Chapter XIII

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A Conspiracy of Hearts

* Northumberland Avenue

Letter found and case solved.  As we left Whitehall Terrace the elation of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, knew no bounds as he executed an exuberant leap into the air while I looked on in delight.  Oh, but he was pleased with himself and his mood was jubilant as he declared that we should celebrate with dinner and a concert.  Unfortunately, as the evening wore on I found myself feeling less and less like celebrating and instead sank into a state of melancholy during the second half of the concert.  Since Holmes was concentrating solely on the music he remained oblivious to my morose disposition until after our return home.

He poured me a glass of brandy and handed it to me.

"A successful day and an excellent night!" he proclaimed, smiling delightedly at me.  Abruptly he noticed that my mood was anything but convivial and inquired the nature of my difficulty.

Early in our acquaintance I learned that it was less-than-useless to try to hide anything from him but, now, as I beheld him standing before me so lean and graceful with his fine features and all-seeing eyes, I wished to God that I did not feel the dejection that seemed at times to pervade my being.  The majority of the time I was content with our relationship as it currently stood: secretive, zealously concealed from public gaze; a private treasure to be cherished and nurtured and the only other people in the world with whom we could be ourselves were Holmes's elder brother, Mycroft, and his dear friend, Harold.  But I must confess that there were occasionally times, such as now, I reflected morosely, when I found the constant secrecy oppressive and it would weigh heavily on my mind.

Alas, my dearest Holmes knew me only too well.  Taking my downcast face in his sensitive fingers, he turned me to face him.

"What is it, my dear?  Tell me what it is that pains you so?"

"Perhaps seeing the Trelawney Hopes today.  Seeing how they were free to express their affection in front of us.  It... it just got me to thinking that... that we can never do that.  As long as we live we can never do that, Holmes.  We can never exchange a simple affectionate embrace, let alone a kiss on the cheek, in public.  We live in a world where men are supposed to cleave unto women, not other men.  We can never openly express affection for each other!  Never!"

"And that distresses you, my friend."  It was not a question.

My heart heavy, I nodded miserably and turned away from him. "Forgive me.  It is not your fault.  I... I will get over it.  Just ignore me and I will be fine in the morning."

Warm, sensitive hands squeezed my shoulders in support as Holmes stepped close behind me.

"John, what can I say?  We both knew that it would not always be easy."

"I know, Holmes, I know, and I'm sorry.  Truly, I'm sorry.  Oh, what is the matter with me?  I love you, and I know that you love me; that should be enough!"

As he embraced me I felt his warmth and his strength permeate through the layers of our clothing up the length of my back while the mound of his genitals, pressed intimately against my buttocks, comforted me.

"But sometimes it is not," he admitted sadly.  "No matter how much we love each other, there will be times when it is not enough."

Nodding miserably, I leaned back against him, covering his arms with my own as I stroked his beautiful hands.

"Would you like a lover like Lady Hilda?" he asked thoughtfully.

My reply was immediate.  "Never!  How can you even think such a thing?  Oh, I won't deny that she is a most beautiful woman, but you are the only one for me, you know that."

"And yet, now and then, you wish for a more conventional relationship," he mused, "or perhaps I should say a less clandestine one," he added.

"Yes.  I can not deny it, I do," I sighed disconsolately.  "Sometimes... just sometimes I would like to be able to be candid.  To be honest.  To be able to take your hand and proudly introduce you as my lover.  Does that shock you?"

"No.  Oh, no, how could it when I feel the same?"  He sighed.  "Darling John," he whispered in my ear, "I knew it would be harder for you than it is for me.  I have always been decidedly unorthodox - some might say peculiar in my ways - and because of the very nature of my work I have always had to be secretive.  But you are different.  You are a social creature and it pains you to have to constantly mislead others into thinking that you have no one in your life; to have to pretend to play the part of the bachelor doctor with an eye for the ladies; to never be able to admit openly that you do indeed love - and are most dearly loved," he whispered.

"Yes!  Oh, Holmes!"  He held me tight against him, as though with his body he could shield me from the world outside our windows, a world that not only condemned our love but had now declared it to be a crime.  "Forgive me, dear friend, but sometimes... just sometimes... I want to shout it from the rooftops.  I want to tell the whole world that I love you and that I am so very, very proud to be your lover."

"I know, my dear John, I know."  He gave a long sigh but still held me close, the warmth of his body comforting me, enabling me to relax.  "I also know that it disturbs you that our relationship can never be solemnised."

"Holmes, we have discussed this before.  Yes, I admit it occasionally vexes me, but I can live with it."

When he spoke again his voice was very quiet.  "Do you mean that... that you would marry me if you could?"

Astonished that he would think to ask such a question, I turned in the circle of his arms to stare at him.  How could he think, even for a moment, that I would not marry him if we could?  His expression as I gazed into his eyes was open, sincere and very caring.

"Yes, of course I would marry you if I could - if we could.  Does that surprise you?"

He hugged me, squeezing me with his wiry arms and pressing his lips to my cheek and temple, rocking me gently.  "No, my sweet, no.  I am... honoured."  He pulled back to look at me, gazing deeply into my eyes.  "My beloved companion, I would marry you in an instant - in an instant, my dear John - you must know that!  If... if I could find a way to solemnise our relationship, would you do it?  Would you... marry me?"

I stroked his cheek.  "You know that I would, but a little matter of the Labouchere Amendment stands in our way."

His expression was pensive as he muttered, "Quite so, my dear.  Quite so."

He let go of me and paced the room for a short time before turning to me with a small, secretive smile.

"You know nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it, dear heart," he mused.

His devil-may-care attitude alarmed me.  "Holmes, it is dangerous!  Whatever you're considering, I fervently urge you to forget it this instant!  We could both be ruined!"

Returning to my side, we embraced once more.

"Shh," he murmured, stroking a finger along the line of my jaw.  "There are ways, dear friend, there are ways.  I will admit that the obstacles are legion and the solution may not be simple, nor, I will wager, conventional, but if you wish for us to exchange vows and solemnise our relationship, then we shall, and as soon as possible."

"But, Holmes..."

"Shh.  Leave it to me."

"Holmes," I said sternly, "I will not have you jeopardise your reputation because of me!  I can live with things as they are.  Just because I occasionally gripe does not mean that I want to change the status quo."

"Ah, but I have now decided that I do!"

"Holmes, no!  Please no!" I begged.

"Hush, my sweet, do not distress yourself so.  Leave it to me and I shall arrange things."

"Holmes, it is impossible!  After all, neither one of us would exactly be a blushing bride," I argued.

He merely chuckled.  "Quite true.  I believe that the actual wording of the ceremony would have to be changed somewhat.  That can be your department, my dear.  The major problems are the celebrant, the location and the witnesses."

I shook my head in despair.  "Witnesses?  Oh, Holmes..."

"No, Watson, I have made up my mind and we shall be married.  It will have to be a clandestine service, of course, and therefore could not be held in a church, but it shall be a fitting and proper ceremony and we will have a licence.  It is, however, a considerable challenge."

He smiled, obviously relishing the prospect of setting his intellect to solving this seemingly insurmountable problem.

"No doubt a three-pipe problem," I muttered.

He affected affront.  "Watson, I am disappointed by your attitude!  However, I shall not take offence.  In any case I believe it may be a four-pipe problem.  However, it is late so do you go to bed, my dear, and I shall join you later.  Do not concern yourself."

Realising that it was useless to try to talk him out of any action once he had made up his mind, I closed my eyes in resignation.  When I turned to look once more he was at the Persian slipper, filling his pipe.

As I ascended the stairs to my room I wondered what chain of events I had inadvertently initiated on that rainy night.

Some time later I was wakened by the feel of his sweet-smelling but chilled body climbing into bed beside me.  No doubt he had sat downstairs smoking until long after the fire had gone out and the room grown chill.

As I turned to drowsily take him in my arms and warm him he murmured, "No problem is insoluble, my dear."

As I stared at him in the dimness he seemed to have a small, secretive smile on his face.

"You have found a solution already?" I asked in amazement.

"Patience, my dear.  Patience," he chided gently.  "However, I believe that I have formulated the steps to be taken in their proper sequence."

"I see.  And would you care to enlighten me, Holmes?" I asked hopefully.

"Not yet, my darling.  Not just yet.  There is plenty of time." And not another word would he say that night.

*   *   *

The following morning Holmes went out immediately after breakfast and did not return until just after four o'clock in the afternoon.

"You know I never realised just how easy it is to get a marriage licence," he mused, "especially when one knows the right people."

