100 H/W Words on the Canon Words
The
first sixty of these drabbles are derived from each of the ACD
stories. They are focused on a presumption of an intimate and
often
sexual relationship between Holmes and Watson. If that is not
what you
care to read, please turn back now. The tones range from
light to
inane to dark and angsty. A couple non-canonical bonus tracks
are
included at the end.
1.THE GLORIA SCOTT
"Ready Watson?" Holmes asked as he came bustling in the door.
"Ready?
For what? What is this nonsense?" I
fussed. Retrieving the
mysterious telegram, I read it aloud as I trailed him into our
room.
"Light
always escapes a kitchen cook-fire should one remove less than all
rubbish. Don your apron over clothing. Stoke it,
and do not wait
overly-long for combustion. Trust me, I know Holmes."
Whistling
cheerily, Holmes lit the bedroom fire and began to strip. He
paused
and considered me. "Watson, did I never tell you of the code
used in
the case of the Gloria Scott?"
2. THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL
Over cigars and brandy, Musgrave makes his proposition.
I decline--politely, of course.
I
retire to a guest-room alone, but to-night when I touch myself before
sleep, I visualise his body lying over mine and as I die, I endeavour
to imagine the warmth of his mouth where my lonely palm now
lies.
As my heart rate slows and my fluids gel and crust, I wonder if he will
be doing the same.
My
corporeal body is contented, but my mind--my soul--is not. I cleanse
myself, return to bed and wonder: is there ever to be anything more?
3. A STUDY IN SCARLET
Lestrade and Gregson escorted Hope out our door. The metal
jangled as Holmes replaced the handcuffs in a pocket.
I regarded my recently chosen fellow lodger with acute
interest. "Holmes, you never told me you owned handcuffs."
"Didn't I? It must have slipped my mind."
"What else have you that might be of interest?"
"Nothing much. A riding crop, a bull-whip, a smattering of
costumes."
"Costumes? Such as--a policeman?" The rough fabric
of my underclothes chaffed at my member as it swelled.
"Possibly."
I licked my lips. "Shall we see?"
Holmes gestured to his bedroom. "After you, dear my fellow."
4. THE SPECKLED BAND
We
coiled in the darkened bedroom, my companion in the same state of
nervous tension as I. Suddenly a gentle sound became
audible--like a
rustle or a hiss.
Holmes's eyes gleamed in excitement. "You see
it, Watson? You see it! It's the most potent snake
known to man. He
who dares tangle with it risks his very life." Holmes wrapped
his hand
below the head and tightened his grip to a frantic choke.
Laughing,
I lowered my mouth and sucked him in to the hilt. When he had climaxed,
I rolled over. "I'm willing to take my chances, Holmes."
5. THE RESIDENT PATIENT
"I
am dreadfully embarrassed to lay this out before you," Trevelyan
said.
"Anyone would think that the gross impiety should have been immediately
apparent. An older man manoeuvring to live with a younger
man, paying
his expenses, keeping him in the finest style-- It reeks of
the most
abhorrent deviancies of sub-human natures. As much as I wish
my
practice to prosper, I maintain high standards in the selection of my
associates."
I forced myself to appear unmoved by his diatribe, but my stomach
knotted in my throat.
Holmes responded coldly, "As do I; therefore, I cannot accept your
case."
6. THE NOBLE BACHELOR
"Ah,
Watson," said Holmes, smiling, "perhaps you would not be very gracious
either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found
yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we
may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we
are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your
chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to
solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings."
Spurning the poor violin, we solved our little problem all the same.
7. THE SECOND STAIN
"You knew all along," I said, as we rode home in the cab.
"I suspected, but it was necessary she believe I was utterly certain."
"It
was a most unusual resolution. Why not just reveal the truth
to all
parties? Or do you endorse the keeping of secrets--of
betrayals and
lies--between spouses? This difference is of great personal
interest
to me."
"No, I do not." Holmes kept his gaze straight
ahead.
Underneath the carriage blanket he took my hand. "But I do
believe
that the benefits reaped from some secrets are worth significant and
extraordinary risk, don't you?"
8. THE REIGATE SQUIRE
I
arrived breathless at his sickbed. Holmes rose from the
sheets to
greet to me. In one motion he dropped his gown on the hotel
carpet and
swept me into a full embrace. He moved my hand to where his
body was
the hottest, and thrust the full extent of his need into my
care.
I
choked as his tongue penetrated my throat. I gasped and found
some
words. "You said you were ill," I managed, before he took my
mouth
again.
"I did not." His urgency pushed me to the bed. "I
merely said that I needed my doctor."
9. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
To
me, she will always be 'The Woman.' I lie naked on my bed
admiring her
portrait, the tempting pout of her lips, the delicate arches of her
cheekbones, the carefully combed and cultured brows. Her
posture is
strong, yet feminine; every line of her form whispers of sensuality
barely restrained. I run my eyes over the satin folds of her
dress to
where it blossoms out into the most perfect bosom my eyes have ever
seen.
She is everything I have always wanted.
Nature dictates that I cannot become her, but in private, at least a
man can dream.
10. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
Scores
of colours swirl within my soul. He holds me tight and buries
his
length hard within me. He breathes the most indescribable
sounds as he
takes his pleasure. When I feel his seed let loose, I
fracture into a
million billion gossamer shards. I am space and time and
perfection.
I am finally free.
I curl my body around him and caress him as he speaks to me the
sweetest words of love.
The smoke wanes and Watson stands before me, solid and
correct.
I have my case, yet all I wish is to return to my opium-tinted dream.
11. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
What
Holmes said he relished best was the anticipation of the sting and the
effect that each sequentially sterner blow had to warm his skin and
condense his total attention to the focus of my presence.
What
aroused me most was the sound of the slap and the way each spank left
the imprint of my hand upon his backside in ruddy testament.
It should prove a mutually advantageous arrangement.
"Four," said I, as he lay prone across my lap.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"You told Openshaw you had been beaten by three men; now you must amend
it to four."
12. A CASE OF IDENTITY
I shook my head. "So the girl was seen socially with her
stepfather? What has the world come to?"
"She
was not; she was seen socially with a man. No one but the
perpetrator
knew anything was amiss. Such are the wonders of disguise."
Holmes
opened his wardrobe stuffed with clothing and costumes. From
our bed I
watched as he stripped to his night-dress. Nice rear, slight
hips,
thin shoulders, narrow waist.... It could work.
"Holmes," I glanced toward the wardrobe. "The Hargrave ball
is next month. Perhaps--"
"Go to sleep Watson," Holmes said as he climbed in alongside.
13. THE RED HEADED LEAGUE
"It's
a shame the League was only a ruse," I said. "For the price
of a
bottle of hair dye, I could have earned some extra income.
Who would
be the wiser?"
The water splashed precariously close to the rim
as Holmes shuffled in our bath. The tub was a snug fit; our
feet and
legs lazed intertwined.
He reached between my thighs and
tugged. "Ouch!" It stung where he plucked my hairs.
He patted the
spot in conciliation. The pat was well worth the sting.
Holmes waved two tan curls in evidence. "There might be a
clue or two."
14. THE DYING DETECTIVE
Mrs. Hudson brought the news. "He's dying, Dr.
Watson. For
three days he has been sinking; I doubt if he will last the day."
Dying. The single word echoed in my head as I rummaged for my
overcoat.
Dying. It had been a stupid quarrel; I could not remember why
we had fought. Something about an opera I think.
Dying. What were the words I had left him with? I
called
him the foulest of names and told him I had been a fool to care.
Dying. I began to run down the street.
Dying. Oh god in heaven, no.
15. THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
The goose had been consumed with a decent claret and we wallowed in the
Christmas season and another successful case.
I
had stripped for the night; Holmes still prattled on. I wrapped a holly
garland around my neck and teased him with it, attempting to entice him
towards our bed.
"It's certainly something Holmes. I'm amazed
that you sorted the matter out--a jewel of inestimable value concealed
inside a silly goose." I tickled his chin with my boa.
Holmes's eyes sparkled as I wiggled my body coquettishly before
him. "I had the advantage, Watson; I knew of some precedents."
16. THE VALLEY OF FEAR
"You'll
never guess who's here," the inn-keeper said to his friend and
companion. "Sherlock 'olmes, that London detective.
Arrived with that
doctor of his."
"Over the Birlstone business?"
"Yes. Nasty patch that. They took the blue room."
"You'd think they could afford a second bed."
"They
can. I saw their luggage." The innkeeper turned
down their sheets.
"But they don't put on airs. You'd never know he was
famous. Asked me
for a shaving plaster and a darning set, 'e did.
They're just regular
folks, like us.
"Nite, luv." Settling in to bed, he kissed his lover on the
mouth.
17. YELLOW FACE
"Unthinkable a mother turning away from her child--over a man," I said.
"My parents reside in Carlisle," said Holmes. "We have not
spoken in twenty-two years."
I floundered. I had no conception. "Because of--?"
I paused; we were in an open carriage.
"You observe that I am not Negroid. That should limit the
options
considerably." His voice held stolid, his features did not.
