Chapter IX
The French Patient
* The Crystal Palace
Since Friday 13th November, 1891 I have come to believe in miracles. On that grey day late in the afternoon I received a letter by special messenger. It was from a Frenchman by the name of Pierre de la Court who desired an urgent consultation with me but was unable to come to my surgery and begged that I should come to suite 22 of the Langham Hotel. The note was written on hotel stationery in a man's hand.
Of all the medical practitioners in this great city, I could not help but wonder why this French gentleman should have chosen me to consult and how he even knew of me. After all, I do not have a practice in Harley Street. I reasoned that perhaps he might be acquainted with a current or former patient of mine.
Now I was often asked to make house calls, but since most of my patients could not afford to stay at hotels, let alone one as luxurious as the Langham, I was seldom summoned to one. I took a cab, however, the traffic was very bad that day so that a trip that should have taken no more than ten minutes took almost twenty.
As I sat in the cab I reflected that at least the weather seemed to be clearing, the clouds parting and a watery sun shining through.
When I finally arrived at the Langham a porter directed me to suite 22 which was upstairs on the second floor. When I knocked on the door I was answered by a man's voice bidding me to enter in French.
As I entered the room I beheld a man sitting at a small table with his back to me looking out of the window. I recall being somewhat puzzled as to why he did not turn to greet me as I closed the door behind me and introduced myself. However, when I inquired as to how I might be of service I could not help but notice that there was something most familiar about the shape of his head and his smooth dark hair.
Of course, I knew immediately who this man reminded me of and chastised myself for my foolishness. This man was a patient, a stranger, and I was the doctor he had chosen to consult and that was all there was to it. However, before I could ask this man why he had summoned me two things happened: Firstly, he turned in his chair, rose to his feet and walked toward me; secondly, I fainted for the first and only time in my life. The last thing I heard as my sight narrowed to tunnel vision and the room blacked out around me was a so-familiar velvet voice saying, "Oh, my dear fellow!" as I felt his arms go around me.
I knew no more then until I became aware of the taste of brandy on my tongue and the feel of a warm hand caressing my face. I swallowed a little of the brandy as my eyes tried to focus on the scene before me. However, I found it almost impossible to believe the evidence of my own eyes.
It appeared that I was lying on a large four-poster still in the same suite of rooms in the Langham. Sitting beside me with a most concerned look on his handsome features was a living, breathing miracle! My dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes, who had perished at the base of the Reichenbach Falls at the hands of the dastardly Professor Moriarty some six months earlier, was here beside me, smiling down at me.
But was it all some kind of bizarre hallucination? I wondered. Was it a ghost come to haunt me? Or had my mind, inured to the bleakness of my life, somehow created this fond illusion of my dearest friend? I had to reach out, to touch, to be sure.
I grasped his arms. "Holmes, is it you?" My voice came out as somewhat of a croak. "Is it really you? I can scarce believe my eyes!"
"Yes, my dearest John," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing like music to my ears. "Yes, it is I, my dear. It truly is. Here, you had better have a little more brandy."
So saying, he held the flask to my lips and I took another sip, this time feeling the fiery liquor burn its way down my throat and beginning to believe that maybe I was not dreaming after all.
"Holmes, it's really you?" I asked incredulously. "You're not... a ghost, or a spirit?" I asked somewhat hesitantly. He shook his head, still smiling gently at me - and I dared to believe.
"Holmes, it's you! It's really you! You're real! You're really here!"
"Yes, my dearest Watson. But I must beg your forgiveness, dear friend, for I have shocked you badly."
Drawing him to me once more, I embraced him, feeling his wiry arms wrap around me as we held each other tightly. Without his firm embrace I might otherwise have collapsed in a most undignified manner, for I did not feel at all steady and my mind was still reeling.
"Oh, Holmes! My dearest Holmes! My love, my love!" I whispered, in utter awe at the sight of my handsome lover whom it seemed fate had seen fit to return to me.
He pressed soft lips to my forehead and my cheeks.
"There, there, my dear boy," he soothed, "I have you, my John. I have you - in my arms where you belong." His hands stroked up and down my back, calming me like a frightened horse and all I could do was hold on to this splendidly marvellous vision for dear life as my ordered, routine and desolate existence crumbled around me and a new and extraordinary reality materialised right here in my arms.