"You already have the licence?" I asked, astonished.

"Indeed I do," he replied with an enigmatic smile.

He pulled it out of his pocket and I eagerly opened it and examined it.  There were our names on it in bold lettering.

"But how did you obtain it?  Is it a forgery?" I asked in amazement.

"Watson!  Tch, tch, tch!" he declared in a thoroughly offended tone.  "Did I not tell you that I would get a proper licence?  You hold it in your hands."

At that moment I noticed something else; it had been stamped and sealed at a registry office but the name of the particular registry office was blurred and illegible.

"So that no one will be able to trace its origin?" I inquired.

"Quite!" he murmured in that smug way he has when he is insufferably pleased with himself.

"But how?" I demanded, burning with curiosity.  "How did you get it?"

"I recalled a client for whom I had solved a trifling matter some years ago and who was only too happy to give me a licence, especially since I know all the skeletons in his family cupboard."

"What case was this?" I asked, intrigued as always by any mention of his former cases.

"Oh, it was before your time.  A minor affair.  His wife's cousin had been murdered and the police could find no motive.  I was able to prove that his wife was the murderess.  Motive?  Jealousy!  You see he had grown very close to his wife's young and handsome cousin and had in fact been seduced by him and was going to divorce his wife and emigrate to American with her cousin.  I confess that I had much sympathy for him and since he came from a good family and, of course, the scandal would ruin the family name if it ever came out, I agreed to say nothing to the police about my investigation and let them solve it for themselves, which, of course, they never did.  He eventually divorced his wife and now lives happily with a gentleman friend in bachelor lodgings close to Piccadilly Circus."

"And his wife?" I asked.

"Oh, her own guilty conscience proved her undoing and a year after the murder took place she was declared insane.  To my knowledge she is still in an asylum."

"Did the cousin deserve to be murdered?"

"Hardly.  By all accounts he was a most attractive and kind-hearted young man and was deeply enamoured of my client who, in turn, cared for him dearly, hence his wife's jealousy.  Alas, the case of the Enamoured Cousin - as I have thought of it since - is not one that will ever reach the eyes of your good readers."

"Yes, I can certainly see why."  A sudden thought struck me.  "Then there is no way that this licence could be traced back to your client?"

He gave a tiny, sly smile.  "None at all."

"Holmes, even if by some clever trick of yours we can get married, we will still have to conceal our real relationship from the world, so what is the point?" I protested.

He rested his hands on my shoulders.  "The point, my dear John, is that we love each other, and two people who love each other as we do ought to be able to be married freely and openly; but since the law says that not only can we not live in openly wedded bliss but that love such as ours is a crime, we shall still be married anyway, the law not withstanding - perhaps not quite as freely and openly as we would like - but we will be married and you will be my lawfully wedded..."  He paused.  "Well, we certainly can not both be husbands!" he decided.

"Partners?" I suggested.  "Companions?"

"Intimates?  Confidents?" he mused.

"Comrades?  Friends?  Lovers?"

We laughed at the absurdity of it and, since there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson on the stairs, I wrapped my arms around my dear Holmes, kissed him and told him how clever he had been.  One always had to be careful to pander to his vanity otherwise he would simply sulk and ignore me.  I often thought that in many ways Holmes was like a mischievous schoolboy who was too clever by half - and, besides, flattery could, and frequently did, get me everywhere!

"Mm, yes!" he murmured, melting into my arms and returning my kiss with considerable fervour.

As I held him I let my hands wander up and down the length of his back.  Sometimes I thought that even after eight years as lovers I could still get drunk just on the feel of holding him in my arms; the long, supple length of him close against me; his warmth; the delightful scent of his eau de Cologne combined with his own natural smell; all of these things made my dear Holmes a singularly heady delight.

"Later, my sweet," I whispered, pulling back and lightly kissing his cheeks before the fires could consume us.  "It is too close to dinner."

He gave a great sigh.  "Later indeed!" he murmured, looking at me from under his long lashes in a way that reminded me irresistibly of a role he occasionally played to great effect, namely that of Lady Sarah Hawthorne.

"Do you suppose that, if I were to ask the gracious and beautiful Lady Sarah to marry me, she might say yes?"

"Oh, I have no doubt of it, my dear!  No doubt at all, and I am equally sure that she would be honoured to receive such a proposal, even from one who is without title, but..."

"But?" I prompted.

"Corsets are an abomination!" he declared, "and I want to be able to enjoy our wedding day without having to worry about fainting from lack of air."

"Quite so," I agreed.  "Still though it is a pity.  Sarah would look lovely in a white silk wedding gown with pearls and lace in her hair and a pearl necklace around her lovely throat and carrying a pretty little bouquet."

"Hah!  She would indeed!"  Abruptly his mood changed and he gazed at me most seriously.  "Would you really prefer to marry Sarah, my dear?"
 

"I won't deny that she's beautiful, but it is you that I love.  Oh, I know that she is a part of you, a role you sometimes play to perfection, but she is a part only.  You are the one that I adore and the one that I wish to marry - as yourself."

He hugged me without mercy, his male male strength matched equally against my own.

Unfortunately, after dinner Holmes announced that he was once more going out and would be back in about two hours, insisting once again that he had to go alone.  In the event he was gone almost three hours and returned grim-faced and brooding, refusing to say what or who had upset him so.  I wondered if perhaps he had been to see his brother at the Diogenes Club and they had quarrelled.  If that was the case, then they had most likely quarrelled over our wedding - and this did not bode well for the future.

At two o'clock in the morning he had still not come to bed so I got up, put on my dressing gown and went downstairs to the sitting room, taking the grey shawl with me.

The fire was reduced to a few glowing cinders and Holmes was sitting there beside it, his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees, lost in thought.  I walked up behind his chair and placed the shawl around his shoulders, resting my hands there.

After a moment he reached up to cover my left hand.

"My dear doctor," he sighed.  "Do not concern yourself.  I shall come to bed later."

Walking around his chair, I stood before him.  "I was looking forward to... ‘later'," I murmured, reminding him of our earlier conversation, resting my hands on his drawn-up knees and stroking them lightly, suggestively, as he watched with dawning interest.

Deliberately leaning further forward, I let my hands stroke down the sides of his thighs while he gazed up at me and I observed the tiniest smile touch the corners of his mouth.  My dear Holmes was a far more sensual being than I once would have ever believed and I dare say my good readers would be duly shocked if they ever found out just how truly carnal and delightfully lascivious he can be.

"In fact," I continued, gazing deeply into his beautiful grey eyes, "I had planned exactly how I was going to woo you ‘later'; with gentle touches I would remove your garments," I smiled at him, "with words I would praise your beauty," I flicked my tongue over my lips, "with soft kisses and delicate caresses I would worship every inch of your lovely naked body until..."

Abruptly a great, low growl came from deep in his throat and as he lowered his legs he grasped me hard, pulling me down to the floor so that I was kneeling before him and he leaned forward and covered my mouth with his, wrapping the shawl around us both.  The feel of his eager tongue thrusting into my mouth was truly the sweet taste of victory!

Shortly thereafter we turned out the lamps and I led him to my room, undressed him and, true to my word, made long, slow love to him. As I had promised, I adored him with words, touches and kisses whilst he lay helpless with pleasure, lost to all but the rapture I was creating in my loving homage to his body, his soul, all that he was.

Oh, but he was so beautiful!  His sighs, his murmurs that enticed me to greater and greater feats of passion; his sharp cries of delight that pierced my heart with sweetness as I feasted on him at leisure; the endearments that fell from his lips like gentle rain as he praised me only goaded me to further loving deeds and I endeavoured to suppress my own excitement in order to give him the ultimate pleasure.

Eventually I placed a pillow under him, parted his legs and worshipped his lovely manhood with my mouth while he tossed in rapture and called out my name.  I could never get enough of the musk taste of him and I lingered there, licking at the already-wet silken tip and sucking softly to draw more from him.  When I let my mouth drift lower to suckle his sweet testicles he urged me on in pleading whispers, and when I pressed my tongue to the tiny entrance to his body, begging admittance, he groaned like a soul in blissful torment before relaxing and permitting me to love him in this most secret, intimate way.  In doing so he granted me his complete trust and I stroked him delicately, my senses drowning in the heady scent of his arousal.  His whispered, almost-incoherent entreaties were the most ardent expressions of bliss that ever fell from his sweet lips.

