Chapter I

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A Friend in Need

* The Strand
It was plain to me that my friend Sherlock Holmes was in a thoroughly black mood as we sat alone in a compartment on the train back to London, and who could blame him for his for his state of melancholia?  Certainly not I. After all, his client, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, had been shot dead and Mrs. Cubitt lay at death's door by her own hand. I had no doubt that Holmes blamed himself for the tragic outcome of the case and his failure to save the life of his client, no matter that it was not his fault and that he had done everything possible to prevent this from happening. At least he had cleared Mrs. Cubitt, who had been implicated in the death of her husband, of any wrongdoing and was instrumental in the subsequent arrest of the notorious Chicago criminal, Abe Slaney. Unfortunately, knowing Holmes, that would not be enough.

It would be the cocaine again, I thought grimly, as we made our way up the stairs to the sitting room.  It was all he would ever take when his soul lay in torment. If only he would let me help him. I cared for him so much and would give him so much more than mere friendship, if only he would let me.

We had departed very early this morning for Matlock in Derbyshire, it was now half past three and we had had neither breakfast nor lunch. As we hung up our hats and coats I suggested that we ask Mrs. Hudson to bring up some lunch as I was utterly famished.

"For yourself, Watson. I am not hungry."

"Holmes, please! You have barely eaten anything for the last two days. Your body requires nourishment." He had turned away from me, but since we had been friends now for over six years I considered that this gave me the right to help in any way I saw fit. Besides, I was a physician and he was also my patient, or so I told myself, while hoping to cajole him into eating something. "Won't you eat with me, Holmes? I really hate to eat alone."

"You should be used to it by now!" he remarked caustically, but as he deigned to glance at me he sighed and, to my surprise, relented. "Oh, very well, if it will please you!" he capitulated in a somewhat churlish manner.

Straight away I called down to Mrs. Hudson to ask if she could bring up some lunch. In the meantime I was determined not to leave him alone. He knew how much I disapproved of his cocaine habit and was now careful not to use it in my sight, so I deliberately stayed in the room with him, knowing that he would not go for his syringe while I was in plain sight. I was also determined to somehow help him through this and resolved to speak with him, against his iron will if need be, after our meal.

Surprisingly, when Mrs. Hudson bustled into the sitting room a short time later with an excellent lunch, he sat down and actually began to eat. However, he said nothing, merely glanced over the afternoon papers and, evidently seeing nothing of interest, flung them to the floor in disgust.

Later when Mrs. Hudson came to clear away our meal I took her aside and quietly requested that we not be disturbed for at least two hours, for I was determined to speak with Holmes, no matter the cost to my pride and his vanity.

Holmes went to sit at his desk and I knew he wanted desperately to inject himself with the drug.

"Holmes?"

"I am all right, Watson. Just leave me alone, there's a good chap."

So you can take your cocaine, I thought. Well, not this time! I cared about him - and far too much - to let him destroy himself with a drug.

"Holmes, please, may we talk?"

"What about?" He sounded listless.

"Holmes, it would do you good to talk about it; you know, get it off your chest rather than bottling it up inside."

"Poppycock, my dear chap! You don't seriously believe that drivel!" he declared with utter contempt.

"Holmes, I don't believe' it, I know it!" I asserted with some vehemence. "You could not have foreseen that events would move so quickly. It really was not your fault."

He turned to glare daggers at me. "Not my fault? Not my fault! Watson, that man came to me for help..." His voice trailed off.

"And now he is dead," I murmured as gently as I could.

"Yes, now he's dead." His voice sounded lifeless, defeated.

"Holmes, you did all you could."

"Oh, Watson, just go away, will you? There's a good chap. Just leave me alone."

A sudden inspiration came to me and I went into his bedroom to fetch the old grey shawl of which he was so fond. As I walked back into the sitting room I could see his hand on the handle of the drawer where he kept his drug paraphernalia. I did not envy him his hunger for the drug as I placed the shawl around his
shoulders.

"Holmes," I murmured, "I just want you to know that I am here for you."

"Where else would you be but getting underfoot!" he retorted sarcastically, pulling the shawl closely around him and folding his arms tightly as though to ward off the demons in his mind.

"Shh," I murmured soothingly, telling myself to ignore his hurtful words; that he was lashing out at me merely to save his wounded pride. I let my hands rest on his shoulders and kneaded them gently.  "Holmes, I know you don't mean that. I know you are hurting. Equally, I know that you are not to blame.  You did all that you could have done."

"I am a fool, Watson! An utter fool and my client has paid the price of my stupidity with his life!  Hilton Cubitt came to me for help and he now lies stone cold dead because of my reckless disregard of the danger! Even his wife may die and there is no one to blame but me! Me, Watson!" he reiterated. "I, and I alone, am to blame for this calamity!"

"Holmes, that is not true! You did all that you could," I insisted.

"Hah! A blatant falsehood! If I had done all that I could my client would still be alive and his wife would not now be at death's door! Perhaps if I had allowed him to put some of his men in the shrubbery as he desired this tragedy could have been prevented."

"And perhaps if he had done that there might have been many more deaths!" I retorted hotly. "After all, this Abe Slaney was a skilled gunman and he was determined to take Mrs. Cubitt back to Chicago with him; there's no knowing how many people he might have killed to achieve his goal!"