I shuffled closer until our thighs met. "I am sorry."
"Birth
is thrust upon us. Family need not be. I find the
compensations to be
adequate." His cold fingers squeezed mine as our cab rumbled
on.
18. THE GREEK INTERPRETER
"Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do."
I startled. "I never knew you had a brother. Have
you told him about me?"
"Certainly not."
"You are ashamed," I say.
"I
am prudent." Holmes tweaks my rear. "I have told
you he is brilliant,
far smarter than I am myself. It would not do to have him
recognise my
treasure and purloin it from beneath my very grip."
I wrap him
in a playful hug. "If you think that Holmes, you are quite
correct;
you are no where near as wise as I have believed."
19. THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
Holmes spread himself naked on their bed and begged.
Watson
stroked his thigh affectionately, but fell to the mattress
too. "My
leg is aching dreadfully; I really must lie down again.
Perhaps next
time I'll manage."
Grinning madly, Watson lay supine and
splayed his legs in wait for the sweet fullness he craved.
Grumbling
something about reciprocity, Holmes knelt in his usual position and
soon lost himself in the fervour of their pleasure. As Watson
quivered
agonizingly near climax, Holmes readjusted his grip on the pristine
thighs--"
Holmes stopped mid-stroke. Watson groaned.
"Watson, wasn't your wound in your shoulder?"
20. THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
Disdaining
to make a pallet, I shiver upon the frigid stone slab. Monks would
self-flagellate for their sinful yearnings. I am no monk and I have no
flail; this method must suffice.
I hear a sad howl across the moor. It might be a beast or merely the
wind.
Some
say the Hound is but a legend--a metaphor for men's darker vices and
their ends-- yet Sir Charles died at its maw. Some say that is proof.
It is not. Beasts of the mind can be as pernicious as beasts of the
wild.
Despite myself, I ache for Watson.
21. THE COPPER BEECHES
"It
seems to me I have done you full justice in the matter."
Seeing such
egotism repelled me intensely. "Sometimes I don't know why I
bother."
Holmes
slipped behind me and slid one lean hand down my trousers. He
wrapped
me in his fingers and with his other arm, drew me back against his
chest. I was on fire in an instant; within two I was under
his spell.
Nothing mattered but the beating of his heart against my shoulder and
the thrill of his fingers over my shaft.
As I dissolved into his embrace, I remembered why I did.
22. BOSCOMBE VALLEY
Holmes replaced the syringe. "Don't judge Old Turner so
harshly. There, but for the grace of god goes Sherlock
Holmes."
Holmes's
brow furrowed and he pressed a hand to his eyes. I wondered
what
visions haunted him so that he should choose the annihilation of
narcosis over the world of thought.
Holmes continued. "Turner
acted not for himself, but to destroy an evil which threatened all he
held dear. I cannot condemn a man for that; in the same position I
would do the same. Would you not Watson?
I stared at the loathsome Morocco case. "If I could."
23. THE STOCKBROKER'S CLERK
"Surely the worst of the Seven Deadlies," said Holmes, as he overlooked
his city from our window.
"Pride?" I said.
"Touché,
Watson. A lethal parry--but it was greed of which I spoke. It induced a
man to leave the comfort of secure employ and follow an enigmatic
stranger on some inchoate scheme."
My medical bag still sat
beneath my writing desk, laden heavy with the dust of disuse. I rose
and kicked it farther aside. I encircled his waist with my arms and lay
my head upon his gown. My hand slipped lower.
"There is another possibility," I whispered.
24. THE NAVAL TREATY
Over
our eight years, I had learned much of my friend Sherlock Holmes, yet
in the mere three weeks of our inchoate intimacy, I had seen more of
his secret self than any man--or woman--ever had.
Still this
revelation in poetry was a surprise. "'Much to hope for from
the
flowers?' You will forgive me if I say I hardly think of you
as a
contemplator of roses."
His hand slipped shockingly low on my waist as he ushered me through
the hall.
"Would it clarify matters if I were to say, I was thinking more of
pansies?"
25. THE CARDBOARD BOX
Holmes
lay naked over me, his face made placid in the glow of shared passion
spent. His fingers explored my folds, traced my features as
if there
were still some part of me he did not know and must. It
tickled when
he brushed my whiskers.
"I wonder if Mycroft will receive a parcel."
"Hm?" Unlike him, I could not follow thoughts.
"When our wronged murderer found his spouse had been unfaithful, he
sent the lovers' ears to her sibling."'
Irritated, I rose to return home. "That was entirely
different and I don't think much of your sense of humour."
26. THE ENGINEER'S THUMB
I roused my wife. "Mary, I'm off."
