this is a challenge that my best friend put forth so I'm going to take it and try my best! written in watson's pov.

My good friend Sherlock Holmes was quiet the athlete. Bare fist boxing may be good for the health of one's ego but doctoring your close friend is not good for my own. As per usual it was for the sake of the case, this still did not help me feel any better about wrapping bruised and cut knuckles.

"Must you always put yourself into so much danger?" saying this almost to myself as my hands made another lap around holmes' own lankier fingers. He watched me with an almost clinical calm that he gave someone he was studying, when I help him. The smoke of his long curved pipe floating up to the ceiling as he rolled the end between his teeth aided by his thumb and forefinger where said pipe rested. He did not answer as he must have realized I spoke more to myself then to him. As I finished the knot I examined my handy work turning his larger hand over to make sure the white cotton was safely secured, I took a moment to look, to really look at the crevices and contours of his open palm. I could feel his pulse thudding against the tips of my fingers a strong steady rhythm that was reassuring. Before I could stop myself a sigh passed between my lips as I moved to release him. Suddenly I felt the familiar skin close around me with the soft brush of cotton. His gaze did not move from our now joined hands. I did not move to pull away but I lay my left hand atop my own and his, I felt somehow this was an important moment as the silence dragged out. His gaze no longer calculating but still deep in thought as his brows where knitted together as he was prone to doing when he was making a decision, pipe still being lulled by his thin mouth. After some time he spoke.

"Watson." My name soft and mumbled as the sound maneuvered around the pipe. I waited for reasons I still do not know. He appeared hesitate as his thumb moved over the crisscross of the back of my hand. "Watson, John. . . I have come to the idea that there may be more here then in previous years of friendship." That was all the answer I needed to my years of unspoken questions. I was unsurprised that he had figured it out, he was after all the Sherlock Holmes. A question arose in me but I dared not to Verbalize it, it hung in the air 'what now?'. Left unsure I tried my hand at his method of deduction. He was still Staring down at our hands, He was leaving the next move up to me. A great thrill ran threw me as I realized the serious position he has given to me. so I moved closer. Shifting from the wooden chair to his small bed where he sat. Once I arrived at my new seat I placed our hands on his thigh clothed in his worn black pants I moved my gaze from our clasped hands to his face, his eyes followed me and I looked, really looked for the second time this day as I silently asked for permission. His answer was the slow removal of his pipe into the safely of his right hand. He voiced no objection as I leant the remaining space between us, a slight touching of our mouthes. I knew there was no use but to pull away again to gage his reaction. With a soft intake of breath Holmes repeated my early action and suddenly all I could sense was him.