With my own body crying out in desperate need I took up the oil and anointed my heavy member before stroking his full and lovely manhood with my oiled hand as I sank into him deeply and thoroughly, filling him joyously as he writhed and groaned and imprisoned me with his long legs, both of us now craving release from the loving agony that I had greedily and joyfully created.

He was mine - always mine - and I loved him heartily, vigorously, and as I plunged in and out of him I watched covetously as his hands stroked his own dear member until he groaned, "Oh, now, my sweet, now! Together!  Oh, please, John, now!  Love me now!  Oh, give me your heart, my love!  Give me your heart!"

His hands grasped his member hard and I saw it jerk; saw his precious seed shower high onto his belly as his anal muscles contracted, gripping me powerfully, begging for all that I had to give, as I lunged one final time and, with every nerve in my body singing, gave him my heart in utter rapturous delight, spilling endlessly into his centre; touching him with respect for all that he was; with the adoration of my body for the beauty and welcome of his own; with meekness that he had chosen myself to entrust his heart to; and with gratitude for his generous love and the worship in his eyes.

As I collapsed on top of him I bent to lick him clean, needing to taste him as a flower needs rain.

"I have not the words, my darling," he gasped, "to tell you how very much I love you.  Words are so inefficient!  Come up here!"

Pulling me up into his arms, he kissed me with overflowing affection, his tongue searching my mouth and tasting thoroughly of himself as he murmured his pleasure.

When we fell asleep it was with his face buried in my hot neck, his body draped over mine in a loving shroud and the shawl and bedclothes covering us both with warmth and comfort.

At precisely ten o'clock the following morning we heard the sound of the doorbell, followed shortly by heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"That will be brother Mycroft," Holmes announced.  He did not sound enthusiastic at the prospect of a visit from his venerable elder brother whom we had come to know well in the last four years on our weekend visits to the house he shared with his dear friend, Harold, in Kent.

Sure enough the portly figure of Mycroft Holmes loomed in the doorway of our humble sitting room.  After Mrs. Hudson had taken his hat and coat he proceeded to seat himself by the fire.  As he did so I went to excuse myself as I thought that the two brothers might wish to speak privately, only to be prevented by Holmes.

"John, please stay.  There is nothing my brother has to say which can not be said in front of you."

Sure enough, Mycroft Holmes did not mince words.

"Sherlock, John, you know what I have come about," he announced without preamble.

"Oh, that is quite obvious, brother mine, but do not let me interrupt you," Holmes replied in his most caustic manner.

"Sherlock, these absurd nuptials of yours have gone far enough! You simply can not proceed any further with this business.  It is madness!  Why the very idea of two men marrying... it's... it's simply unheard of and I will not stand for it!  I can not understand what has come over you both but if you insist on marrying John then I wash my hands of this whole sordid affair."

Holmes glared daggers at him.  "And what of your own situation, brother mine?  What of your own affaire de coeur?  Don't tell me that you and Harold wouldn't marry if you could!  At the very least you would live together openly, would you not?  Is that ‘sordid'?"

He calmed somewhat before continuing.  "Mycroft, is it truly my welfare that concerns you, or is it your own skin?  Are you and Harold simply afraid of a scandal?  Is that it?  Because, if so, then neither of you need be concerned in the least.  The arrangements are being put into place and all will be most discrete."  He sighed.  "I had hoped for your blessing, brother, but if you can not give us that, then at least do not begrudge us this small indulgence."

Mycroft appeared totally exasperated.  "Sherlock, I protest this spur-of-the-moment decision!"

"Spur-of-the-moment?  John and I have been lovers for eight years now!  I hardly call that ‘spur-of-the-moment'!"

Although he knew that we had been lovers for quite some time Mycroft Holmes was clearly startled at the knowledge that we had been lovers for quite that long.

"And how does Harold feel about this?" Holmes inquired.

Mycroft shook his great head.  "Harold is very naturally concerned about this whole farcical affair.  He feels that it would be undignified for two men to take part in such a ritual as it may involve considerable impropriety and may leave you both open to ridicule and disgrace should it ever become generally known."

"Hah!  And who is going to tell, dear brother?  You?  Harold?"

Holmes abruptly turned to me and held out his hand.  I rose, walked toward him and took it but, to my surprise, he held my hand in both of his and brought it to his lips to kiss while gazing into my eyes.

"John Watson is my support and my succour; my dearest friend and singularly delightful companion.  He is devoted to my welfare and has even cured me of my addictions - and you know all about them, Mycroft. John is all that I need.  He has brought joy to my formerly-austere existence.  He completes me as no other ever could and shares both my work and my home.  Oh, our relationship is hardly orthodox, I will grant you that, but together we have found a remarkable happiness; something that I once thought never to find."  He turned to look at his brother.  "And you know all about that, Mycroft.  So if you can not give us your blessing, then at least do not condemn us."

"And if I attempt to stop you?"

"You will not succeed."  Holmes's voice was implacable.

Mycroft gave a grunt of resignation, or perhaps it might have been disgust, rose and came to stand before us.

His blue eyes bored into mine.

"John, do you love Sherlock?"

With Holmes standing proudly by my side I faced him and boldly declared, "Yes, I do, Mycroft.  You know that I do.  I love your brother very much.  I love Sherlock with my whole heart and soul."

Holmes gave my wrist a reassuring squeeze.

"You profess to love my brother, and yet you wish him to go through with this preposterous sham of a wedding!  I ask you why?"

"Mycroft, it was not John's idea, it was mine!" Holmes interrupted before I could answer.

"Surely not, Sherlock!  I can not believe that a man of your intelligence would wish to commit such a foolish - not to mention unlawful - act!  It is most unlike you!"

Holmes smiled a secretive smile at me and I was hard-pressed to keep a straight face.  How little Mycroft knew of his younger brother!  Holmes and I had frequently broken the law, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, and seldom with regret.

"And your statement proves that you know me not at all, brother!" Holmes declared with some asperity.

Mycroft shook his head.  "Sherlock, you always were hopelessly stubborn, but I never thought you a fool for love!"

"Oh, I am glad that we at least agree it's love!" Holmes stated sarcastically.

"Sherlock, you place me in an impossible position!"

Sighing dramatically, Mycroft Holmes strode to the window before returning to face us once more.

"Sherlock, I am delighted to hear that you are no longer addicted to cocaine and morphine and I know that you have found happiness with John, but what you propose is simply unthinkable.  Surely you can see that.  If you and John truly love each other, as indeed you seem to, then why not simply continue as you are?  At least this way, provided you continue to exercise discretion, there is little danger of the true nature of your relationship coming to public notice."

"It is too late for that, Mycroft.  The wheels have been set in motion and it will be a most private affair.  I invited you because you are my brother and my only living relative.  I am not asking you to give me away!"

"Well thank heaven for that!  I can't quite see you as a blushing bride, Sherlock!"

At that point I had trouble keeping a straight face.  After all, Mycroft Holmes did not know about his brother's penchant for dressing as a glamorous, titled lady.  However, before Holmes could make another sarcastic retort I squeezed his arm and decided to confront the elder Holmes brother once more.

"Mycroft, we would be honoured if you and Harold would consent to attend our wedding," I began.  "If, however, either of you feel that in all good conscience you can not do so, then there will be no ill feeling on our part.  We fully realise that the ceremony will be... somewhat unconventional and therefore we will understand if you choose not to participate.  Nevertheless, I... that is, we - wish very much that you would consent to come.  It would grieve me greatly if our somewhat unorthodox ceremony were to cause a rift between you and your brother.  I ask you to please consider this carefully and let us know your answer in due course."

Mycroft heaved a great sigh.  "Very well, John, Sherlock.  I shall let you know of my decision."

With these unpromising parting words Mycroft Holmes left, and it was my turn to heave a great sigh as we heard the front door close behind him.

"Bravo, my dear!" Holmes declared.  "You completely took the wind out of his sails and not many people have done that to brother Mycroft!"

"Perhaps he does not care for the thought of having me for a brother-in-law."

"Nonsense, you already are!  In any case, anyone would be proud to welcome you into their family!"

Holmes closed the sitting room door and returned to take me in his arms and share a long, delicious kiss, his fingers stroking my neck and throat.

"Mm, my dear Watson, there are times when I truly believe you were made to tempt me!" he proclaimed, kissing me again before reluctantly pulling away.  "However, I must go!"

"Go?  Go where?"

He donned his great-coat, picked up his hat and cane and began to put on his gloves.

"Out.  For a short time.  I should be back by..." he consulted his watch, "oh, I should say three o'clock."

So saying he swept out of the sitting room and was gone.

