For the WIP ask game: a single-stick waltz
another 'single stick waltz'!!! ahhh, ok, something different from the previous ask (maybe i can write something new, right here and now just for you 😉):
anyone who read my fic shieldpoint knows I love badass!Watson but I haven't found a fic (yet) where Holmes teaches Watson some defense skills. I was so taken by the imagery of Baker Street's sitting room cleared away--the table pushed in the corner, the desks along the wall, Mrs. Hudson clucking from below at the sounds coming from above.
Watson sipping tea and Holmes prickly with boredom, before silver eyes slide towards the chair and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "My dear Watson...have you ever heard of the art bartitsu?"
Watson being incredulous and a little flattered by the proposition. Watson is an athlete, a sports-lover, a rugby man, he would love some exercise but it has been ages since he exerted himself. Running after criminals is one thing, but he wonders, pride a little low, if he could manage it with his shoulder. Holmes insists, provoking his sense of fun and the utility of learning defense, and Watson realizes, as Holmes begins to roll up his sleeves and reveal muscular arms, finely haired, that even if he is rubbish it may still be...interesting.
Watson gets to his feet, feeling a little foolish, a little excited. Holmes abruptly tosses something at him, and Watson's reflexes are still sharp enough to pluck it out of the air. A black longstick, firm in his hand, and he can't help but mirror the low smile Holmes shoots him.
"Let us see if an old dog can learn new tricks, hmm?" he teases, an obvious dig. Watson slides his thumb along the wood, and something thrums beneath his skin, eager and intrigued. Looking up, he mimics the easy stance Holmes has taken on the Persian rug.
"Alright, Holmes. Show me the basics?"
Holmes smirks. "Experience, I believe, is the best teacher." And quick as lightning, he dashes forward. Watson lifts a hand, jerking back, and feels the thunder and reverberation of stick meeting stick. He blinks at sparkling grey eyes, now inches from his own.
"...Very good, my dear fellow."