"We should have gone to Matlock last night even if I had not received an answer to my telegram!"

"Holmes, we can not live our lives on if onlys'. You deemed it prudent to wait and the information it contained was important..."

"But not vital!" he interjected. "The information could have waited. If we had been at Ridling Thorpe Manor last night this tragedy could have been prevented and you can not deny it!"

"All right, Holmes, all right," I conceded, shaking my head in defeat. "I admit that had we been at Ridling Thorpe Manor last night the odds would favour Mr. Cubitt's being alive and well today, but that is something we will never know and it is pointless to speculate." I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "It is also pointless to torture yourself like this! It serves no purpose! You are not the Almighty.  You can not foresee all probabilities."

Judging by the defeated slump of his shoulders I could see that he was hurting, and badly.

"Please, Watson, just leave me alone. I will be all right in a while."

My friend was not going to resort to the false euphoria of the cocaine bottle - not tonight, by Jove!  He was tortured, he was lonely, he felt defeated by the uncaring hand of fate which had seen fit to have both his client murdered and his client's wife on her death-bed. Yes, fate could be cruel indeed, but this was not the first time that a client had been murdered and, unfortunately, would probably not be the last. However, I saw no point in saying so. Instead I continued to rub his shoulders soothingly, offering him my support, my loyalty.

"Holmes, would you do something for me?"

"What do you want, Watson?" he asked resignedly. "Do you want to gloat over my failure?"

"Holmes, you know me better than that," I gently reproached him. "All I want is for you to admit that you are human, that you are not the Almighty." Before he could protest I continued, "Yes, I know that your pride has been hurt. Equally, I know that you feel sadness for the man's death..."

"Sadness?" he interjected. "Watson, kindly exempt me from such maudlin afflictions! I feel no such thing! The man was a client, nothing more!"

I shook my head. "Others might believe that - I don't! I know you better than that."

"Do you indeed!" he retorted with bitter irony.

"Yes," I continued relentlessly, "and I'll tell you something else that you feel guilty about."

"Guilty? Oh, do tell! This should be most entertaining!"

"Because of your dislike of Mr. Cubitt you feel guilty that you were distinctly unsympathetic to him."

It was not often that I could best Sherlock Holmes in a verbal stoush but I could feel the absolute stillness of his body beneath my hands as I continued to rub his shoulders in gentle strokes.

When he ventured to speak, it was so quietly that I could barely hear him.

"Correct," he whispered.

Pulling up a chair, I sat close, facing him. I spoke gently.

"And do you know why you were so unsympathetic?" I ventured to query in the ringing silence of the room.

He shook his head. "I... I am not sure. As he described his life he seemed..."

"Self-satisfied?" I ventured. "Happy with his lot?"

"Perhaps."

I gazed into his grey eyes. "In love?" I dared to suggest.

"If such a thing exists. Personally I am not convinced that it does."

His air of utter disdain for the softer emotions had always galled me, and did so again now. "If love does not exist, then why are you jealous of it?" I inquired in as mild a manner as possible, and waited for the reaction. It was instantaneous..

"Jealous! Watson, whatever do you mean? That is surely the most ludicrous statement you have ever uttered in all the time that we have shared these rooms! Why on earth should I be jealous of Hilton Cubitt?"

"Because he was in love and he was happy! You knew that! You saw it as clearly as I did and thoroughly resented him for it!" Holmes stared at me in utter disbelief. "You were thoroughly offended by the man's obvious contentment with his marriage," I relentlessly continued, "and you were jealous of him for having the one thing that you have denied yourself - love!"

Holmes burst out laughing but it was not a happy sound. "Oh, Watson, you are priceless!" he declared with utter derision. "Love? Why should I want love? Why should I even need it? Pah! Mawkish sympathy and rabid sentimentality! I want none of it! That kind of unutterable indulgence would benefit me nothing and would be a positive hindrance to my particular line of work. I scorn it!" he proclaimed with finality.

Some people were blind as moles, I ruminated, shaking my head. Holmes simply would have to be made to see that to which he would never admit.

"Holmes, do you remember your exact words to Hilton Cubitt?"

"Not precisely."

"Come, come, my dear Holmes!" I chided. "Has that phenomenal memory deserted you? Shall I remind you of your own words? You asked him when the first cloud covered the sun of his great happiness."

He threw up his hands in an eloquent admission of defeat. "Oh, Watson, must you torture me so?  All right, I admit it. I was insufferably rude. Are you satisfied? What do you want of me?" he demanded.

"Only for you to admit that your words were not those of a man satisfied with his lot."

"But that's ridiculous! I am perfectly content with my lot," he argued.

"Except when a client has the bad grace to get himself killed," I reminded as gently as I could.

"Oh, Watson, leave me alone!" he demanded.

"No, my friend. Not until I have given you what you so desperately need," I murmured softly.

"And what is it that you seem to think I so desperately need'?" His voice dripped sarcasm, his dark grey eyes boring into mine.

Taking a deep breath, I rose and stood to face him. "I mean this." So saying, I grasped his upper arms through the shawl and pulled him to his feet as he gazed on me in some perplexity. However, before he could do or say anything further I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close and holding his long, wiry length against me.

"Watson, whatever do you think you are doing?" he demanded, his body rigid and unyielding.

"Hush! Put your arms around me."

