Title: One last attempt.

Author: Marbella89.

Genre: Romance / Friendship.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes & Dr. John Watson. (from the "Guy Ritchie-movie-version")

Rating: M, just because I wanna be safe here. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; I just borrowed them for a moment. ;)

Summary: Do you remember the "Since this room is no longer yours, do you mind if I utilize it?"-scene? Well, this is sort of an alternative one shot; Holmes has a plan. ;)

Author's note: This is my first fanfiction in English (I'm German, just for the record. ;)), so please bear with me. ;) I just had so share the Holmes & Watson love - I'm so obsessed with both of them, at the moment. :) Have fun!

I'm so sorry, the line breaks don't seem to work right, at least for me. :/ Therefore the layout of my story is rather displaced. :S I tried to change it in the editor, but it doesn't save my changes, so... :S

***

One last attempt.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
– William Shakespeare.

Thick mist covered the town of London while the day was in full flower.

Baker St. itself was full of carriages drawn by horses and people who were busy getting to their aspired aims – the everyday life of England's capital city was in full activity.

Watson used the day to pack the last things from his rooms – the rooms – into boxes, getting everything ready for his final move.

More than just a bit grievous (but of course he would never admit that), he beheld a few books which reminded him immediately of hours and hours sitting in the room next to his practice, discussing their data content with his so-called room-mate Sherlock Holmes. Drinking tea, always pre-tested by himself, and sharing knowledge and interest had become an elementary part of their living together; and yes, he would definitely miss that.

All of a sudden, the massive door opened behind him, what made him turn around at once. Before Watson could realize anything else, he looked in those excessively familiar eyes, absorbing every tiny expression on his best friend's face. "I didn't know you were here."

Those puppy eyes eyeballed him with an intense that made him shiver – he dissembled.

And then Holmes asked: "Since this room is no longer yours, do you mind if I utilize it?", the hidden smile touched him, somewhere deep inside.

"Be my guest." was his answer, before he turned around again – the books didn't pack themselves into boxes.

The door closed (and he thought he heard a "click" from the door lock, as well, but he decided not to bother) and for about three seconds absolute silence filled the former practice. 'Maybe he just wanted to check on me', Watson thought for a short time before flipping again. What he now saw gave him goose flesh all over.

"Holmes, what are you doing?" Watson snarled at his colleague, who was about to get undressed right on his expensive wooden desk. Indeed, he had granted him permission to utilize the very, but ... to this end? 'He would definitely serve his purpose,' the former soldier thought, 'either the desk or Holmes himself.' He shook his head, half absent-minded.

The private detective just smirked at him, without saying anything. While his mouth was silent, his fingers were so much busier, fumbling on his shirt to get the buttons open. His braces were already unfastened.

All the doctor could do, was to gaze intensively at Holmes, trying to remain control of his expression, his heartbeat and his blood pressure – which was, all at once, some kind of impossibility, he realized.

Meanwhile Holmes had thrown his shirt at the dark, elegant floor, revealing his more than trained, muscular body.

'All the combat...', but he couldn't bring that thought to an end, because Holmes was now working on his trousers, his eyes never left Watson's. And all of a sudden he retrieved his voice. "You know, Watson, since you've planned to move out – and by the way that is one of the stupidest ideas you've ever had –, I was thinking to do this...", he pointed at his chest, "Nevertheless, I was never sure how to get on with it, exactly."

His voice was as analytic and reasonable as during their endless discussions about case related topics or Lestrade and his way of working, which was so different to their – well, Holmes' – working routine.

Somehow that fact gave Watson his voice back. "What is this all about, old boy?", he sounded much more pleased about this entire situation than he wanted and intended to, and of course,that didn't slip Holmes' attention – much to his liking.

The smirk got wider and wider, but he didn't answer, instead he removed his trousers. Instantly, Watson could see one of the main – maybe the only one – impulses of this visit just through his boxers, in which he was now sitting as comfortable as he could get on his desk.

Somewhere between cases and living together with Holmes, he stopped wondering about his behaviour. Practising the violin at three in the morning? Fine with him. Stealing his clothes? Agreeable. Setting fire to his rooms? Variety, even though expensive, but he had lived with that, as well.

Playing with his feelings and using him as some kind of outlet for his pent-up urgings was definitely too much, even for the Holmes-experienced doctor.

In one twirl, he turned his back to his friend. "Get out, Holmes. Until tomorrow, these are my rooms, in fact, so leave me alone, please. I need to pack." Eyes closed, he hoped for the detective's health that he would get the hint. In fact, he hoped for himself Holmes would go immediately because his body was truly reacting to his friend's behaviour.