Left to my own devices I began to consider the words of the ceremony and, at least for this ceremony - wherever it was to take place - some were downright inappropriate.  With that in mind I began to contemplate alternatives.

True to his word Holmes returned by a quarter to three and it was as well that he returned when he did for he had no sooner entered the sitting room when we heard the sound of the doorbell and shortly were once more in the presence of the redoubtable Mycroft Holmes.

"About this marriage of yours, Sherlock, John," he announced without preamble.  "Harold and I have discussed your uncompromising attitude and have reached a decision.  We can not claim to fully understand why you have both decided on this particular course of action, which to us would seem to be utter foolhardiness.  However, Sherlock, your health and happiness are important to me and, besides, you are my little brother and I vowed long ago to take care of you.  I am pleased to say that that particular task is now John's lot and I wish him joy of it because you were always impossible."

"He still is!" I could not help but mutter.

Mycroft chuckled.  "He has always been that way!  However, all this is beside the point."  He gazed at us both most solemnly.  "Sherlock, John, Harold and I would be pleased to attend your little ceremony if you would be so kind as to inform us of the details."

As I gazed at Holmes I knew that the joy and amazement I felt at Mycroft's announcement that both he and Harold would attend our intimate ceremony was reflected on his own.  He walked toward Mycroft and I expected them to shake hands but, to my eternal amazement, Mycroft embraced him with a hearty hug.

"My dear little brother, you know that I can refuse you nothing."

"Thank you, Mycroft."  I could tell from his voice that Holmes was most moved.  They pulled back.  "Thank you.  This means... a great deal to me."

As I observed these two Holmes brothers, not for the first time I reflected that in many ways they were very much alike.  I was so pleased for Holmes that his brother had given his consent for I would never wish to see him hurt in any way, especially by his only living relative.

To my everlasting surprise, Mycroft turned to me and announced, "John, I owe you my sincere apologies.  I have behaved unforgivably toward you and I do hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

I assured him that it was already forgotten and he smiled at me and thanked me.

"And now, Sherlock, John," he resumed his seat by the fire, "pray inform me just where is this most singular ceremony to take place?"

"At a place that is quiet, private, secluded and most of all discrete," Holmes replied with what seemed to me to be a knowing smile, as we sat down on the settee together.  His eyebrows rose briefly as he gazed guilelessly at his elder brother.

For a moment Mycroft simply stared at him, however, as comprehension dawned, he let out an explosive breath, proclaiming, "That is inconceivable, Sherlock!  There has never been a wedding at the Diogenes Club and there will certainly never be one while I remain on the board.  It is a totally unsuitable location!  Find somewhere else!" he demanded.

"On the contrary, brother mine, the Diogenes Club is admirably suited.  The fact that it is an all-male environment will present only a minor inconvenience to our other witnesses and the Strangers Room is ideal.  We shall arrive in our street clothes and change after we get there."

Mycroft shook his head.  "Sherlock, what am I going to do with you? And what do you mean about the ‘all-male environment being a minor inconvenience to the other witnesses'?  Who are you planning to invite - Sarah Bernhardt and Jersey Lily?"

"Hah!" Holmes chuckled.  "Close, brother, close!  I think it best that their identities remain a secret for now."

Mycroft appeared positively outraged.  "Women!" he exploded.  "Never!  Not in the Diogenes Club!"

Holmes nodded, smiling smugly.

Mycroft shook his head again.  "Sherlock, we can not have women in the Diogenes Club!  They are explicitly barred, even from visiting!  Why half the members go there for the express purpose of getting away from their wives!  If women were even allowed to visit, why we would have every member's wife there demanding that he come home this instant!  Worse still, they might want to become members!  No, Sherlock, it will not do!"

"Never fear, brother.  I wager that there will be no problem on that score and none of the other members need ever know."

Mycroft sighed in resignation.  "Anyway who is to perform the ceremony?"

"A former client who just happens to be a marriage celebrant.  Do not fear, he is a most cautious person.  He will also be bringing his friend, a photographer."

"Let me guess - you know something about him, or perhaps I should say them, that the police would just love to know!" Mycroft remarked scornfully.

Holmes smiled disarmingly.  "You know my methods!"

I was hard-put not to chuckle aloud.

Mycroft gazed forlornly into the fire.  "Oh, Sherlock, I pray that this will be for the best.  Dare I ask when is the happy occasion?"

Holmes looked inquiringly at me while I checked my diary.

"What about Thursday, 14th February?" I suggested, choosing a date one month ahead.  "Five o'clock?"

"Capital!" Holmes declared.  "And the following morning we shall take the boat train at twenty past nine from Waterloo."  As I turned to him in astonishment he smiled at me and murmured, "I thought we should have a honeymoon, my dear.  Perhaps France?  Italy too?"

"Oh, yes!" I declared fervently.  "Can we see Venice?  I have always wanted to see Venice!"

"Then you shall!" he murmured, smiling at me most indulgently.

But for the presence of his venerable brother, I would have kissed Holmes right then and there.

"Excellent!" Mycroft declared.  "And now that that's settled, let us have some tea!"

*   *   *

By the night of the 13th I was starting to get distinctly nervous and I lay alone in bed and fidgeted.  Holmes and I had jointly decided, as a token gesture to conventionality, that we would sleep apart for this one night - and I was just realising what a foolish idea it had been.  I glanced over at my clock - ten past one - and sighed.  I missed holding him in my arms, feeling the length of his dear body pressed so invitingly against my own; his warmth, his breath on my neck as he drifted off to sleep with his head resting on my shoulder.

This is utterly absurd! I told myself.  After all, it was only for one night.  Still, I wondered if Holmes was also awake and missing me. I wagered that he was, and I wanted to get up and go to him.

Stuff and nonsense! I thought crossly, staring into the flames in the fireplace.  I could survive for one cold and lonely night by myself.  But then there was a soft tap on my door and it opened to reveal my handsome lover standing there looking so completely appealing, holding a candle and wearing his night-shirt and dressing gown, his hair freshly washed and falling into his eyes.

Holmes gazed at me longingly as if he were unsure of his welcome.

"I missed you," he said simply.  "May I stay?"

As if he needed to ask!  As if I could possibly resist when I adored him so!

Turning down the bed covers, I held out my arms in welcome.  I was rewarded by the sweetest of smiles as he placed his candle on the bedside table, removed his dressing gown and slippers and climbed in beside me.

His body was chilled as he settled in my arms with a great sigh, head resting gently on my breast, his smooth cheek rubbing softly against me as I covered us both with the blankets and rubbed him to warm him.

"My dear, dear John," he murmured, as I stroked his back and shoulders.  "It seems that I can no longer sleep without your arms to hold me."

I smiled to myself.  "Nor I.  Kiss me?"

"Mm... always!" he murmured, lifting his face for a kiss that was warm with affection and rich with promise.  I gave him my tongue to feast on and rejoiced in his soft moan of pleasure.

How simple it was to please this complex man, I reflected, and I still marvelled over this fact eight years on.  Yes, he could be as demanding in bed as out of it, but he only demanded what he knew it was my pleasure to give.  In return how exquisite was his surrender and he would let me ravish him in any manner I chose.  This has made me an expert in dreaming up new methods for us to share our delight in each other.

"Mm, darling John!" he murmured, pressing his swelling groin against my own as I grasped his buttocks to press us together even more closely while running my lips over his throat as he arched his neck, begging for more.

Oh, delectable!  The taste of him, his sweet, clean scent!  Oh, but he is so addictive!

"God, Holmes," I gasped, "I thought we were going to abstain tonight!"

"Do you truly wish to deny pleasure?" he gasped hoarsely, his already-hard manhood stroking and rubbing over my own swollen one through our night-shirts.

"No!  Oh, no!" I groaned.  "Don't stop!"

"I thought I knew my lusty Watson!" he muttered smugly, pressing kisses all over my face and down my throat.

Hands stroking the heated surface of skin; nerve ends tingling with excitement; rapid heartbeats testament to our stimulated senses.

"Mm, oh, yes!" I moaned, thoroughly exhilarated as his rising excitement fed my own, my senses alive with pleasure, my mind lost to everything but the delight of touching my dearest Holmes.

Such a delicious sight! I thought, as he rose and leaned back on his knees, lifting his night-shirt to expose his lovely member, the tip already glistening with moisture.  I yearned to taste its riches; to draw it deeply into my mouth and suck voraciously on it until it yielded its treasure of musk cream for me to greedily devour.  I could never get enough of him - and I never wanted to.