"Watson, I am not a child! I demand to know what is the purpose of this bizarre behaviour!" he insisted, stiffening even more in resistance to my embrace.

"Hush," I murmured softly. "No more words. Feel my arms around you." At that moment he began to push me away in earnest, however, I was no lily-livered weakling.

"Watson, this has gone far enough! I do not need to be coddled and I will not tolerate this outlandish behaviour of yours!"

"No!" I held him tightly. "Don't push me away. My dear, dear friend, I will not hurt you. Never hurt you," I whispered soothingly. "I am here for you, you must know that. I am here, I care about you and I will not desert you. I am strong. Feel my strength and let me help you."

To say that at that point he ceased to resist would be a gross exaggeration, but he at least stood still as though considering my words. His arms were folded, clutching the shawl closely about him while I rubbed his back in long, soothing strokes. I decided that, though he was hardly what I would call co-operative, perhaps there was yet hope. His attitude seemed to be that of resignation; that of the poor common man at the mercy of the whims of those of the medical profession.

Perhaps he was resigned to letting me have my way; perhaps he was curious; perhaps because my behaviour was so unprecedented that I caught him off-guard; perhaps he just wanted to indulge me; or perhaps he was finally able to admit that he, too, needed warmth and affection in his life. Whatever his reasons, as I continued to rub his back I felt him gradually begin to relax and he gave a great, long, shuddering sigh. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and his hands tentatively came up to rest on my shoulders, then on the base of my neck, wrapping the shawl around me also as he did so.

"Oh, yes, my friend, hold on to me!" I whispered, overjoyed that he would allow me to comfort him.  "I am here for you. Always here for you! Just hold on to me and let go." I smiled to myself, savouring this long-desired intimacy. "See? See how easy it is to let go?" I whispered. "To just... let... go..."  There was something indefinably poignant in the feel of his arms about me that moved me to the depths of my being and, as I held him closer, he wrapped his arms even tighter about me, offering me his acceptance and his trust.

"We should not..." he began.

"Hush, my friend," I interjected, cutting him off before he could give a dozen different reasons as to why we should forthwith cease this affectionate behaviour.

Oh, Lord, but it was lovely to hold him like this! So very sweet, I thought. I continued to run my hands up and down the length of his back in comforting strokes designed to soothe and calm him. I wondered how many years it had been since someone had held him at all. Probably not since he was a child, I thought, realising that my own situation was not so very different. I had to admit that I, too, was benefiting from the feel of being in another's arms; from being in his arms.

Since my brother's untimely death I had no family now, I reflected. No one in the world. No one, I thought, except for the man in my arms; the friend who owned my heart - my dearest and most unlikely friend, Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, Watson," he whispered, burying his face against my neck, "why are you doing this? It will only enfeeble me and you know that I must be strong," he complained.

I smiled to myself. "I beg to differ, my dear Holmes! This will only make you stronger." I began to rock him a little. "As to why? Because I care deeply, my dear friend. Because you are my dearest friend and I simply can not bear to see you torture yourself any more."

"Oh, Watson, I don't deserve your friendship! Forgive me, dear friend."

"For what?" I asked, puzzled.

"The things I say. You know I don't mean them."

"Hush, my friend. All is forgiven. It is my pleasure to help you," I assured him.

He sighed against me. "Oh, this can not be right!" he complained.

"Why on earth?"

"Because it is not natural for me - and, besides, it feels good!" he asserted plaintively, his actions belying his words as he held me even closer.

Unable to help myself, I chuckled at his words, my merriment rather shaking us both. "It does feel right, does it not?"

"Yes, but it should not. I am strong! I do not need to be mollycoddled!" he complained.

"My dear Holmes, we both need someone to care. Someone to hold us when we hurt," I chided gently. I decided to lay all my cards on the table and damn the consequences. "We both need a friend to love - above all others," I whispered as he pulled back to look at me in open astonishment, "...as I love you, my dearest Holmes," I barely managed to murmur, lost in the luminous depths of his dark eyes.

Those same eyes grew enormous as he searched my countenance for any sign of artifice.

"Oh, no," he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No, you can not mean that, Watson. You must not! Say it's not true!" he demanded. "Say you don't love me, Watson!" He never the less made no further attempt to pull away from me.

"But that would be a lie," I said reasonably, continuing to sooth him with my hands on his back.  "You forget that my tastes are as bohemian as your own, that is why we get along so well together." Daringly, I ran my fingers down a lean, smooth cheek. "Even if you can never say it, I know that you care for me. I... I know that you also need me, my friend." I smiled and shook my head somewhat ruefully, feeling as though I had stepped off a precipice. "The only difference between us is that I can admit my feelings a little more openly, though..." I swallowed hard, "...it is... difficult."

Difficult indeed! My nerves, always shaky from the Afghan war, were completely on edge and my heart was pounding without mercy, causing my whole body to shake. A wonder he did not feel it! It occurred to me that if Holmes were to suddenly let go of me I was in imminent danger of falling over.

"For you it is merely difficult, for me it is entirely impossible," Holmes declared, though none the less he did not attempt to move.

"Why impossible?"

"Because I am not that kind of a person. I am not like other people. My judgement must always be unimpeachable, therefore I must remain free of emotional entanglements, you know that."