All the more surprised he was when he suddenly caught a very serious and almost hurt voice behind him, quietly saying: "I understand, Watson. I understand." And all of a sudden, he had one hell of a déjà vu. 'I understand. --- Do you? I don't think you do! --- You're over tired.'

That morning in the jail courtyard, Holmes' voice was just as serious, with the same amount of hidden hurt. He didn't admit it but it had broken his heart to all extend; he felt exactly the same now again.

And without realizing, wanting it, Watson got angry – not at his friend first and foremost but at the whole situation between them; the thousand missed opportunities to change their relationship into something more, something deeper, the gazes, the hints, their whole behaviour sometimes – why now? Virtually, only minutes before his move-out.

He wasn't the kind of guy who threw things around or lost control of his temper very often, but at this moment he followed his urge to jerk the books to the ground, while turning back to meet his friend's anxious glance.

Within two steps he stood right before him, only centimetres away from this beautiful body, which he admired so damn much.

Quietly but with much intense and sharpness in his voice, he growled: "You do not understand anything, Holmes! Why now? D'you wanted to check out if your charisma is working on your best friend as well as it does on Irene Adler? D'you wanted to prove yourself my belonging to you by seducing me eventually before I finally move out, so that you have your point in some way? Tell me. Why now and not months, probably years earlier?"

The tension between them was sliceable – the situation seemed bizarre; Holmes, still simply dressed in his boxers, with an unreadable expression on his face. 'Say something, old boy, say something.'

Before Watson could act in any possible way, his room-mate tided over the last distance between them and attacked his lips with probably the wildest kiss he'd ever experienced.

Without thinking, their hands got entangled completely – any possible contact needed to be reached.

And although their first kiss was that rough, almost forceful, it was just as perfect as the doctor had always imagined it to be. There was no anger, no bad blood about his words in that kiss, instead he could almost touch the severe desire, the need and the loss of so many years, hoping their relationship would change into something more dearly.

Between kisses, completely out of breath, Holmes gasped: "Indeed---, I should've done this---", he watched his partner deeply, "exactly the moment we've met!" Watson groaned. This man knew just what to say to make him even more breathless.

Slowly, they stumbled backwards to his desk, while kissing passionately, and because Watson was definitely overdressed for this occasion, he quickly opened his waistcoat followed by the buttons of his shirt.

"Let me," Holmes pushed his fingers away and fumbled the chemise open. "Oh Watson, my dear Watson."

Almost in the horizontal on the desk, Holmes worked fiercely on his friend's trousers, precisely feeling and seeing the effect he had on him. It made him smirk, all over.

And while the trousers fell on the floor, followed by both of their boxers, he pulled Watson onto his own body on the desk.

Years of urging and longing for each other now manifested in this encounter and they didn't want to miss one second of their mutual passion. Watson didn't even have the time to think about this, to think of Mary and their upcoming marriage, his move, and the fact that he couldn't possibly leave his best friend – despite the fact that he didn't want to, as well.

Half-absent-minded, he recognized Holmes' fingers working intensively on his hard-on – he definitely had no idea how he got there (had they switched positions?) without him noticing earlier.

His eyes were closed, he couldn't breath regularly any more (as if he ever could when he was around Holmes) and somehow it felt like he was dreaming. "Holmes---", fingers entangled again, while the very still gave his friend pleasure, "Holmes---, please..."

"What d'you need, darling?" the addressed person laughed slightly, his eyes were fixed on Watson's beautiful, lustful face. "Do you enjoy this as much as I do?" The words came out in a rush since Holmes was out of breath, as well.

"Ahhh, Holmes---", Watson tried so very much to clear his throat for at least one coherent sentence, but it was so damn hard because of this amazing man down in his crouch, "dammit, come up here, immediately!"

Again, Holmes laughed quietly with the biggest smirk on his face. "Your wish is my command, darling." And while he crawled up to kiss his lover passionately, their erections touched irresistibly, seductively. Both of them knew they wouldn't last very long, even though it was their first time – or maybe that was exactly the point.

Since they've waited so long to enjoy each others company the way they did now, their need was too heavy, too intense to extend this into an hours program.

And all of a sudden, Watson got scared. Scared of Holmes leaving him after this, that he just wanted some quick confirmation of whatsoever, as he had thought earlier, too.

"Old boy---", he started and without beating around the bush, he asked, "will you leave me after we're... finished here?" His eyes burned into Holmes', his gaze was so anxious, what made Holmes stop immediately.