I thanked God, providence and every other deity I could think of that my lost love had somehow found his way back to my arms from the abyss of his death. He was no phantom spirit - and that I would swear to!
As he rocked me in his arms I called his name over and over again whilst he covered my face with kisses and whispered my name.
"Holmes! Oh, Holmes, it truly is you!" I croaked weakly. "Oh, Lord, I feel as though I'm dreaming! Oh, if I am dreaming don't wake me up! You're alive! You're alive!" I kept repeating it like a litany. I did not know how - and at that moment I did not care either - but my prayers had been answered; my dreams had literally come true.
"My Watson! My own dear, precious Watson! Oh, but I have missed you so! My dear, dear friend, it is so good to be with you again, to hold you again!"
It was thus, held firmly in his supportive embrace that my eyes filled and the tears spilled over.
"Oh, my dear, dear boy, please don't cry!," he pleaded softly. "Oh, please! Oh, John, what have I done to you? I should not have sprung my little surprise on you like that. Forgive me, dear heart."
Holmes held me and continued to comfort me as I broke down completely, burying my face in his warm, sweet-smelling neck and weeping uncontrollably as six months worth of black grief came pouring out of me.
He covered my wet face in kisses and continued to murmur soothing words. Taking out his handkerchief he wiped my eyes and cheeks with it, continuing to hold me tightly until I calmed somewhat.
"Oh, let me look at you!" I stepped back so that I might view him from head to toe. In the light of the setting sun streaming through the windows he was the most beautiful sight on Earth and I stood in awe of his long-limbed grace and unselfconscious elegance of form.
As I gazed on his longed-for features from his small feet up to his shining smooth cap of hair I could not help but note the dark circles under his eyes and the hollows of his thin cheeks that now seemed deeper than ever. It was obvious that he had not been taking care of himself, but then he always was careless with his health.
"My dearest, how beautiful you are!" I declared boldly, "and, oh, but I have missed you so very, very badly!"
"My beloved John, I have missed you so dreadfully that I could not bear to be parted from you for another minute! I had to see you, my sweet, had to be with you once more! Now, come give me your honeyed lips for I have despaired of tasting their sweetness."
In dawning wonder I kissed him, pressing my lips to his as I had thought never to do again for the last six long, terrible months when I had believed him lost to me forever. As my eyes closed in remembered bliss I could not fail to notice that his large, grey eyes were shining with tears.
How utterly lovely it was to be able to hold his dear body against my own once more and share kisses again; lips gliding deliciously together; slippery tongues meeting and caressing wetly; both of us so filled with joy that our hearts felt like they would burst. Oh, Lord, so sweet!
My dear friend and companion had come back to me from the jaws of death, and that was all that mattered. Explanations could wait. My dearest Holmes, whom I had despaired of ever seeing again, was here in my arms and all I wanted now was to make mad, passionate love with him; to take him to bed and make him mine again right here and now in suite 22 of the Langham Hotel.
Thrusting my tongue into his lovely mouth, I caressed his face, drinking deeply of his sweet acceptance. My heart was pounding as he grasped my hips and pulled me tight against him so that our groins pressed together and I could feel his burgeoning arousal, and he mine.
So great was my excitement that I can barely think coherently of what happened next. I know that somehow, between wild kisses and fervent touches, we managed to shed our garments and climbed between the sheets. I do know that I could not get enough of him; could not feel enough, touch enough, caress enough or kiss enough.
My hands were everywhere, stroking the long and wonderful length of him as he continually told me how much he had missed me and needed me, murmuring encouragement and sweet endearments. Heart singing, I took his lovely manhood in my mouth, longing to taste him once more.
Oh, how I had missed this! I was wild for him; I wanted to bury my needful member in his wonderful body and at the same time I wanted him to come in my mouth, to taste him as I had thought never to do again; and I also wanted to feel him deep within me, to be filled so full by his lovely manhood that I would never feel empty again. I did not know what I wanted, only that I needed him desperately and I sucked voraciously on him, taking him whole into my mouth as a man dying of thirst while he, my untamed one, writhed in my arms and called out his love for me.