"While it is true that you are most unique, it does not mean that you must not love" I reproved as gently as possible. "I know of your mistrust of the female sex and I also know of your scant regard for the law," I dared to run my finger along his jaw, "but you must know that I would never hurt you, my friend. I care for you far too much to ever consider hurting you or betraying your trust." I stroked his cheeks gently with both hands, gazing into his eyes. "I love you far too much, Sherlock Holmes," I admitted, the final words coming out of me in something of a rush as I bared my soul to my dearest friend and handed him my heart on a silver salver. I only prayed that he would not carelessly reject it.

Holmes's reaction to my words was more than I could ever have hoped for as his eyes grew enormous and a fine, graceful hand came up to stroke my cheek as light as the touch of a butterfly. Our faces were mere inches apart, our naked gazes meeting.

"Oh, my dear, dear Watson, this must be a mistake! Of all things you must not love me," he murmured. "Oh, but this simply can never be!" he whispered.

"Never?" I shook my head. "Never is a very long time, dear friend."

At that moment I leaned closer and - dear God I did it! - I touched my lips to his own warm ones for the first time, a light undemanding touch which none the less made my heart sing in delight.

As I gazed into his enormous eyes, I beheld his shock and complete disbelief, feeling an accompanying tremor run the length of his long body.

"Watson, no! Oh, no, this is not right!" he complained, still making no effort to pull back.

"Do you care about the law?" I demanded.

"The law be damned!" he proclaimed with some scorn.

"Quite right!" I assented and very lightly touched my lips to his once more.

"Watson! Oh, no, you must not..."

Silencing his protests by placing a finger over his lips, I murmured, "Hush now and give me a kiss," and pressing my lips to his again.

"No!" he moaned softly, never the less allowing my kiss while still making no effort to remove himself from my fond embrace.

Unable to prevent it, my tongue ran away with me. "My dear!" I sighed, my lips returning to touch his own soft ones again, then again in the most gentle of kisses.

To my everlasting delight on my fourth kiss he responded, pliant pink lips finally yielding to mine.  My heart beat a tattoo in my breast as, for the first time, he tentatively returned a kiss, soft lips pursing a little, his seeming inexperience totally endearing.

"Oh, my dear, dear Holmes!" I murmured, pulling him even closer until our bodies touched everywhere, his long, slender length held tight against my own inexpressibly pleasing to me.

Such delicate kisses he gave me! Dear God, but he was beautiful, I thought; his eyes bright with curiosity; lips so tender and responsive they could melt a heart of stone; wiry arms forceful with a masculine strength that was fierce, yet gentle and compassionate.

My own heart felt so full it would burst. I had taken the chance of a lifetime and stepped off the precipice - only to land in my dear friend's arms, his sweet lips clinging to mine in most poignant manner.

"John..." he sighed. He had never called me by my given name before and his velvet voice uttering it in so tender a fashion was music to my ears. "Dear John!"

He held me tightly now, the shawl wrapped around us so that we were enclosed in a gentle cocoon of warmth and affection as our lips continued to meet with utmost tenderness.

The feel of his arms around me holding the shawl, his soft lips on mine, warm body pressed against my own, was so unbearably sweet that I seriously thought I might pass out from too much pleasure. I pulled back for a moment to look at him and knew that I would never forget the look on his face; open, alive, trusting; the tears in his eyes testament to his surging emotions.

His smile was unfeigned, his pleasure obvious as I covered his cheeks in kisses. But then he touched his lips to mine once more, offering me a kiss, cherishing my lips with such bliss that I whimpered at the exquisiteness of it. He was my life and my love and he was here in my arms, allowing me to care for him - to love him! - as I had so desperately wanted for so very long - and, dear God, but I was thrilled! Blood pounded in my veins and my groin was becoming deliciously swollen.

Between kisses I murmured, "Will you come to my room?" His warm lips were on my neck and ear.

"I should not. We should not."

"I have never known Sherlock Holmes to walk away from an adventure," I whispered, my lips on the warm flesh of his neck.

"Adventure?" he murmured, lips on my cheek.

At that moment it occurred to me just how badly distracted my dear friend truly was.

"Why pleasure, my dear Holmes! The intimate pleasure of another's touch is the most exquisite of sensations, a thousand times better than your cocaine, and I can guarantee that there will be no harmful side-effects either. What say you? Are you game?"

He could never resist a challenge, however, he still appeared a little uncertain. "And if I do not care for it?"

"Then we shall stop, and it need never be mentioned again between us. We shall go on as before.  We shall be friends and companions," I assured him.

He took a deep breath. "Very well then." A tiny smile momentarily turned up the corners of his lips.  "Very well then, I agree. It shall be as you wish, my Watson."

Touching his cheek in gratitude and sheer exhilaration, I smiled at him before he pushed me in the direction of the door. We tiptoed quietly up to my room and I locked the door behind us before once more taking him in my arms. This time my dear friend did not hesitate and, to my great joy, returned my kisses.  Eventually, I pushed my tongue into the warm wetness of his mouth and his groan of helpless pleasure was echoed in my own ardour as I explored most thoroughly and in an altogether wanton fashion every recess of his delightful mouth whilst his hands stroked my arms and back. The feel of his groin, now swollen for the first time and pressing deliciously against my own ready hardness was pure heaven as each of us now incited the other's arousal and equally revelled in the stimulation.