She yawned. "So early? A patient?"
"Yes."
At the half-truth she jolted upright and searched my face. "You are
going to see--him."
Sometimes I fear her for a witch.
I flushed. "About a patient. A client. A
client and a patient." My voice rose in my own defence.
"You promised."
"And I've kept my vows. This man needs help."
She dropped to her pillow. "Do as you like. I will
not keep you against your will."
"Mary, it's just a patient.
"Mary?
"Mary, I love you.
"Mary?"
I shut the bedroom door.
27. THE CROOKED MAN
I
closed the Bible and replaced it on the shelf. "Should you
ever hear
me call out 'David!' in my sleep, you may rest assured that I am
thinking of something far less nefarious, although involving equally
intense biblical 'knowledge'." I ran my thumb appreciatively
over the
statuette that graced our mantle, first over its gently rippled
abdomen, then down its groin.
"Making comparisons, Watson?" The testiness in Holmes's voice
hung in the air.
I
rushed to hug him in reassurance. "My dear man, I would never do that;
it would be entirely unfair. Michelangelo did the best he
could."
28. WISTERIA LODGE
"But
hardly surprising," continued Holmes. "The Spanish are a passionate and
dangerous people, ever in tenuous equilibrium." From his chemical shelf
he took a jar of small, green objects and held it to the light.
"Consider Lytta vesicatoria, the Spanish Fly. In tiny doses, the wings
yield violent pleasure. Pushed further, violent death. A parlous
experiment, but many say worth the risk." He extracted a beetle. "Care
to sample?"
"Certainly not!" My indignation rose. "I don't require enhancements."
Holmes erupted, "You know my methods. Facts, Watson, not speculation!"
I removed my vest and began on my braces. "My pleasure."
29. SILVER BLAZE
For
all the stimulation Holmes extracted from a case, his greatest pleasure
came afterwards, preening in his success. "Staining hair is
not
difficult. It requires only a modicum of knowledge of fibres
and
chemistry. Hair from the human head is fine and only a
penetrating
liquid dye will take. Horsehair is coarse and retains
particles; any
number of substances would serve--soot, boot black, tar. Now
pubic
hair falls somewhere in the middle--"
I writhed and clutched his
head, pushing it back down to my demanding groin "For God's
sake man,
stop with the bloody lecture and just SUCK!"
30. THE BERYL CORONET
"G'd evening guv'ner." The loafer followed me into the gentleman's, and
approached me bold as brass.
"Excuse me." I pushed past him and prepared to do my business.
"Blimey! A fine bloke like you don't need no excuse." He winked and
gestured most impertinently toward my person.
"Really!" I exclaimed and began to close my trousers.
"Really,"
said he, pushing me to the wall. In an instant he was down upon his
knees with my member inside his mouth. The costume might be unfamiliar,
but that sweet feel was not.
"Holmes!" I choked. "For heaven's sake man, lock the door!"
31. THE FINAL PROBLEM
In
the Englischer Hof, Holmes sits in a chair and smokes. He
watches
Watson sleep in the sole bed they have been provided, his mouth
twitching sensuously with every breath.
There was a time that
sharing a room, a bed, would have been most difficult to
endure.
Nowadays doing so is his most singular joy.
Nonetheless it is
difficult to do so in chaste and propitious silence while their wakeful
neighbour paces the adjacent floor. Therefore Holmes sits and
wills
his impetuous body to deflate, while Watson's mouth twitches in his
dreams.
Holmes assumes there will be many other nights.
32. THE EMPTY HOUSE
It
was pitch black in the empty house. Holmes's lean fingers
closed
around my wrist. He put a hand upon my shoulder and his lips
close to
my ear. Overcome with his nearness, I kissed his mouth.
He brushed me aside. "Please, Watson, this is serious
business!"
"So is this." I nuzzled his neck, my desire aching all at once.
"My very life is at stake," said Holmes.
"So is mine," said I earnestly. "Three years is a very long
time." I moved my hand.
"Watson!" he hissed, "Don't touch me there!"
I persisted in my efforts.
"Watson!" Holmes ejaculated.
33. THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ
As Hopkins read the description, Holmes dashed off a second note and
passed it to me.
"Wanted:
a part-time physician of dubious scruples but of outstanding refinement
and taste in companions. Must be lithe, tenderhearted, tolerant, and
above all, loyal. There are indications he is an
above-average kisser
and testimony has been offered that his skills at love are
unparalleled. Reward offered, for he has stolen my heart."
"Very
funny," said I as I crumpled the note into my waistcoat pocket. I
turned to the wall to hide my school-boy grin, but I suspect Holmes saw
it all the same.