The feel of his sweet prick in my mouth, hot and musky and so very precious at the back of my throat! It seemed to me that I had never been able to take him so deeply before, and, oh, how he enjoyed it, his hands trembling as they stroked my hair while whispered cries and tender endearments fell from his lips.
When his precious seed burst into my mouth I savoured every last drop of it, sucking him dry as I once more drank of life and love. It was not until he started to soften a little that I reluctantly released him and he pulled me back up into his arms and kissed me repeatedly.
"My sweet John!" he murmured between kisses. "Oh, my dearest, my love!" Such loving kisses he gave me; his tongue searching my mouth to taste repeatedly of his own essence.
As I rolled over to lie beside him, gazing into his large eyes with their thick, dark lashes he stroked my face in most tender manner. I took his lovely musician's hands, the very hands that I had thought never to see or feel again, and kissed them all over.
"I have missed the touch your dear hands so much," I murmured, kissing his fingertips. "I have always loved your hands." I kissed the length of each finger. "They are the hands of a musician, an artist," I kissed his palms, "and when you would caress me I used to feel like I was your instrument..." I lightly licked his palms, "...and you were playing exquisite chords on me."
"Oh, yes, darling John! My wonderful ‘alternative instrument'. I have not forgotten. It has ever been so between us."
I licked between each of his fingers. "Oh, touch me, my sweet, my dear one!" I begged. "Play me and let me be your instrument of pleasure once more!"
He gave a deep, shuddering sigh. "Oh, yes!" he whispered fervently. "Yes, my dear John, my beloved, I will touch you! Oh, yes, touch you everywhere, my love, my dearest. Not a day has gone by that I have not remembered your kisses and the feel of your dear body held close and warm in my arms. Oh, but I have been so lost without you!" he declared, his hands stroking me, owning me in the most personal expression of adoration in which one person may worship another.
As his lips found my throat I arched my head back, shamelessly begging for more. When he took my nipples in his mouth to feast on, it was all I could do not to cry out his name, whispering it instead and calling him my sweet and my darling whilst running my hands all through his soft hair. When my nipples stood peaked and hard from his adoring mouth he moved down to the taut muscles of my belly, kissing and licking his way over it as his hands stroked my thighs and I writhed in delicious torment.
His hand found my swollen member and began to stroke it deliciously whilst his other hand fondled my testicles and pressed them gently, knowing as only another man could how delicate they were and how good it feels to have another hold them thus and treat them with such tender care.
"Oh, yes! Yes!" I groaned.
"So very, very desirable," he whispered. "And I have missed this so very much." He stroked my prick softly from base to tip, pushing back the foreskin and running his thumb over the wetness at the tip. "I may take bow to strings and play a violin concerto, but this delicate instrument is one that produces only the sweetest of harmonies and most rapturous of crescendos, and I can not begin to express my appreciation at holding this treasure in my hands again at last."
"Oh, yes!" I murmured breathlessly. "In your hands, in your arms, where I belong. Oh, my dearest Holmes!"
Unable to lie still a moment longer, I promptly seized him and kissed him thoroughly whilst he, my wonderful lover, wrapped both arms and legs around me in the warmest, most welcoming manner. My lips covered his lean cheeks and sweet ears as I savoured his sighs of pleasure before moving to his neck and throat as he closed his eyes and arched his head back to give me greater access to the tender skin there.
Stroking the soft skin and firm muscles of his arms, I kissed my way down his shoulders and the smooth skin of his chest. His small pink nipples beckoned and I sucked on them avidly, their hardness enticing me further as they instantly rose to greet me. I felt the elevated beat of his heart and cherished it, kissing the spot repeatedly.
Lower I went to his prominent ribs and flat belly, kissing, caressing and sucking on his lovely silken flesh. His sweet member was once again standing tall and proud, but I delved lower now to mouth and suck delicately on his balls; lower still as he parted his legs more, granting me access to the tiny rosebud entrance where I feasted in unrepressed and most carnal delight whilst my divine and exquisite darling tossed about, gasping my name continuously and imploring me to enter him.
The sound of his soft moans and breathless cries urged me on and I grasped and kneaded the ripe firmness of his buttocks whilst leisurely frigging him and he, in turn, begged for mercy from the torment of my lascivious tongue.