He removed his night-shirt, flinging it to the end of the bed, then moved up to straddle me, stretching his arms over his head; flaunting his beautiful, supple body and his jutting erection for me to enjoy and I told him how the sight of his smooth-skinned beauty drove me insane with wanting.  Taking his hands in mine, I brought them to my mouth to kiss the palms and run my roving tongue over them.

As he knelt over me I stroked my hands up and down his smooth, muscular thighs, their lean hardness delightful to touch, to feel, to caress as I did now, my hands moving from knees up to hip-bones, then around to the globes of his firm buttocks to let them fill my hands, to stroke them lovingly, to squeeze them and adore them as I loved every part of him whilst he sighed his pleasure and brought his proud member to my mouth to stroke it over my lips, just once, its heady taste leaving me yearning for more as I licked it greedily.

Leaning over me, he kissed me deeply, plunging his tongue into me repeatedly as we shared the taste of his arousal.  When he helped me to remove my night-shirt it was my turn to straddle him, to flaunt the fair hair on my chest and belly and let him run playful fingers through it; to watch as his covetous eyes drank in the sight of my own excited appendage whilst he praised my manly beauty and told me what a joy I was to behold.

Thinking to tease him with my manhood, he anticipated me by grasping my buttocks and bringing me to his mouth to promptly devour me.  Helplessly, I groaned my delight at his powerful sucking which was rapidly bringing me to the point of explosive release.  By a supreme effort of willpower I forced myself to pull back; to withdraw my yearning member from his luscious lips and fierce mouth when all I wanted to do was bury myself in his throat and release the delicious agony that was filling my aching loins to overflowing.

Instead I oiled him and encouraged him to recline on the propped-up pillows.  As he did so, I turned around so that I was facing the foot of the bed and held his sweet manhood, positioning it just right.  As he lifted his hips to enter me I leaned back against him so that I was at a slight angle and my head rested beside his own as we reclined together.  Wrapping his arms around me, he stroked my belly and ribs, playful fingers wandering upward to gently rub and squeeze my nipples as they hardened instantly to his touch.  I turned my face toward him and kissed his neck and cheek before he took my mouth with his own, every touch of his lips and tongue conveying his ardour and care.  With his fine hands he adored my member with such consideration as only he had ever shown me and I squeezed him internally, letting him know of my pleasure in this ultimate and marvellous possession by the one person in the world whom I revered and adored above all others, my darling Holmes.

As he pushed upward with his hips I brought my own legs up so that I might raise myself and he could thrust his dear member into me with impunity as we loved.  This sweet position was a favourite with both of us.

Covering his hands with my own as they stroked my throbbing hardness with tender eagerness, I soon found myself poised on the pinnacle of delight, begging him to come with me.  "Oh, now, my darling!" I gasped.  "Yes!  Together!  Oh, yes, my love, my sweet!"

Vaguely, I heard him groan my name and call me his sweet darling as his hands grasped me with unbridled intensity and we were tossed and racked in the throes of passion, a passion so intense that I often thought it seemed to know no mortal bounds.  He was my darling and I was his beloved; that was all there was to it, I thought, as we lay there panting in the aftermath, our bodies slowly cooling.

His arms came up to encircle me and we rolled onto our sides before slowly separating.  I rose to get soap and water to cleanse us and we took turns to wash each other.  It was a small intimacy that we always gave to each other; something that I had taught him long ago and which had become a routine and affectionate part of our relationship.

When I lay in bed beside Holmes once more he hugged and kissed me in great affection.  "Mmmm, never get enough of you, my sweet," he whispered languidly.  "Never get your limits.  So delightful," he murmured, as I covered his cheeks in kisses.

Eventually we settled for sleep, but then he turned to me and murmured, "At sunset we will be married.  Are you happy, my dearest?"

"Never more so," I sighed, feeling at peace with the world in general.  "Is everything in readiness?"

"Of course.  You know how meticulous are my methods."

I chuckled.  "Of course."

"And you know that I never leave anything to chance."

"Indeed.  And your brother?"

"You know, my dear, I think brother Mycroft is thoroughly getting into the spirit of things.  When I spoke to him yesterday he actually referred to our wedding as ‘a conspiracy of hearts'!"

"Oh, Holmes, how romantic!  And to think that once upon a time I was positive your brother didn't have an ounce of sentiment in his body!"

"Astonishing, is it not?  You know I never really realised that Mycroft cared so much for my welfare.  He really is pleased for us.  He says he realised long ago that you, dear heart, are just what I need."

I chuckled.  "Of course in that respect he is quite right!"

Holmes cupped my face in his fine musician's hands.  "You are all that I love - and all that I need," he murmured, and I kissed him with great affection before we finally settled to sleep.

*   *   *

The following afternoon with still some three hours to go I was growing increasingly nervous.  I again went to my room and checked the garments I was to wear.  I had originally thought to wear grey but Holmes had thought that we should both wear white, "to symbolise the purity of our love," he had said, and so we had undertaken to have separate tailors make our garments to our exact specifications.  To his own outfit Holmes had added a brilliant purple silk hat-band and matching tie and handkerchief while I had chosen a deep blue silk.  Of course, the colours we had chosen matched the colours of the stones in our rings.

As far as our rings went, at first glance they appeared to be plain gold men's signet rings and were identical but for the gemstones.  I would have been content with a small diamond but Holmes insisted with his whole bohemian soul that a diamond was both too common and too obvious, so what we finally agreed on was a small sapphire for myself and an amethyst for Holmes.

The day we tried the rings on together I remember how I told him that I thought them beautiful.  Of course, we would not be able to wear them on our wedding fingers as that would be much too obvious - and too dangerous - so we would wear them on the ring finger of the right hand.

The following day Holmes gave the rings to Mycroft for safekeeping until the ceremony.

*   *   *

The big day was here and as I changed my clothing in the Diogenes Club I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I could barely do up my tie.  However, upon examining myself minutely in the large looking glass, I decided that I seemed presentable, if only my stomach would stop jumping.  I could not remember being this nervous since I had waited in darkness, my revolver beside me, for something to crawl out of the ventilator in the wall at Stoke Moran.  I took a deep breath, thinking ‘now or never', and strode out into the corridor only to see one of the loveliest women that I had ever seen wearing a man's evening wear and smiling at me.

"Hello, Doctor Watson!" Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope greeted in a whisper.  "And now for the finishing touch!" she declared, expertly pinning a tiny posy to my lapel.

"Mr. Holmes chose them personally," she said with a smile, "and he chose perfectly.  Oak leaf for courage, white clover for a vow, purple lilac for undying love and a crocus for joy."

In astonishment I thanked her for her kindness and she murmured, "It was the very least I could do for you both.  You are men of honour.  I know that you will always keep my secret, as I will always keep yours."  She smiled at me.

Just then from around the bend in the corridor came yet another beautiful lady, also dressed in men's evening wear.  Somehow her face seemed familiar to me, though I could not immediately think whence I had seen it before.

"Ah, there you are, Irene!" Lady Hilda greeted softly.

Irene? I wondered.  Of course!  The photo Holmes kept in his ‘museum'!  Irene Adler, whom I had seen once briefly through the window of her sitting room!  Irene Adler, whom Holmes reverently referred to as ‘the woman'.  But she had married a solicitor and gone to live permanently on the Continent.  Why then would she be here? I wondered.

Just then another door opened and Holmes emerged and walked toward us, a vision in white and purple, and I could not take my eyes off him.  As I beheld him all I could think was how utterly beautiful he was as I gazed on him in unfeigned admiration.

"Ah, there you are!" Miss Adler, or rather Mrs. Norton, greeted him, and promptly began to pin an identical flower arrangement to his lapel.

Then Holmes introduced me to Mrs. Irene Norton and Lady Hilda explained that she and Mrs. Norton were old friends from their days in the theatre.

Mrs. Norton turned to Lady Hilda and murmured, "Oh, Hilda, have you ever seen two more handsome gentlemen in your life?"

"Irene, I swear to you if it were not for my Trelawney, I would marry one of them myself!"

"Ah, but they are in love, my dear!" whispered the wise Mrs. Norton. "See how they gaze on each other with such fondness."

"As usual, you are quite right, Irene!" Lady Hilda whispered. "Come, my dear.  Let us give them a moment of privacy."

We kissed their hands and thanked them for their care and together they disappeared through the door of the Strangers Room.

Holmes took my hands, smiling at me.  "Oh, my dear John, you have never looked more handsome!" he whispered.