34. THE THREE STUDENTS
"How did you recognise the imprint of the jumping shoes?" I
asked as we undressed for bed.
"I was heavily involved in university athletics." Holmes
checked his physique in the mirror.
"Boxing?"
"Almost any field. I was not particular if it met my needs."
"Really? The way you eschew exercise for it's own sake, I had
no idea." I slid my hands along his chest.
"Oh,
I never partook in the sport. It was the athletes I was
involved
with. If you would be so kind as to place your left leg over
my right
arm, I will demonstrate why."
35. THE SOLITARY CYCLIST
"Extraordinary that you could tell so much from hands. What
can you deduce from mine?"
"Like that, nothing. Come, place it here." He
settles it against his groin.
"Don't be preposterous! You can't tell anything like that."
"Don't be so cock-sure. Move your hand faster.
Faster. Faster!" His eyes roll back and his
breathing
thickens.
I
pull away. He groans at contact lost. When I reach down his
trousers
and touch skin, he gasps and falls against my shoulder.
Breathing
unsteadily, I re-double my strokes.
"You are wrong," he breathes against my face. "Like this I
know everything about you."
36. BLACK PETER
It
was an achievable if difficult position for a lithe man.
Squatting on
the mattress with his backside to Watson's face, Holmes straddled the
swollen groin, raising and lowering himself by the strength of his
thighs alone. Unable to control the tempo, Watson lay near
the edge in
a musky fervour. He thrummed his own nipples and shivered his
thighs,
held captive by the steel of Holmes's restraint.
Quickening his exertions, Holmes threw his head back and
died.
Covered
in perspiration, they gasped for breath. "There can be no
question, my
dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast."
37. THE NORWOOD BUILDER
"A
clever trick. You've not used that since--" My voice
lagged. However
much agony his appreciation for the woman had caused me, it had caused
him even more.
Holmes responded easily. "Criminal
n'er-do-well or inspired lover, the realization is the same.
Where
there is smoke, there is fire, and fire is a wild and unpredictable
thing. It is not to be taken lightly. One's fundamental
welfare
depends upon it."
Inhaling from the cherrywood, he blew out a perfect ring. It drifted in
my direction, and dissipated in my cough.
"Good night, Watson." He retreated to the safety of his room.
38. THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
With
the tedium, I grew peevish. "Yet again we find ourselves in the dark,
lying in wait with no entertainment. Holmes, is this absolutely
necessary?"
"No."
"No?"
"We could have our culprit almost anywhere. I prefer it here."
"In god's name, why?" I erupted.
I felt his hand upon my thigh. "Do you not recall our escapade in the
bedroom during the matter of the Speckled Band?"
I did. I flushed.
His hand moved higher.
"Holmes-- Mycroft? Lestrade?" I struggled for sanity.
Fingers found my waistband. "I believe you will find them otherwise
occupied."
I gazed toward the settee. "Oh!"
39. THE VEILED LODGER
The
lodging house was exceptionally private and it would be a modest hike
to the road. I was anxious to be underway, thus was surprised and a
little irked when Holmes dropped to his knees. He took his lens and
examined every accessible inch, foundation to window casements.
"You are not satisfied with her explanation?" I asked.
"Oh, quite," said Holmes, as he dusted off his trousers.
"Then what the blazes are you doing?"
"Surveying
its soundness. It strikes me that this place would make for most
pleasant retirement lodgings when our golden years are upon us. Don't
you agree?"
40. THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE
"What do you think of vampires Watson? Walking corpses who
can only be held in their graves by wooden stakes?"
"The
vampire was not necessarily a dead man; I have read of the old sucking
the blood of the young in order to retain their youth."
I rose
and made a place for my lips along his
neck. I sucked hard enough to
draw blood beneath the skin. In the name of propriety he must
wear
high collars for the remainder of this week.
I murmured into his ear, "And it seems to work the other way
'round as well."
41. THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER
I
recognised the signs of relapse the moment he returned.
Holmes paced
restively, then looking towards the bedroom, muttered something about a
nap.
"You needn't hide," I said wearily. "I have done all I
can. If you choose to destroy yourself, I cannot stop you,
but as it
breaks my heart to witness, I will withdraw."
Holmes appeared
behind me, his arms wrapped around my chest. He pressed the phial into
my fist and wrapped his trembling fingers around mine.
My neck grew damp where he rested his face. "You are wrong, Watson; you
are the only man who can."
42. THE ABBEY GRANGE
"Holmes, I beg you, I'm ready now!"