Finally I took pity on him, fully realising that I could no longer hold back the tide anyway. I ached desperately with the need to bury myself in his welcoming warmth; to merge with him wholly and completely and make him mine once more in the most intimate form of sharing that God has given us.
As I was about to ask if he had anything we could use to ease our joining, I felt him press something cold and hard into my hand. When I looked I saw that it was a small jar of the greasepaint he used on his face to remove his make-up after wearing a disguise. It would do as well as anything, I thought.
"Bless your foresight, my darling!" I murmured.
"One must be prepared for all eventualities!" he replied, giving me such a wicked look from under his long lashes that I laughed.
Whilst I quickly coated myself with the slippery substance he turned over, kneeling on all fours with his legs parted in welcome. I rubbed a cream-coated finger into the entrance to ease my way for never, not even in the urgent heat of passion, would I dream of hurting him. But he was ready for me, his anal muscles squeezing hard as I pushed a second finger into him and stroked over his prostate whilst he quivered and jerked and pleaded with me to join us.
My own body vibrated with need as I held my distended member against the tiny entrance. As I started to push against it he abruptly pushed back hard and before I knew it I was already half buried within him.
"Yes!" he moaned. "Oh, God, yes! Fill me, my dearest! Fill me! Push your lovely prick into me! Oh, I have been so empty and have longed for you so!"
As I pushed all the way into his dear, accepting body, feeling myself once more surrounded by his heat and marvellous tightness, I cried out his name, calling him my precious and my love.
"Oh, yes, my John, yes!" he moaned in sweet delirium, whilst I ground my hips against him gloriously and he swayed on the bed. The feel of his anal muscles gripping me was very heaven and I grasped his hips, holding him as tightly as possible and seeking the deepest penetration.
The bliss of being once more full-buried in my dear Holmes's heated and much-loved flesh after so prolonged and distressing an absence was alone enough to send me over the edge and I began to thrust rapidly and deeply within him, at the same time making no effort to satisfy him for I desperately wanted to feel the remembered rapture of his large and lovely member filling me so full that it seemed to touch my heart.
When I came, it was with an outpouring of unrestrained joy, my body convulsing as all the love in my heart surged from me in rapturous release as, with a cry of exhilaration, I merged body and soul with my beloved friend in the ultimate moment of oneness.
Almost fainting again, though this time with pleasure, I was vaguely aware of being rolled over as he quickly placed a pillow under my hips, coated himself with the slippery unguent and pushed his heavy, glistening member into the sanctuary of my body.
So good! So marvellous to once more know the remarkable feel of my dear one's lovely prick, swollen with desire for me, his lover, filling me full to bursting once more. I wrapped my legs around him, welcoming him home, sobbing his name repeatedly.
Oh, how the feel of his lovely manhood thrusting within me was sheer unadulterated bliss; his swollen balls slapping against mine, utter delight! My dear friend and lover was truly home where he belonged and my heart sang in complete and perfect joy. Sweet God, it was gorgeous!
As my darling gazed on me with glittering eyes that devoured my being, it occurred to me at that moment that he owned me, body and soul, but I felt only pride that it was I, and only I, that he had given his lonely heart to.
Urging him on, I pushed up to meet his eager thrusts. His eyes closed in helpless delight as I clasped him, squeezing him so hard, begging for his love - and he gave it to me then; he gave it all to me, his passion and his ecstasy, and it was even more lovely than I remembered. I could swear that his sweet manhood tapped against my heart as the tremors of release racked him and tossed him in prolonged moments of fiery delight until, finally, he subsided to blessed repose.
Outside in the street twilight was fading to darkness and street lamps were being lit as I gathered my dear one to me and covered us with the bedclothes. My precious friend fell asleep, resting as trusting as a child in my arms, his face on my breast and both of us covered with the evidence of our passionate reunion; and I had never felt happier, saner or more satisfied in my life.
My beloved companion, Sherlock Holmes, had come back to me, not from the mists of death, as I had believed, but from the mist-shrouded abyss of the Reichenbach Falls. He was truly here beside me, in my arms, where he belonged. Whatever his reasons for allowing me to think him dead for six unendurable months, they must have been important. He would explain and I would understand, I resolved, and now that he was back in my arms again I vowed never to let him go.
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