"Nor you more beautiful, my dear Holmes!  But what are Lady Hilda and Mrs. Norton doing here?"

"I realised that I would need the help of a lady of means and what better person to enlist the aid of than Lady Hilda?  After all, we well know the skeletons in her cupboard, do we not?"

"Oh, Holmes, you didn't blackmail her, did you?"

"Perish the thought!  The lady was only too glad to be of help."

"And Mrs. Norton?"

"Oh, she and Lady Hilda are very old friends and the Nortons just happened to be visiting the Hopes.  I spoke to Mrs. Norton and told her how we regretted our disgraceful treatment of her.  I explained that as I had been a witness at her own wedding - however unwitting - it was therefore only fitting that she witness my own nuptials, however unconventional, and she was utterly delighted, as was Lady Hilda, and they immediately started making plans.  Women seem to just love anything to do with weddings."

I chuckled.  "Yes, they do.  Anyway I am glad that you expressed our apologies to Mrs. Norton.  I have always felt a certain amount of guilt over the way we treated her.  Why we practically hounded her out of the country."

"Indeed we did, but I can assure you that all is now forgiven."  He stroked my cheek.  "Are you ready, my dearest?"

"Yes!" I replied without hesitation.

"That's my Watson!  Now kiss me for luck before we go inside," he added.

As I turned to check that we were quite alone, Holmes murmured, "You need not worry, my dear.  Brother Mycroft has seen to it that we have the whole floor to ourselves."

Thank heaven for Holmes's brother! I thought, before kissing my dear one.  Alas as our lips met fondly, I heard the door to the Strangers Room open and the sternly disapproving voice of Mycroft Holmes declare, "Really, Sherlock, John!  You will have plenty of time for that later!  Now come along!  You are keeping everyone waiting!"

We separated, smiling a little tremulously and unable to take our eyes off each other.

"Ready?" Mycroft prompted.

As we indicated our readiness, Mycroft walked back inside the Strangers Room, leaving the door open for our entrance.

Bestowing a reassuring smile on my dear one which, if my stomach was anything to go by, I was far from feeling, together, we strode into the Strangers Room.

The sight that greeted us as we entered the room is one that I will never forget.  That austere room with its walls lined with books had been totally transformed and was barely recognisable from the one and only time that I had seen it previously.  The air was sweet with the combined aroma of hundreds of flowers in most beautiful and exotic arrangements.  The furniture had been pushed aside and in its place was a small dais on which stood the marriage celebrant.  Over to the side stood a man with a camera beside him.  The witnesses were there too, Lady Hilda and Mrs. Norton flanking a shorter and considerably more mature lady, also attired in men's clothing and no less beautiful for her kind and generous nature.  They smiled at us as we passed.

To the right of the dais stood Mycroft Holmes, his round face positively beaming as we took our places before the celebrant who greeted us with a smile.

There was also one other witness; an elderly gentleman, well- dressed and with a full white beard, his white hair falling onto his forehead and bushy eyebrows.  If I am not mistaken, he was also wearing a false nose as well.

Of course it was Harold in disguise, and I was so pleased that he had been able to get away from the heavy responsibilities of his position to attend our little ceremony.  He winked at us as we walked past him.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together these two people in holy matrimony which is an honourable estate instituted of God in the time of man's innocence signifying unto us the mystical union..."

As I stood beside Holmes I tried desperately not to fidget while a multitude of butterflies fluttered around my belly and sweat trickled down my back.  By my side I could tell that Holmes was no less agitated than I was.  I risked a glance at him and noticed that, like myself, his breathing was elevated and no doubt his pulse as well.  However, his hands were the only visible sign of movement as they continually clenched and unclenched.  In fact, I could not recall ever seeing him in such a state of nervous anxiety before.  In normal circumstances, he would have been pacing the floor furiously.

"...if anyone here show just cause as to why these two people should not be joined in holy wedlock let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

Behind us there was only silence except for the sound of Mycroft Holmes clearing his throat.  After all, I thought, it was not as if either one of us was an adulterer.  We were simply two people who loved each other and who, by the deplorable laws of this land, were committing a crime.

My partner in crime, I thought, risking a glance at Holmes and noticing him simultaneously glance toward me.  No doubt his thoughts were a reflection of my own, as they so often were, and I found this reassuring in the circumstances.

"So be it" the celebrant continued.  "Sherlock Holmes, wilt thou have this man, John, to thy wedded partner, true companion and beloved intimate?  Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour him and keep him and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him as long as ye both shall live?"

"I will."

When the question was repeated verbatim to me my voice cracked a little as I answered, "I will."

Briefly I wondered what the witnesses thought of this very strange ceremony.  After all, the sight of two men marrying each other must be a rare one indeed.  Only Holmes could have organised it so perfectly, I thought with admiration, before once more bringing my attention back to the words of the celebrant.

"Do you, Sherlock, take John to your wedded partner, true companion and beloved intimate to have and to hold, to protect and to honour, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for now and for always?"

Holmes stood there looking utterly dignified and stated in a firm voice, "I do."

When the question was repeated to me I stood there proudly and said, "I do."

The celebrant turned to Mycroft and asked if he had the rings. Mycroft held forth a small red velvet cushion bearing the two rings.  As Holmes picked up the ring with the sapphire the celebrant said, "You may place the ring on John's hand and repeat after me, ‘With this ring I thee wed.'"  I watched in awe as Holmes slipped the ring onto my finger and repeated the words of the celebrant.

Then it was my turn and I could barely see through my tears to pick up the ring; with my heart in my throat I somehow repeated the words as I slipped the amethyst and gold ring onto his finger and was promptly mesmerised by his gaze.

"Join hands and repeat after me, ‘With my body I thee worship.'"  As I held his hand and my beloved Holmes said the words with me I was drowning in his eyes.  "With all my worldly goods I thee endow."  Oh, but I had never felt so proud of him!  "With all my heart and soul I thee love."  I could have died of joy and tried desperately to blink back tears.

"These rings symbolise the deep bond of love and affection between thee.  May the circle never be broken and may thy love endure in times of trial and tribulation as well as happiness and may it only grow stronger with the passage of the years.  Sherlock, John, I now pronounce thee wedded partners, true companions and beloved intimates from this day forth.  Whom God hath joined together in true love and devotion let no man, or man-made law, put asunder.  You may kiss each other."

Upon observing that my dear one was crying, with heart overflowing, I embraced him.  He leaned on me for support, shaking in my arms as I firmly stroked his back.  A whimper escaped him as I kissed him in tender reverence and, as his sweet lips trembled against my own, it was too much for me to bear and I, too, was overcome with emotion and could barely see through the tears that blinded me.

I hugged him and rocked him a little.  "Don't cry, my dearest, don't cry," I whispered in his ear.  "I'm crying enough for both of us!"

He gave a tiny chuckle.  "Forgive me, my sweet, I never dreamed..."

"What didn't you dream?"  Pulling my blue silk handkerchief from my pocket, I gently dabbed at his wet cheeks and eyes.

"That this... simple ceremony could mean so much.  I had thought only to please you.  I had not thought...  Oh, God, I never imagined that it would be so meaningful, and so... so beautiful.  Oh, my dear, dear John I do love you so much!"

Through my tears I gazed into his shining eyes.  "As I love you, my dearest Sherlock.  As I will always love you."

He pulled out his own silk handkerchief and tenderly wiped my wet cheeks.  "Oh, don't cry, my sweet, don't cry!" he whispered.  "Here, let me dry your tears."  He finished patting my face dry.  "There, that is better."

As we took deep breaths and endeavoured to calm ourselves I became aware that from somewhere there was a loud sniff.  Holmes and I glanced at each other in genuine surprise, both of us having been so caught up with our own emotions that we had momentarily overlooked the fact that we were not exactly alone.

The celebrant was beaming and congratulating us.  When we turned to face the witnesses I became aware that they, too, were overcome with emotion.  All three women were openly weeping and even Mycroft was surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eyes.  Harold gave a very loud sniff.

The photographer made ready to take pictures as arm-in-arm we walked down the short isle toward our guests to be warmly congratulated and slapped on the back by Mycroft and Harold and kissed by the ladies.

Shortly thereafter, against a background of flowers, we stood to have our pictures taken.  I wanted one of us kissing and Holmes obliged me while the flash went off.  I was vaguely aware of it going off a second time and somebody clearing their throat before we abruptly came to our senses and once more realised our public situation.

And so, as the sun had set in shades of gold on that bitterly cold St Valentine's Day in 1895, we had been married in a most singular and moving ceremony in the most peculiar club in London with a truly unique set of witnesses, none of whom - for one reason or another - were ever likely to betray us.