My mind was reeling in delirium, my senses totally lost to the feel of this beautiful man in my arms; his taste, his touch and the dear shawl which he was once more using to hold me prisoner with. Never was a person a more willing captive! I thought, kissing his neck and throat as he arched his head, begging for more.

Lord knows I could hardly think coherently myself now but my mind vaguely sought the best way to get him undressed without him feeling self-conscious. It was not as if we had not seen each other naked before, I ruminated, especially after having shared a bathroom for six years, and then, of course, there were the Turkish baths too. I rapidly came to the conclusion that the best way to proceed might be to simply get Holmes to undress me.

Pulling back a little, I gazed into his smoky eyes, now alive with pleasure. "My dear," I gasped, "would you do something for me?" For a moment he gazed at me before kissing me again. His ardour was most gratifying but again I pulled back. "My dear, would you care to undress me?"

Momentarily taken aback, his eyes wandered from my head to my feet and back again in a most calculating manner. "I have nothing to hide from you, my dear, and, after all, we are both men, are we not?"

"Quite so. If we are to do this properly, then we should not be shy with one another. Do you agree?"

"Wholeheartedly, my dear Holmes!"

"If I undress you, henceforth you must undress me. Are we agreed?"

It was apparent that his logical mind was at work, and I never thought that I would be thanking heaven for his logic in the bed chamber of all places.

"Agreed."

"Excellent!"

He proceeded to undress me quite efficiently and when everything was removed and I stood quite naked before him he stepped back to look me up and down with his keen grey eyes, a fascinated expression on his face almost as though he were seeing me for the first time. I, myself, was very much conscious of my swollen manhood, which was jutting out almost at right angles to my body and I could feel its heavy throbbing.

Smiling, his eyes lingered on my groin. "Oh, my dear boy, you are most handsome, and so generously gifted!" he observed with unfeigned admiration. "Oh, yes, a treat to be sure!"

Blushing a little, I thanked him for his compliment. However, before he could do more than look I stepped back out of his reach and with a lascivious smile murmured, "My turn now!"

"Quite so."

Adopting my most professional mien, I took the shawl and spread it out on the bed before undressing him swiftly but surely, not withstanding that my hands trembled a little with the excitement coursing through me.

His statuesque grace completely took my breath away. Lithe and supple, his body resembled that of some great hunting cat, I thought. The afternoon sun highlighted the planes and angles of his slender body in stark contrast, turning him into a work of art chiselled in palest marble for me to admire. The smooth perfection of his chest, with no body hair whatsoever, was capped with two tiny pink nipples that I longed to touch and take into my mouth. His slim hips made the long length of his legs look as though they started somewhere around his waist. His legs also appeared to be devoid of hair and ended in a pair of surprisingly small and neat feet. His groin... Oh, Lord, it was swollen! Heavy and pointing toward me, my eyes feasted on the long, smooth, pink-brown surface of it. Delightfully engorged, it was surrounded by a light sprinkling of dark hair and was a most impressive sight. Beneath it were the two lovely little balls, and I found myself longing to fondle and gently squeeze them. However, I deemed it wise to reassure him of my sincere admiration - and immediately - lest he become self-conscious in his nakedness.

"Oh, my dear Holmes, truly you are most liberally endowed!" I murmured in all sincerity. "A feast for my eyes and totally desirable!"

His eyes glowed at my praise, his whole expression lit from within. "You find me... desirable?" he asked, his voice endearingly hesitant.

"Oh, more than! Truly, you are beautiful. Slender, masculine and graceful. May I touch you?"

Slowly, he nodded.

This was a new experience for me, but Lord how I had wanted it - with him! For so long I had yearned to take this sleek and slender creature into my arms, soothe him, pet him and make long, slow and beautiful love with him. Now, here, before my very eyes, was the stuff dreams were made of; smiling at me, wanting me, holding out his arms to me and begging me to come to him; and here I was before him, wrapping my arms around the splendid smoothness of his body.

Now we gasped simultaneously at the delicious shock of naked flesh meeting naked flesh as we melted into each other; hands touching heated and glowing surfaces, stroking, caressing all that could be reached; mouths meeting now, but not in innocence as before for now we hungered on each other, our hearts so alive with joy that they felt as though they might explode.

Though drunk on rapture I managed to steer him toward my bed. As we practically fell onto it, my mouth unerringly sought his tiny nipples to feed on; kissing them, licking them, devouring them ravenously and leaving them as hard peaks to seek other delights on this long and delectable body laid out before me like a magnificent banquet for me to gorge myself on.

Oh, but the taste of his flesh was sweet to my tongue as I feasted greedily on him, working my amorous way down his ribcage and stomach while my hands stroked the smooth length of his long legs, feeling the hardness of muscle and bone before finally moving up to the inner thighs where his flesh was softer and even smoother.

Like satin, I thought, stroking there, as he parted his legs more to give me greater access to the delights awaiting me just a little higher up.

His testicles were small and firm as I took them gently in my hand, caressing them with tender touches of my fingers, feeling the twin swellings within. In this manner I cherished him, letting him know how much he was wanted for, more than just a meeting of bodies, this was most of all a giving of trust; a declaration of love and affection that said more than mere words ever could.

