davinci_1985

Someone asked me recently which was my favourite romantic cannon scene, with a plus if it was slash, as regretfully there aren’t that many moments, but I believe she did not expect mine to be what it is.

Her favourite scene came from Stargate, an episode (don’t ask me which, I have really bad memory) in which Jack hugged Daniel to himself and protected him, in the middle of a Goa’uld attack.

Mine is extracted from a book written by Conan Doyle. The following excerpt comes from “The Adventure of the Three Garridebs", and is part of Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. Holmes, for someone so clearly uninterested in women, had the closest of friendships with Watson, who still slept frequently at 221b Baker Street even *after* he married.

Clearly our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal, and together we stole across to the open trap-door. Gently as we moved, however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the head of our American, peering anxiously round, emerged suddenly from the open space. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage, which gradually softened into a rather shamefaced grin as he realized that two pistols were pointed at his head. "Well, well!" said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. "I guess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through my game, I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well, sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and —" In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistol came down on the man's head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend's wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair. "You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!" It was worth a wound — it was worth many wounds — to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation. "It's nothing, Holmes. It's a mere scratch." He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife. "You are right," he cried with an immense sigh of relief. "It is quite superficial." His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. "By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?"

Best moment ever.

Now, what’s yours?