Afterward we all changed our clothing and shortly thereafter in a private function room of the Cafe Royal we dined sumptuously on a five course meal before saying goodbye to our guests and thanking them once again for their support and their generosity.  Thereafter, Holmes and I made our way through the freezing evening to St James's Hall for the opening night of Mr. Oscar Wilde's new play, The Importance of Being Earnest, a splendidly humorous affair which we thoroughly enjoyed.

We had jointly decided against spending our wedding night in an expensive hotel and headed home together through icy streets in a four-wheeler.

As we sat together, embracing in the cold and dimness, it occurred to me that I should have been freezing, yet I was warm.  My dearest Holmes was now my lawfully wedded partner - as I was his - and I was very much aware of his presence beside me.  The nearer we drew to Baker Street the keener my anticipation and I could not wait to be alone with him; to embrace him, to kiss him, to feel his long, naked length against me, to stroke his smooth skin and love him until we were both deliciously, wonderfully exhausted.

When we reached 221B we only let go of each other long enough to pay the cabbie and enter the front door.  Mrs. Hudson had apparently gone to bed but the vestibule and stair lamps had been left on for us as always.

As we closed the vestibule door behind us, walked toward the stairs and ascended we held hands.  For a moment I envisioned a less strict society where men such as Holmes and I could live openly as a married couple, our rings on our wedding fingers, without fear of censure.  I thought of us walking down Baker Street, our clasped hands declaring our love as people greeted us like normal human beings, not freaks of nature who commit unnatural acts.  But that was not to be, at least not in our lifetimes, but perhaps one day in the new century couples of the same sex would be accepted.  If we had to be secretive to preserve our freedom, then so be it; I would not be greedy, I vowed.  After all, we already had more happiness than most people found in a lifetime of searching; to ask for more was like asking for the moon when one already had the stars.

When we reached the first floor landing and removed our outer garments I could not take my eyes off him.  He took my hand and brought it to his lips, wordlessly kissing my palm before leading me up the stairs to my bedroom.  Our wedding room, I thought with pride.

In the eight years of our intimacy we had ascended the stairs to my room many, many times together, yet this night was so different, was so very special.  Our arms were about one another as we climbed the staircase, unable to take our eyes off each other.

When we reached the door I opened it with a flourish, not even noticing the interior of the room for all I could see was my dearest Holmes and all I could think was that I was the most fortunate man in London for I was beloved of Sherlock Holmes, and this was our wedding night.

It was not until we actually entered the room that we noticed the transformation that had been wrought in our absence and we gazed about us in amazement at the sight before us.

In the fireplace was a blazing fire and all around the room myriad candles glowed brightly.  On the bedside table was a large vase of the most beautiful red roses, their heady aroma filling the air with sweetness.  Over on the mantelpiece stood a bottle of the finest French cognac and two glasses.  The bed had been changed and turned down in welcome and as I approached it I noticed fine new sheets covered in rose petals and two new pillowcases which had been lovingly embroidered with our initials intertwined.  Also, sitting in the centre of the bed was a flat sort of box wrapped in white and silver.  Our eyes met, each of us puzzled as to what it might contain.  I opened it and inside, covered with fresh rose petals were two beautiful, long, white satin night-shirts that glowed softly in the candlelight as we held them up to examine them.  Our initials had been embroidered on the collars of each.  Also, in the box was a tiny card saying merely, "For your wedding night, my dears" in a woman's well-known handwriting.

 The expression on Holmes's face reflected my own amazement as I was overcome with gratitude for the dear lady's kindness.

"Oh, Holmes, this is so extravagant!"

Holmes was holding his own night-shirt up against him, admiring it.  "My dear, we are privileged indeed to know so kind and generous a lady."

"Holmes, Mrs. Hudson is really so good to us!  One day we must find a way to repay her kindness."

"We will, my dear.  We will indeed.  In the meantime I can not wait to try on this lovely night-shirt - and to see you in yours, my sweet!" he added.

We took turns bathing before donning our beautiful new night-shirts and admiring ourselves.  Holmes opened the bottle of cognac and we stood in front of the fireplace, glasses in hand to toast each other.

"To you, dearest John, my lawfully wedded partner and my heart's desire.  Thank you for the beauty of your words, for making this the most wonderful day of my life and for bringing me such complete and absolute joy."

Swallowing hard, I endeavoured to speak past the lump in my throat.  "And to you, my dearest Sherlock, my lawfully wedded partner, my true companion and beloved intimate.  Thank you for accepting me into your life as a fellow lodger fourteen years ago, for the excitement and adventure you brought to the poor, colourless existence of an invalid, for offering me the only true friendship I have ever known, for entrusting me eight years ago with the priceless gift of your heart, for the love and affection you give me in such abundance, and for the most wonderful wedding that anyone could ever wish for."

Although he smiled, his eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gazed on me with open love and murmured, "To you, my dear heart."

We clinked glasses and drank, the fiery substance warm and delicious on our tongues as we gazed into each other's eyes.  After long silent moments of anticipation I took our glasses and placed them on the bedside table before returning to the mantelpiece to embrace him, to hold the long, slippery length of him close to me.

As we stood there quietly my heart was so filled with joy that I could not contain myself and I placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

He pulled back to gaze at me once more and murmured, "Oh, my dearest John."  So saying, he, too, gave me a chaste kiss.

It was in this gradual way that we began our loving, both of us wanting to prolong the anticipation.  However, no matter our good intentions to the contrary, we were soon covering each other's faces with ardent kisses.  As I told him of my love, my adoration for him he cooed in delight and ran his hands over my back and shoulders.  After a while he pulled back a little to gaze into my eyes and murmur, "My true friend and beloved companion.  I am yours, my dearest John."

Taking my hand in his, he gazed down at my ring, the tiny sapphire glinting softly in the light as he compared it to his own amethyst.  "Darling John," he murmured, but could say no more for our mouths met avidly as we shared the taste of the fine French brandy on our tongues in kisses that set my soul aflame.  Truly, I thought that I had never been more in love with my dear Holmes than I was in those remarkable moments.

Oh, but I adored him!  His fine hands cupped my face, stroking my cheeks as I cherished his delicate lips and let my hands glide over his long, straight back before slipping lower to caress his sweet buttocks, to press their ripe firmness as I held us together, listening to his sighs of pleasure and relishing his delightful arousal, now pushing hard against my own.

As I leaned back to look at him I was sure that I had never seen a more beautiful sight.  The myriad candles reflected myriad gold lights in his shining grey eyes that seemed to look on me as though I was the most wonderful thing in the world.  On his soft lips was the loveliest smile.  His beautiful hands strayed to the base of my neck, stroking there, before sliding over my shoulders.  An exploring finger stroked teasingly over my moustache as I smiled at him and, together, we treasured these precious moments of sweet anticipation.

That night, in our lovely rose-scented bed, my darling Holmes made sweet, tender love to me, expressing his care, his great affection and unadulterated passion; worshipping my body with gentle, acquisitive hands and mouth as I lay captive to the mystical spell that he had woven with such exquisite skill.

When his oiled and lovely manhood burrowed into my body I quivered in sheer bliss, pushing up to take him as deeply as possible; welcoming him; wanting him to consume me with his passion; yearning for him to touch my heart with enchantment.  Our every breath, every movement seemed synchronised to the heavy, throbbing pulse of our passion, our moans and soft cries were as sweet music and the fire in our loins pushed us ever higher toward that delirious moment of incredible joy and complete and utter rapture.

It was as well that it was a freezing night and we had the window closed for I cried out his name as I felt the first pulse of his ecstasy and he, my sweet darling, trembled with joy in my arms, whilst his lovely hands stroked me to such a fever pitch that it was all I could do just to breathe and I clutched him hard enough to leave bruises as I came to glory in his arms.

Afterward my dear Holmes held up his right hand, wet and sticky with my cream all over his fingers, including on his new wedding ring, and smiled.  "Now it has been properly christened it is truly a wedding ring!" he remarked fondly.  I smiled too at this blatantly sentimental bit of whimsy and held out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers clean, but he chose to lick them instead, the ring as well. For that I laughed and kissed him and we lay there quietly, sharing intimate touches that bespoke only intense love and long-standing affection.

"So romantic, getting married on St Valentine's Day," he mused, sitting up and retrieving our drinks from the bedside table.