My
groin is so heavy laden I swear I can taste my seed boiling over
within. Mercifully, Holmes reaches for the oil. I
spread my legs and
stroke myself, feeling the first pearly drops grace my thumb.
When he anoints me with the oil, the tension rises to
unbearable. "Holmes, inside me...now."
To my dismay, Holmes leans back and raises his toes. With the
largest one he rims and violates me until I choke and spew.
As I die the little death I hear him chuckle, "Come Watson, the game is
a foot."
43. THE DEVIL'S FOOT
The
horror engulfs you all at once, more terrifying and grotesque than any
concrete idea your unaided mortal mind could form. You can give it
neither name nor face nor form nor voice, but you are utterly alone
with it.
You are hopelessly, fundamentally and inexorably alone.
It
curls your gut and strangles your lungs until your greatest fear is no
longer death, but the unremitting perseverance of this existence
Then you are lying in the sunshine, his face before you, your name upon
his lips and his eyes filled with deepest dread.
"Watson!" You embrace him in unabashed relief.
44. THE DANCING MEN
My spirits sank as I opened our door and saw him still at work. Puerile
or not, I had wished he would remember.
His cases always took precedence.
"Watson! Come, there's not a moment to lose! The
Mystery of the Dancing Men grows immediately urgent."
We dashed down the street; with great surprise, I realised we had
stopped at the alleyway entrance to the Diogenes.
Holmes
knocked. We were escorted to a private salon. Six
scantily-clad
performers surrounded me, and soon I was awash in delicious, young
dancing men.
Holmes favoured me with a rare grin. "Happy Birthday, old
chap."
45. THE RETIRED COLOURMAN
I
consider myself a most patient man, and am quite accustomed to Holmes
bringing his unsavoury habits into our bed, however tonight he was
utterly insufferable. After ridiculing the intellectual
failings of
Mr. Barker, our erstwhile client--Amberley--and all of Scotland Yard,
Holmes turned his foul disposition back towards my inadequacies as his
on-site agent.
I shifted far to my side, folded my arms across my chest and stared at
the ceiling.
"Watson, are you listening?" Holmes's nudged me, his voice testy.
"No Holmes, I was considering doing some painting. It should
brighten the atmosphere around the rooms considerably."
46. CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON
Pressed together behind the curtain, I felt his hand steal into
mine.
I
slid my hand down his body; in the dark I could not be sure where it
went. I reached under his coat, brushed his hips, moved
forward to his
thighs. I felt something long and hard. I followed
its impressive
length to where it flared into a wide tip.
Holmes's body was poised tight with excitement. Breathing
hard, he kept his eyes trained on the gap in the drapes.
"Holmes," I whispered, "is that a crowbar in your pocket, or are you
just glad to see me?"
47. THE SIX NAPOLEONS
At
the peculiar sound, I loo4ked
up from my writing. Holmes's head was
tossed back in his chair. Between his legs, pale fingers played over
rosy meat where it stood plump and straining the limits of its casing.
He worked the foreskin up and down. The tip poked out and back, out and
back, coquettishly inviting me to partake. I was suddenly too aroused
to speak.
Holmes lifted his lids. "You were saying, the idee fixee is only found
in madman?"
I threw myself upon him. Through the virtue of my mouth upon his organ,
the peculiar sounds began again.
48. THOR BRIDGE
"A thoroughly improbable couple from the outset. I wonder how
they even came to wed," I said.
"People
wed out of a menagerie of motivations, not the foremost of which is
devotion. I should hardly have to explain this to you."
I twisted my wedding band uneasily and changed the subject.
"It's a distasteful business: the man, the money, the girl, the
murder. It makes one sceptical of the entire notion of love."
Holmes
pasted the portrait of the unhappy murderess into his scrapbook, moved
up behind me and kissed my head. "Or more impressed than ever
by its
power."
49. THE PRIORY SCHOOL
Holmes
scoffed as he peered over Watson's shoulder. "'...prostate
and
insensible upon our bearskin hearth-rug.' Honestly, Watson,
sometimes
I despair of you. Surely the difference a letter R can make
is well
within the bounds of knowledge of an educated medical man. I
shudder
to think what Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D would have to say about
being described so."
Watson looked up with tolerance.
"Certainly I do, Holmes, and I wrote precisely what I meant.
I was
not, however, referring to Dr. Huxtable."
With only a few minutes of attention, Holmes's prostate had rendered
him insensible upon the bearskin hearth-rug.
50. SHOSCOMBE OLD
I
stomped my stick for emphasis. "We're not taking that dog,
Holmes, and
that's my final word. I've never cared for dogs--filthy
beasts."
"You used to keep a bull-pup," he said.