Holmes gasped as I first touched by lips to the tip his manhood, then licked at him experimentally, tasting his heated musk, and he moaned like a soul lost, gasping my name, as I gently pushed back the foreskin a little and took this most vulnerable part of him into my mouth, my tongue lingering at the tip to sample more of his silky salt taste, my mouth filled by his generous girth.

My spirit soared that I could do this for him; that I could worship him with my mouth and bring him such pleasure in the process that he would forget his afflictions, at least for the time being, and know only the indescribable joy that true passion could bring. To be able to perform this loving service for him gave me a feeling of satisfaction that was remarkable.

As I continued to suck him he thrust gently with his hips, while his fingers made random patterns through my hair and fleetingly touched my cheeks.

Of a sudden, he tried to pull away from me, pushing against me, but this was no time for misplaced chivalry. I held tight to my prize, wanting only to taste his desire and feel the power of his release.  From his lips came soft moans of delicious agony followed by sweet cries of ecstasy as my tongue was greeted by a burst of tart saltiness followed by a liberal libation that gushed freely into my mouth in uneven spurts and which I savoured every precious drop of, taking this elixir of life into me, loving and accepting all that he was. I knew then that I would carry the memory of this blissful afternoon to my grave.

Afterwards I lay there panting a little, my head on Holmes's heaving belly, wondering what he would now make of my reckless actions. He had come to glory in my mouth and I had relished his body's sweet abundance; drinking him, taking all that he had to give and demanding more and still more until he now lay with eyes closed, totally spent, his dear member exhausted, his body limp as a rag doll. However, I did not have long to wait.

The look in his eyes as he opened them to gaze down at me bore only complete and utter satisfaction. Smiling at me, he held out his arms and I gratefully enfolded him.

"Oh, my dear, dear Watson!" he whispered breathlessly. "Oh, but I was convinced that I would surely die of pleasure!" He shook his head. "Oh, but you were right, my friend, cocaine can not hold a candle to such bliss. No one but you could bring me such pleasure, dear friend, no one!" He stroked my face, gazing deeply into my eyes. "You should not have done this, you know. I fear very much that I might want it again in the future," he murmured, smiling gently at me, his great eyes soft with affection.

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

"I would not wish to... abuse your trust, my dear."

His reluctance to use me for selfish gratification only endeared him to me all the more.

"It was my pleasure - and my delight," I whispered in all sincerity. "I loved it, my dear Holmes, and if you wish a further demonstration of my ardour I would be only too happy to provide it."

"Dearest friend," he whispered, leaning closer to kiss me, his tongue searching my mouth and tasting abundantly of his own essence as I groaned deep in my throat for my own manhood was still achingly full.  I took his hand and brought it down to touch me, feeling his sensitive fingers immediately curl around me.

"Oh, forgive me, my dear!" he murmured. "I have neglected you shamefully. Oh, let me look at you!"

So saying, he manoeuvred us so that I was lying on my back and began to touch and kiss my neck, my shoulders, my arms, his inexperience only making his touch all the sweeter. When he reached my chest I gasped at the feel of his gentle fingers and soft lips and I cradled his dear head in my hands, stroking his hair and telling him how very good it felt to feel his mouth there, sucking my nipples to aching hardness.

When eventually he took my yearning member in his mouth and paid tender homage to me it was all that I could do not to finish there and then, so blissful was the warm wetness and powerful sucking that enveloped me, but, manfully, I held out for a short time, taking deep breaths to stave off the imminent rush to glory.

So deliriously drunk was I on the feel of his gentle hands that cupped and fondled my balls so delicately whilst his wonderful mouth enveloped me that my tongue ran away with me and I called him my sweet and my darling and told him that he was the dearest, most beautiful thing in my life, that I truly loved him and always would.

For a moment my dear Holmes stopped his tender ministrations to gaze up at me, smiling.

"Oh, my dearest Watson, you are so easy to love," he murmured, velvet voice like music to my ears, before promptly taking me deeply into his warm mouth once more.

"Oh, yes, love me!" I cried in delight. "Oh, your mouth is sweet glory! Oh, my dearest, my darling Holmes!"

Somehow at that point I remembered that I, too, was a gentleman and should give him the opportunity to pull back in time. However, as I endeavoured to explain that I was in imminent danger of a precipitous explosion, he silenced me with a finger on my lips.

"No. What you did for me was glorious, my dear. Could I possibly do less? And, besides, I desire very much to taste all of you."

So saying, he resumed his sweet ministrations with renewed ardour, not letting up for a moment, and I had no choice but to surrender to his indomitable will.

The absolute splendour of the moment caught me, carrying me away on wings of desire as I gave myself over to rapturous delight, pouring myself down his throat as he drank copiously, swallowing all that I could give and demanding more and still more until I felt faint, almost sure that I would pass out.

Such erotic glory I was sure I had never known in my prior trysts with women and I felt as though I must have suffered a seizure so utterly lax were my limbs. It was all that I could do to force open my eyes, so euphoric did I feel.

His chin was resting on my belly, beautiful eyes, now soft with affection, gazed up at me, watching me curiously while a small smile played about his lips.

"I have pleased you!" He sounded supremely self-satisfied.

Returning his smile, I whispered, "Come up here and let me show you how much!" He eagerly came into my arms.

