black sequins.
A man. In heels. Six inch.
A man, coming toward him, motions measured, his movement already a dance.
The man stopped a half dozen feet from John. Waited. Like Maiko Mayfair, Sherlock Holmes sees and observes. And so Sherlock waited to see what his potential client would do.
John Watson held his breath. He succeeded in not looking the man up and down, in not letting his gaze roam to plunging neckline, lacquered nails, the curve-following fit of the dress.
Instead John looked the man in his pale, upswept eyes and John’s body opened like a lotus blossom. His hands unclenched, his thighs eased, his lips parted.
Sherlock Holmes smiled.
Sherlock introduced himself. John replied in kind. Sherlock held out a hand. John stood.
Then, without a word, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes began to move.
Dance with a man long enough, your hand on his shoulder or arm or hip and, if you’re quiet like John Watson, if you’re observant like Sherlock Holmes, over time you’ll see things, learn things.
At that first lesson John saw Sherlock looking longer than necessary each time John stood straight-backed and not-quite-tall.
At the fourth lesson Sherlock observed that John breathed faster just before Sherlock touched him, but steadied to calmness when he did.
That eighth lesson John learned that Sherlock was inclined to ever grander words, gestures and, yes jaw-dropping dresses because he so obviously wanted-needed-yearned for John to see him.
That final lesson Sherlock observed that when he told John about his war service, his sister, his wound…that John welcomed the knowledge, that it somehow made him more, not less, and so Sherlock was more. For the first time and in someone else’s eyes, Sherlock was more.
Dance with a man long enough—it may take precisely six weeks and twelve lessons—and you may learn that you can love him. And that he can love you.
And that the loving is as easy as a step taken in unison, as right as a hand on a heart.
Why it’s as easy as…dancing.
The title of this series is changing to “Well Met,” as I’ll soon be using “The Day They Met” as the title for my book (whee!) and want to avoid confusion. Also, thank you to dear Black Morgan for this lovely prompt—slinky you said? sequined, plunging, patent leather?—and the perfect title. By the way, Maiko means dancing child, Sato means help.