I
snorted. "You saw that in my stories? I also wrote that I
married.
Surely you don't believe everything you read?" I took his
hand beneath
his Ulster.
The Shoscombe spaniel yelped behind us as we made
our way down the lane. Holmes played with my fingers under
the folds.
"Yes, Sir Robert is correct. Some facts are best kept from
the public
notice--for the time being."
51. THE THREE GARRIDEBS
I
lay abed, my injured leg supported upon pillows. It was a warm day; the
combination of June weather and my forced convalescence had made me
restive with untapped energy. An attempt to read my medical journals
had been summarily scuttled by Holmes's strident voice from the sitting
room discoursing upon the details of his victory.
"Such an elaborate plan to lure one man from his room," I mused.
"I suppose you could do better?"
I limped to the doorway and flashed open my dressing-gown, revealing
the proud state of my undress.
Holmes abandoned the sitting room in record time.
52. LADY FRANCES CARFAX
The
express steamed on toward London. In a passageway, Leonora stopped at a
compartment window. "Look, Emily, that's the famous detective, Sherlock
Holmes."
"Really? I didn't know he had a son."
"That's not his son; that's his companion, Dr. Watson."
"Are you quite certain? Look at the way they're seated."
"Quite sure. I've seen several sketches in The Strand."
"I'm going to ask." Emily raised a hand to knock.
"Don't! I think they're asleep."
Behind them, the conductor cleared his throat. "Might I help you
ladies?"
They turned with guilty smiles. "No thank you. We were just stretching
our legs."
53. THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
Steam
off the baths wraps around us. He smokes his pipe, seemingly
unmoved.
He sits so near I could reach under his towel and touch him as I would
have him touch me. As he touched me last night.
I smell the musk of male arousal; it makes me harder still.
Adjusting my newspaper discreetly, I palm myself because I must.
As my body plumps to stretch my fingers, I realise that the odour is
from me.
Holmes watches, that sly smile behind his eyes. "Watson,
shall we adjourn to the steam room?"
Seconds later, I am in his mouth.
54. THE RED CIRCLE
I
piled up the Daily Gazettes he had cast aside. In one edition, two
advertisements were marked, not merely the crucial one. "J.W.: Every
day my heart longs to beat near yours. I thank God, the Fates, the
Furies or whatever powers may be, that it has at least been allowed to
rest sweetly there at night. --Sigerson"
I glared at him in fond irritation. "Holmes, you are an outright fraud!"
Holmes
raised his languorous lids. "Perhaps, Watson. Nevertheless, I spoke the
truth; that smarmy advert is pure bleat." He kissed me and retired
ahead of me to our bed.
55. THE BLANCHED SOLDIER
I
returned to my darkened rooms to find Watson in his erstwhile favourite
chair. It was late. He should be home; he was not. I lit the gas and
waited.
"They both died--mother and child."
I had deduced that from nine separate factors, but held my peace. Now
was not the time for brilliance.
"I
should have been able to prevent it." Watson turned his bright eyes
upon me. "When clients trust in you, do you ever fear not being equal--
not being good enough?"
I took my old seat across from him. "Never while you are with me."
56. THE THREE GABLES
Holmes
has been ominously quiet since hearing of Douglas Maberley's
death. He
has smoked pipe after toxic pipe. I lay my hand upon his
shoulder. He
doesn't speak or turn.
He still thinks I do not know.
But
once I saw Maberley's gentle letters among yellowed papers long since
burnt. I have met Langdale Pike as well. The vile
scandal-maggot
would bloat upon the sacred affections of man for man, and my friend
will never jeopardise the esteemed name he has bled to earn.
It is not for me to question Sherlock Holmes. I retire and
leave him quite alone.
57. THE MAZARIN STONE
He sat just where I had left him, awash in a fog of smoke.
I
stepped inside. "Holmes, I am sorry. I shouldn't have left, but this is
all so new and there's so much to consider. I do love you; I always
have, but this situation is so damned difficult."
I neared his chair. I touched a shoulder. The wax figure toppled to the
floor. Holmes laughed. I whirled in outrage.
"Watson, situations are as difficult as we make them. Accept what you
know is real; the rest is only distracters."
He kissed me, and my turmoil melted away.
58. THE CREEPING MAN
After
twenty years of ageing together, I knew my companion's moods.
This was
the calm before the storm--his post-success high before crashing into
the blackest of moods.
Still, I could not predict exactly when that crash would come.
He held the findings of Presbury's box: the phial, the
instructions--and a syringe.
"Holmes, you can't believe in that clap-trap. No sera can
bolster virility."