As we shifted I managed to pull the shawl out from under us and drape it over us both so that we were once more enclosed in it. Holmes wrapped himself around me and as I kissed him I came to realise that there was something delectably sensual in tasting myself in his mouth, my tongue exploring as he sucked eagerly on it.

"Oh, my dear, dear Holmes!" I murmured, caressing the hollows of his thin cheeks and kissing them, communicating with touch what I had no words for.

The golds and pinks of the setting sun shone on us as we lay quietly on my bed covered with the shawl. Outside my window there were the normal sounds of late afternoon street life, but here, inside my room, all was peaceful and warm with affection. Holmes rested his head on my shoulder and I caressed his hip and thigh, which was draped over me, as he sighed with utmost pleasure.

After a while he pulled back a little to gaze at me, a small smile playing about his lips.

"My dearest Watson," he murmured, "you know we shall have to be careful."

My heart sang at his words, implying as they did that he expected this affectionate behaviour to continue.

"Au contraire, my dear Holmes. We shall simply carry on as we have done for most of the last six years. People know that we lodge together, that I am your biographer, that I accompany you on cases. We shall do all the things that we normally do and nothing need change."

He seemed almost disappointed. "Nothing?" he queried.

Realising that he was teasing me, I played along. "Why nothing at all!" I blithely proclaimed.

"Oh," was all he said, looking a trifle disappointed, whilst I manfully endeavoured to keep a straight face.

Deciding that I had teased him enough, I pulled him closer. "Except that I would, of course, desire to share my bed with you."

"Oh, my dear!" The pleased look on his face caused me to lean over and kiss him with great fondness. The feel of his lips meeting mine in so welcoming a manner caused me to move my hand, which had been stroking his thigh, a little higher to touch his lovely manhood.

I heard the catch in his breath.

"Watson! Tch, tch, tch! Is that any way for a respectable doctor to act!" he chided me, his look so utterly lascivious that I had to laugh.

"Only when he's besotted to the point of distraction with a certain darkly handsome unofficial consulting detective!" I retorted.

Holmes grinned and sighed as I continued to fondle him, feeling him gradually engorging in my hand.

It was exciting to see the change in him, to see the rate of his breathing increase markedly, the pleasure reflected on his animated face as his lips sought mine with affectionate kisses that gave way to a spirited desire to once again share that most intimate form of pleasure.

This time it was together, our mouths consuming each other to exhaustion, devouring each other with a passion that robbed us of breath and left us spent and drifting in the arms of Morpheus. Holmes fell asleep in my embrace, his face buried against my neck as I cradled him to my breast, my heart full to bursting.

As I lay there in the gathering twilight and the room gradually darkened I prayed that this would not be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion; that Holmes would not turn away from me in the cold light of day and once more declare that love had no place in his life. However, as I gazed on him now, lying so trustingly in my arms, I remembered the pleasure on his face when I had expressed my wish to share my bed with him.

If I had any say in the matter, I vowed, this would be my future! The future for both of us.

Possibly even more than I needed him, I realised that he needed me. For Holmes to need me was delight enough; for him to desire me as I desired him was bliss beyond belief; the thought that he might also love me was so incredibly sweet that it literally made my heart ache. But, I thought, if this amazing and miraculous afternoon was all that I would ever have of his love, then I would savour every precious moment of his dear body resting so peacefully in my arms, the soft sigh of his warm breath against my neck. In spite of his leanness he was considerably heavier than a woman to hold, but I cared not. For these treasured moments he was mine, and no one could take him from me.

After allowing him to sleep for an hour or so, I deemed it prudent that we rise for the evening meal.

Rousing him gently, stroking him lightly, I whispered that it was time for us to get up and dress. I felt him stir a little.

"Oh, but I am much too comfortable!" he complained. "My dear, you make a lovely pillow."

Elated by his compliment, I hugged him and lifted his face to bestow a loving kiss on his smiling lips, his fervent response reassuring me as nothing else could that my sentiments were reciprocated.

We finally rose to dress, but as we were dressing he suddenly stopped and stared at me, then clapped his hand to his forehead. "Watson, I am a prize fool!"

"What is it?" I inquired in alarm.

"I have been so distracted by this case that I almost forgot - I have tickets for a concert tonight at Covent Garden! The Royal Philharmonic is playing an all Beethoven programme.

"Wonderful!" I declared. "Dinner's on me!"

* * *

After the concert we walked home, humming the final movement of the Emperor Concerto. We were fortunate in that when it began to rain we had already reached Baker Street so made it back to 221B before getting too damp.

In the sitting room I saw the sudden sadness cross his face as he stopped to look at the figures of the dancing men displayed on the blackboards. I hastened to pour us each a brandy and took his over to him.

"Let us drink a toast!" I declared. He gazed at me expectantly. "To Mr. Hilton Cubitt, late of Ridling Thorpe Manor in Derbyshire, for bringing you a case worthy of your great powers of deduction."

"And for bringing me the comfort of my dear friend's arms - and the sweet delights of his body!" he murmured, gazing into my eyes in most intimate manner.

My pleasure at his words left me almost speechless. "To Hilton Cubitt!" I managed to proclaim in a somewhat husky voice as we touched glasses and drank to our late client.

Then, to my very great surprise, my dear one's lips fell on mine and we savoured the rich taste of brandy on our tongues. "My room?" I whispered hopefully.

