See Ao3 for the story around this ode, and prepare yourself for the emotional whiplash of Reichenbach angst as one does in this fandom. Godspeed.
Ode to His Hair that Beggars Belief It's So Good
by Dr John H. Watson
O Glorious Curls on my flatmate's head, What part do you play for this body of the man I adore?
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You frame his every look and word, softening, Breaking the angles of the unnecessary cut — The glare, the roll, the shotgun details — The shake and free writhe of you on his head Brings to mind the most gorgeous of gorgons A silken Medusa that will strike me to stone If I stare too long. You are mesmerizing.
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At his rising, you are a fluffy cloud of rich, dark haze, And I smile at the sight. If only I could run my eager hands through you, Scratching lightly at his warm scalp. I know he would purr. I know it like I know water from wine, A fact. When will I have this indulgence? Do I have the trust-bond he would need? I hope to hear that joy and be glad.
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He spends time to arrange you curls, To order your inherent chaos So you become a piece of armor, Protection from the derision and cruelty Of the idiots around him. Clean feathers, perfumed arcs, abundant product. You are stunning to see, yes. Many agree! But I? I would prefer to take your precise shape And gently wreck it. Restore the wildness at your heart, Breathe in your sweet warmth. Rub you on my cheek. I see you.
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O willful black crown upon his head, Someday you will grey and perhaps even leave us. I will love you whilst you stay, Care for you with good food, oils, and hands. I want him to smile. I want him to purr. I want him. I want.
