Food Series 7

[le_russe_satan]

Title: Peaches & Honey.
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, slash
Rating: PG, possibly PG-13 for suggestiveness.

Prunus persica.

“The nectarine, and curious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.”
 Andrew Marvell.

 The Countess is a curious woman. There is no doubting her elegance or manners, her upbringing and her intelligence, but what sets her apart from the her English counterparts is the mischevous spark in her eyes that I find somewhat unsettling. What she is proposing is not a case per se, but rather an adventure and I can see that Holmes is liking the idea.
 A servant brings in a huge dish filled with fruits of all kinds. The dinner was excellent and even Holmes has shown uncharacteristic appetite but my mouth still manages to water at the sight of the new dish. I throw a glance at Holmes curious to see whether what he will choose.
'Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must try the peaches', practically drawls our hostess as her elegant fingers close around the fruit gently and hold it out to my friend. She looks like a picture of the Serpent seducing Eve. Holmes smiles and accepts and cannot help but feel an irrational stab of jealousy.
 Suddenly the Countess gets up, waving us back into the seats: 'Oh, my, I quite forgot about something. I shall not be long gentlemen, please, do enjoy the peaches', the smile she turns on me is positively devious and in a swirl of expensive cloth she's gone.
 'What an interesting woman', I say turning to Holmes, whose only reply is the sound of pleasure he makes as he bites into the ripe fruit. Immediately a tiny rivulet of juice runs down from the corner of his mouth: I manage to stop it with a swipe of my finger before it reaches his chin. As I lick the drop off my finger, I have to admit that the Countess was quite right to insist that we try the peaches: it tastes heavenly.
 Holmes's eyes are darkened when I look back at him, his lips moist with the nectar lifted at one corner in a small smile.
'Ah, I do believe our hostess is a very perceptive woman. I think this peach is most delicious', he says finally and reaches out the fruit to me.

Calluna vulgaris.

"Life is the flower for which love is the honey."
 Victor Hugo.

The clear golden liquid trickles down slower and slower, glinting like amber when the sunlight hits it through the window. Outside there is first snow and first bracing cold of early winter, yet where the sun touches my skin it is as warm as in the spring. I can hear Watson come up behind me, his hand circling my waist.
'Mmm, I see Mrs. Hudson broke out the heather honey her cousin sent her', murmurs Watson dreamily. 'I rather hoped she would, one must brace oneself for the cold with something'.
I lean back, away from the sunlight, but the warmth of another's hand and chest against me is infinitely better.
'Yes, John, one most assuredly must'.