Phone Fic - a TELEPHONE story for Whimword, 28th July 2017

“Watson, come here, I want you,” said Bell wistfully. He had been daydreaming and spoke, quite by accident, to the wall that separated his and Watson’s rooms. The mouthpiece on his desk had other ideas, however, and had transmitted his absent-brained plea straight to the ears of his colleague, who started, then leapt to his feet and ran through the corridor to Bell’s office.

“I heard you, Bell, I heard you!” he exclaimed, red of face, and panting with exultation.

Now it was Bell’s turn to start.

“You … heard that?” he said, bemused, and somewhat worried.

“Yes! By jingo it works! The device works!” Watson beamed, placing a hand on Bell’s shoulder.

Bell’s body bristled and his beard twitched with barely concealed nervousness.

“Terrific, yes,” he said distractedly, “but - we must ensure it transmitted with absolute clarity. What was it you heard me say? Exactly?”

He leaned forward. Not too much.

Watson cleared his throat dramatically, aiming for the exact intonation, as though this would help prove their machine’s effectiveness.

“Watson, come here, I want you,” he said, loudly and carefully.

Bell was back in a daydream.

“Are you alright old chap?” said Watson, his face still flushed, though now with a crease of concern.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Nothing to worry about,” murmured Bell.

“You don’t seem excited,” said Watson.

There came the hand again. But not the galvanising grip from before. No, this was altogether softer, more the tender touch of a parent, or a lover…

“Oh I am!” said Bell, jumping to his feet so sharply he wrong-footed even himself, “Very excited, very excited indeed, back you go now, Watson, we must make preparations for the…”

His voice trailed off. Watson had planted that troublesome hand on Bell’s, and was now staring into his eyes searchingly.

“I…” Bell began, “I…”

Watson placed a finger on his lips, resolve etched on his features. He moved smoothly forwards until he was toe to toe with his partner.

“Say it again,” he said quietly.

Bell stared at him quizzically. Watson just nodded, and traced his finger down the smooth channel between Bell’s beard halves.

“Watson,” he breathed hoarsely, “come here … I want you.”

Watson didn’t need asking again, he moved in for the kiss. A body-melding clinch that sent them both clattering down onto the desk, lost in one another’s arms.

*

Bell pulled his shirt on with nervous haste, buttoning feverishly lest they be disturbed. Watson was more lackadaisical. He sidled over to the door still unbraced, and cracked it open to check the coast was clear, then he too attended to his buttons.

“That was certainly something,” he said, beaming from ear to ear.

Bell avoided his gaze, sheepishly. He got to his feet and adjusted his collar, while Watson looked on, luminous.

“I’ll be in my room,” he said, still smiling, and tossing his jacket over his shoulder. He went to leave.

“If you need me,” he turned, casually, “give me a bell.” 

THE END