I sipped my cognac.  "Yes, I admit it was a romantic date to choose, though, of course, at the time I chose it I had no idea that a new Oscar Wilde play would open this very night.  That was a wonderful stroke of good fortune."

"Indeed, and it was even more fortunate that I was able to procure stalls tickets."

"Dare I ask just how you managed to procure those tickets?"

"Oh, I chanced upon an old acquaintance," he remarked in a deliberately offhand manner.

"Let me guess - a former client?"

"Actually the son of a former client.  A trifling matter regarding his mother's pearl necklace."

"Which, of course, you managed to recover."

"Of course," he remarked matter-of-factly.  "So it was indeed fortunate that you chose so fitting a date for us to solemnise our relationship, my lawfully wedded partner, and I am glad.  So very glad."

"And we have the licence to prove it!  I can't wait to see the photographs."

"Indeed!  Are you happy, my sweet?"

"Oh, Holmes, as if you needed to ask!"  I kissed him in gratitude.  "Oh, but you organised it so beautifully!"

He chuckled softly.  "Considering that weddings are well outside my usual field of expertise, it did go rather well, did it not?  But, of course, I had expert help.

"Ah, yes, the ladies did look most attractive in their male garments, did they not?"

"Now, Watson," he chided, "it is a trifle disconcerting on one's wedding night to learn that his most handsome partner is attracted to the sorts of ladies who have romantic friendships."

I chuckled.  "Perish the thought!  Besides, you don't seriously believe that Lady Hilda and Mrs. Norton..."  He wagged his eyebrows and smiled in his slyest manner.  "Holmes, be serious!"  Still smiling, he nodded at me.

Rather taken aback by this knowledge, I could not help but wonder if their husbands knew.  I inquired as much.

"Oh, indeed!" he replied in his most matter-of-fact manner.  "However, since their wives are discreet and still fond of them they will say and do nothing.  So you see it is an ideal arrangement for the wives."

"No doubt," I muttered, still somewhat stunned by this piece of knowledge.

"There are many more of us around than you would ever believe, my dear, men and women.  However, unlike Mr. Wilde, most of us are discreet and hide our proclivities beneath a veneer of outward respectability.  He does not.  In the current political climate I fear for him for he is careless of whom he associates with.  However," he smiled at me once more, "Mr. Wilde's problems are his own and we must deal with ours, and really the only problem we had today was the weather which was positively vile!"

"We all survived the weather, my dear.  The ladies too."

"Hah!  According to Mycroft, the registrar at the Diogenes Club almost had an apoplectic fit when he saw three women dressed as men enter the club.  Apparently my brother had merely informed him that a party of people would be arriving as his guests, not that three of them would be women."

I chuckled.  "Oh, Holmes, your brother has just been magnificent!  And his gesture of paying for our entire honeymoon like that is more than generous."

"Indeed, my dear.  Now we can honeymoon in first class style."

"You really think that we should be extravagant?"

"Oh, absolutely!  Mycroft draws a handsome salary and has more money than he knows what to do with.  After all, he only has himself to support and he lives very modestly.  He initially invested a great deal of capital into the creation of the Diogenes Club, but since the club is such a success and has been for a number of years his original investment has now been returned fourfold and he never knows what to do with his money.  He doesn't even gamble so he donates a good deal to charitable causes."

"Excellent!" I declared.  "Then we shall stay at all the best hotels, eat at the best restaurants and see all the latest shows!"

"Ah, opera, concerts, plays!" he sighed, dreamy-eyed at the prospect.

"Art galleries too?" I suggested.

"Oh, yes!  Whatever you want, my dear."

"How long shall we stay away?" I asked eagerly.

"Will a month be long enough, my sweet?"

"One whole month!  Oh, Holmes, that is positively decadent!"

He gave a wicked chuckle.  "Yes, it is - and we shall enjoy every moment of it, my love!" he declared.

"Oh, Holmes!"  I kissed him in gratitude, my heart singing as I began to touch him again, worshipping him with hands and mouth, watching as his excitement slowly intensified.

Listening to his sighs of pleasure, his gasps and soft moans aroused me to a fever pitch, but I damped it, controlled it for his sake.  This time I intended to indulge him as he had earlier indulged me.  In so doing I spent the longest time pampering him with my hands and mouth as he loved me to do, while I praised his beauty and his virility.

When, finally, my dear one could stand no more of this exquisite pleasure, he grasped my aching member in loving hands, oiled me thoroughly, and brought me to the entrance to his body.  When I pushed in he grasped me greedily, covetously, squeezing me so hard that I almost finished there and then.  It was not I who possessed his dear body, but he who ravenously, lustfully possessed my manhood, his hips thrusting up to me, long, smooth, muscular legs wrapped jealously around me, his whole being abandoned to rapture of the senses.

As I gazed down at the sight of our joined bodies, so overwhelmed was I with wonder and the keenest perception of pleasure that I ceased all movement.  Taking his hand, I reached down to touch the place of our joining, letting him share the wonder of the moment with me, our fingers stroking, exploring, intertwining.

"My darling!" I gasped.  "Oh, we fit so perfectly, my love!  So perfectly!  Feel it!  Feel our joining, my dearest!  Feel us together!"

"Yes!  Oh, yes, it is wondrous, my love, wondrous!" he sighed. "And you fill me so completely, and we fit together so perfectly!"

"Oh, yes!" I moaned.  "Oh, God, I sometimes think that I was made just to love you!"

"Hah!  You were, my sweet, you were..." with his free hand he reached up to stroke my face, "...as indeed I was made to love you, my dearest."

In all our years together I could not recall these words ever passing his lips before and I was touched beyond words that I could mean so very much to him, not withstanding the fact that we had known each other for fourteen years now, been lovers for the last eight and had been married just a few short hours ago.  This singular moment of naked honesty moved me to tears.

Holmes saw my distress and pulled me down to kiss me tenderly.  "My dear, dear heart, do you not yet know that you are my life?" he murmured.  "Crime may be my raison dêtre, but you are my ruling passion!  My friend, my beloved John, without you I am lost.  Without you to care for me I would have been a hopeless cocaine addict and, I rather fancy, already a spent force."

"Don't say that!" I declared, even though I knew in my heart that he was right.  One did not have to be a member of the medical profession to know that this man, with no one to care for him, would burn himself out young, his all-consuming interest in crime combined with his cocaine addiction and lack of healthy eating habits being the cause of his downfall.

"It is true, my love, and you know it."

Reluctantly, I nodded.  "But that bleak future will never be," I asserted.  "We are together, my dearest Holmes - and together we shall survive!"

"Yes, my dear and handsome partner.  Together!"  As I gazed into my dear one's eyes I observed his expression to change so that there was about it now a certain playfulness.

"Now come, my handsome partner, and show me how much you love me.  Demonstrate to me once more how perfectly we fit," he murmured wickedly, gazing at me coyly from under his dark lashes.

With so generous an invitation what could I do but love him?  Heartily, lustily, my joy and happiness singing in my veins, I thrust vehemently into his heated flesh as he tried desperately to imprison my manhood, squeezing me so hard, so tightly, while I stroked his lovely prick.  Before long I was lost in those exceptional moments where there is no time; there is only love - mine for my dear Holmes and his for me; sheer, unadulterated all-powerful love, and the most exquisite sensation of pleasure that I have ever known spread like lightning, like fire through my entire body, lifting me to the heights of bliss, and, finally, leaving me drifting and utterly sated in my dear one's arms, the warm wetness on our bellies explicit testament to my dear one's satisfaction.

Eventually, we rose and cleansed ourselves before blowing out all the candles.  The fire had died down to glowing embers and the room was cooling as we covered ourselves with the blankets and the dear shawl.

Holmes yawned contentedly.  "It is a quarter to three in the morning, my sweet.  We had best get some sleep if we are to catch the boat train at twenty past nine."  He gave a wicked chuckle.  "After all, my lustful doctor, we don't want to miss our honeymoon!"

"Indeed not!" I agreed.  "But are you sure you want to stay away from London for a whole month, Holmes?  Heaven knows what heinous crimes and mysterious doings might take place while we are away.  I would not want you to regret lost opportunities to practice your great skills as a detective."

"Lost opportunities be damned!" he declared.  "I am spending a month on the Continent with you, my dear.  Scotland Yard can manage without us, and if they can not, then we shall lend them a hand on our return.  In any case we shall be too busy enjoying ourselves travelling and seeing the sights by day - and sharing delicious, passionate nights!" he added, glancing at me sideways and grinning wickedly.

"And days!"

"Now that's my Watson!"

*** * ***