He shook his head. "I shall practice for an hour or two."

How could I have forgotten? I chided myself. Without fail, Holmes practiced his violin for half the night after attending an evening concert. However, in this particular instance, I knew he was tired and therefore I reasoned that I should not have that long a wait for him. Also, I reasoned that he might just be tempted by the thought of further exploring those avenues of intimate pleasure that were so new to us both.

"Join me later?"

"Would I not be disturbing your sleep?"

A fine time for him to be concerned about disturbing my sleep! I reflected somewhat uncharitably.  He never worried about disturbing my sleep at all hours of the night when the game was afoot. However, I merely shook my head. "I shall wait for you."

With that, he went to fetch his violin from the corner and as I climbed the stairs to my room I shortly heard the opening chords of The Emperor Concerto drifting up from the sitting room.

As I entered my room I beheld the shawl on the bed where we had forgotten it after our amorous activities of this afternoon and I thought of how Holmes had held it around me so that I, too, was wrapped tight in it and how later we had made love for the first time on it and afterwards lain under it. As the memories of this golden afternoon spent in my room drifted through my mind I was warmed and my heart felt full. There would be more than this, I realised. It was not just to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, of that I was sure.

Determined to wait up for Holmes, after undressing I sat on a chair trying in vain to interest myself in a yellow-back novel. The music emanating from the sitting room, if indeed it could be called music, was becoming increasingly discordant and I found myself wincing at every wrong note. I knew that my dear Holmes was far too tired to practice and fervently hoped that he would abandon it soon. The lurid tale of fiction I was attempting to read was soon abandoned in favour of memories of this afternoon. Indeed, all through the concert my mind had insisted on re-enacting this afternoon's bliss and I had endured a somewhat uncomfortable evening as my body had insisted on reacting physically to the memories.

Finally, the music stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief. Some ten minutes later I heard his light tread on the stairs and there was a soft knock at my door.

Holmes entered bearing a candle which he placed on the bedside table before turning to gaze down at the shawl which was spread out on my bed. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it with great affection.

"You will recall that Mrs. Hudson gave me this shawl on the occasion of our third Christmas here in Baker Street."

"Yes, I remember. She made it herself."

"Indeed. There is many months of work in it but it never occurred to me until now that she must care for me a good deal to have gone to the trouble to make such a gift."

"Mrs. Hudson cares for you very much."

"She cares for us both very much, my friend."

Much to my surprise Holmes then proceeded to drape the shawl around my shoulders. As I watched him in some puzzlement he hugged me, running his hands over it fondly.

"It was given to me in great affection, however, now it is sacred to both of us," he remarked by way of explanation.

"Sacred?" I asked in bewilderment.

He gave one of his lightning-fast smiles. "Because you gave me the wondrous gift of your self, my dear friend - on it and under it - and in so doing gave me a surfeit of the grandest raptures that I have ever known, surpassing even a superb Beethoven concerto. My dear John, you are my passion and my comfort. This shawl is now therefore sacred to both of us and is now yours as well."

Shaking my head in amazement at the patent romanticism inherent in this gesture, I could not help but smile at his affectionate nature. It was so unlike Holmes and so out of character. But was it really? I wondered. Look at the coin given him by Irene Adler and how he wore it on his watch chain. If that was not a blatant act of sentimentality, then what was? And how much did I really know of this man whom I admired above all others? Apparently less than I thought.

"Ours, if anything," I agreed, thanking him and kissing him in gratitude, imprisoning him in the shawl as he had earlier done with me and hugging him fiercely.

"You know that I am not always kind," he whispered in my ear.

"Yes, and your words sometimes resemble poison barbs!" I smiled at him to take the sting out of my words.

"Touche!" He smiled back.

"And you frequently leave this place looking like utter bedlam!"

"True!"

"Not to mention the noxious stench of shag tobacco and malodorous chemicals!"

"Also true! But, after all, I am the world's first and only unofficial consulting detective," he sniffed.

"Is that supposed to be a mitigating factor for your frequently unacceptable behaviour?"

His face grew serious. "I am what I am, my dear Watson, and I am often selfish. I can not promise to change, however, for your sake I shall attempt to modify my behaviour to accommodate your wishes more."

I smiled at him. "Don't change too much - I might not recognise you."

He chuckled. "No chance of that, my dear fellow. No chance at all!"

He kissed me with great warmth and affection before indicating the bed and murmuring, "Shall we?"

We removed our dressing gowns and climbed in, and I replaced the shawl on the bed. We lay on our sides gazing fondly at each other in the light of the candles burning on my bedside table. Washed clean of the habitual lime-cream he used during the day, his hair was soft and falling into his eyes, making him look boyish and totally endearing. Unable to resist, I reached out to run my fingers through it.

My affectionate gesture made him smile and, in turn, he ran a playful finger over my moustache and upper lip, then my lower lip whence I captured it in my mouth and proceeded to suck it in a thoroughly avaricious fashion that would leave my dear Holmes in no doubt whatsoever as to what I would really prefer to have filling my mouth.

"I begin to see, my dear Watson, just what a lustful and lecherous creature you really are and I begin to feel that I shall not be safe from your blandishments this night or any other."

Removing his finger from my mouth, I slowly and deliberately licked it from base to tip. "You forgot the daytime!"

"Dear me!"

*** * ***