Holmes's
eyes danced. He set the lot down. "Perhaps not, but
if you would
kindly lower your trousers, bend over that desk and spread your legs, I
will demonstrate how this case has enhanced mine."
59. THE LION'S MANE
The Lethal Sting--
It
is lonely without my fidus Achates. It has been six years since I saw
him last. I am become my own chronicler. That is not the cruellest
hardship. Watson fell upon a chance for marriage, to sire his
long-desired heir. I could not give him his legacy; I could not bear to
keep him from it. I bade him go. He was loath to leave. I said I wanted
him to. Alone now, I have time to record these tales.
No Good!
Draft Two
The Adventure of the Lion's Mane--
It is a most singular thing....
60. HIS LAST BOW
Prison has not treated him well, nor the subsequent disgrace.
"You have been well, Watson?"
"Yes. I tried to see you, but--"
He dismisses the past with a wave.
I can stand it no more. I grasp his hand. It feels
old and arthritic--as does mine.
"I
am so sorry." It is the first time I have touched him in eight
years.
My eyes water. Martha watches. It is not entirely
appropriate.
It is nowhere near enough.
Holmes smiles sadly. "With this war, old sensibilities must
fall
aside, but, my old friend, I fear not rapidly enough for us."
THE SEVEN PERCENT SOLUTION
Despite Freud's easy amiability, Holmes remained aloof--as if none of
this had the slightest relationship to his plight.
Freud
leaned back in his chair and waxed pedantic. "It is my
contention that
the psyche is composed of three opposing drives. The majority of
self-destructive behaviors--such as narcotic abuse--are the result of
the cognitive distress resultant when conflicts between the three
cannot be resolved. I refer to these forces as the 'id', the 'ego' and
the 'superego'. In the case of Herr Holmes, the dominant
psychic force
would be--"
"Don't tell me," I drawled. "Let me deduce."
THE ADVENTURE OF THE WEDDING SUITE
"Mary, hurry," I begged, unable to sequester the naked need from my
voice.
Mary worked her wedding gown. "I am trying." She
was nowhere near done.
My
body ached. The anticipation was beyond endurance.
I touched myself
from necessity, not desire. "I can't wait. Please-- your
drawers."
She kicked the lacy things off with a giggle.
Frenzied, I snatched them and pulled them on. She tossed her
stockings; I donned them as eagerly.
She
retired with her embroidery as I paraded, at joyous ease.
"I'll see
you in the morning, John. And try not to stain my things;
they're
silk."
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CROP CIRCLES
"So
concludes the singular Adventure of the Crop Circles." Holmes stretched
out his legs. In the flickering firelight his skin appeared to take an
eerie, yellow cast. Glossy dark hair receded behind the chair-back wing
as he reclined his lean form and steepled his fingers in front of his
angular face.
"Well done, old chap!" I ejaculated.
"It
was a simple exercise when one has certain speciality knowledge," said
Holmes. "Now, if you would pass my instrument, I must meditate upon our
next case."
As Holmes leaned forward to receive the violin, one pointed ear
glimmered in the fireplace glow.
DUET FOR ONE VIOLIN
I
watch his fingers play across the strings. They mesmerise me
with
their grace. They flit and flutter; they tease and then hold
strong,
the melancholy reverberating in my ears. With a gasp they
skip and
play on again, entrancing my eyes with their insouciance.
What would it be like, I wonder, to have those fingers play me?
I rise with a start. What is wrong with me? I am to
be married next week. The strain?
I make excuses and retire post-haste. The sad notes linger
and
the fingers continue their dance long into the dark of my night.
***
Words
have their limitations; I do not trust in them. Music has
none; my
soul bleeds though my instrument instead. It cries all the
things I
cannot--will not--say. All the thoughts and passions that
would rasp
obscene on human lips are made pure and splendrous by my bow.
Watson rises. "If you are intent upon ignoring me, I shall
retire to my room."
I
know his thoughts; the eyes tell all. For him there is yet a
choice
and I would not lure him into my shameful purgatory for all the world.
He leaves. My violin cries on.
***
DUET FOR ONE VIOLIN: Reprise
I
climb the steps to that familiar wail. To-night they seem more than
seventeen. He opens the door in that ridiculous
dressing-gown. His
eyes fly wide.
For once I have astounded him.
I say my heart. "Will you have me back?"
Somehow I am holding him. His body shudders, yet he speaks no
words.
His face is swollen; he pulls away. I check my collar; it is damp.
"Holmes?"
He
composes himself and leads me in. He is ever Sherlock
Holmes.
"Watson, if you are waiting for an answer, your powers of observation
are far below what I have feared."