The very propped away from his beloved one and his smirk changed to a slight smile. "Technically, you are the one, leaving me, John." Then again he recognized the timidness in this beautiful face beneath him and he added, "my dear, I've tried so much to make you stay with me. And I wasn't really sure if this was working or not, but it was my last attempt to change your mind and now that we've finally found each other, you think I'm the one going away from you?"

Endearingly, he touched the other one's check before kissing it fondly. "Brothers, not in blood but in bond." Watson growled friendly, "brothers..."

And as if this conversation had never happened, they kissed turbulently. Holmes had so much control over Watson, his mood and his whole behaviour. He could make him smile and at the same time feel miserable.

And just now, he had blown away all his worries by just saying something so obvious – he just needed to hear it from the man himself to believe that everything he did was right, everything would work out somehow. He didn't want do think about Mary, or marriage or his new practice, which was yet paid in advance for months, because Holmes gave him the feeling of belonging, of complete easiness even though it was anything but an easy situation.

His partner's laughter pulled him away from his thoughts, "you are thinking too much, Watson." And as if he could read his mind, he said, "We'll handle all the upcoming things together. We'll get through everything, I promise! In the end, it'll be alright, okay?" The only thing Watson could do was to nod and believe in the things he said.

"And now," he continued, "I'm going to show you some of my... inconsiderable experience", he smiled.

"You've--- you have done this before?" Watson stumbled, not believing there was something he didn't know about his old friend. The very grinned widely and responded, "No, but I imagined it very, very often and as you know, mental work has always worked fine with me! And now, relax and enjoy, darling."

Holmes as fond as he was of himself, hadn't understated his... so-called inconsiderable experience, even though it was just mental – he knew how to make Watson beg for more, to moan and growl with passion.

And yet he did just that, because he wanted so much more – he was so needy to kiss, to touch this beautiful man, to give him so much pleasure. But for the moment he just enjoyed this experience – he came to terms with waiting for the next time to do whatever he wanted with his beloved one, because he had stated very clear that this time was just about Watson and his need.

Just a few more strokes, a few more moments of touching fingers and he would definitely come right here, on his desk. "Holmes---", he gasped. "Please, Holmes..."

The detective reacted at once, comping up to meet Watson's lustful gaze; eyes half-closed watching him with so much passion and... yes, love in some way. It wasn't just the urgent need to get off; no, it was entire trust and complete intimacy – from both of them.

"Look at me, sweetheart, I want to see you come.", Holmes smiled passionately. And before Watson could take any action, he kissed him fiercely, with all of his love, his affection and longing of so many days, months, years.

One final stroke of those delicious fingers and the doctor came with such an intense, it made him shiver all over again, moaning his lover's name against his lips. 'I'm devoted to you...'

After what seemed to be minutes of afterglow he heard Holmes' quite voice, "Welcome back.", he smirked – again.

All Watson could do was smiling back for another thirty seconds before he recognized that Holmes had apparently filled his own desire, as well, without his notice. His face seemed to show the question mark, because the detective explained, "all I needed was you, coming from the pleasure I gave you. It was the most beautiful look on your face."

"Oh Holmes..." He stroke his lover's cheek before kissing him as light as he could, just to underline the very words. Holmes himself was so gorgeous; his hair was a mess, as if he had just woken up, and his face was free of any worries or considerations – it was a rare occasion.

From now on he would take any chance to distract that wonderful man from his concerns, just to see this complete relaxed face again and again.

Later, they had got dressed up again – looking presentable just in case the inspector himself showed up at Baker St. –, they were sitting in their chairs, in their rooms as if nothing had happened, hours ago.

But the atmosphere was certainly different this time – both of them knew now. They didn't have to guess any more, to look for hints or hidden gazes – no, they knew each others feelings now. It was a good, satisfying knowledge.

"You know," Watson broke the minutes of delightful silence, "my desk maybe wasn't the best choice for such an event."

Holmes looked up from his book. "D'you think?" His gaze was mischievous.

"Too hard, you know." the doctor smiled, "my back hurts."

"Well, I have that tiger skin---", without looking away, he showed somewhere into the room. "It's very comfortable, I tell you."

Watson choked down his laughter and responded, "just in case, we wanted to... extent the time of delightful enjoyment, I have a very inviting bed available." Now it was his turn to show non-specificity into the space.

"Indeed," was Holmes' only answer before he looked at his book again, but Watson could clearly see the big grin sprawled on his face, the eyes warm with so much familiarity.

And just at this moment, Watson realized again they would manage everything with that certain amount of intimacy and love for each other.

He looked back at his paper, smiling, "tiger skin, huh?"

This was just the way it was supposed to be.