The Lion's Den (post The Sign of Four - original story)
by Clonesgirl
I am wakened some time later by the delicious feel of his lips on mine as he whispers my name to wake me gently.
"Mm, my sweet John," I murmur, smiling, still only half awake.
"We should go to bed, my dear," he whispers in my ear. "The fire is almost out and we will freeze."
"Oh, but I have not the strength to move and your arms are so warm!" I protest languidly.
He smiles at my somewhat romantic statement. "As are yours, my dear Holmes. None the less, we should go to bed. We would be much more comfortable," he adds slyly, the invitation in his eyes quite unmistakable.
He is asking me to share his bed! I realise with delight. Oh, yes, I shall share your bed, my dear Watson!
"Yes, we would," I agree, "but come and kiss me first."
Once more I taste his lips. I seem quite unable to resist his kisses. How pleasant it is to kiss him at leisure without the urgency of desire. To just be able to share lovely kisses. Mm, sucking on his tongue is bliss indeed! Oh, my love, now that you have opened your heart and I have tasted your passion I shall never let you go!
He pushes himself out of my arms and sits up. "Come, my dearest Holmes! It is getting cold and I, for one, do not intend to catch my death."
"Oh, Watson, you do bully me!" I protest, though without rancour.
"Come on, Holmes, it's cold!"
As the clock chimes two in the a.m. we force ourselves to rise and set the sitting room to rights. The air is indeed quite chill now and we shiver a little. I don night-shirt and dressing gown while my dear one wraps a blanket around himself and gathers his clothing. He unlocks the sitting room door and peers out onto the darkness of the landing before heading to the bathroom.
After setting the sitting room to rights and cleansing myself I find myself gazing at the staircase leading up to his room. This moment is what I have waited for, yearned for; to be able to climb the stairs to my dear Watson's room and have him welcome me into his arms, his bed, his heart. Oh, but it seems that I have dreamed of this for an age so that I can scarce believe it is about to come true! But my lips tingle from his kisses and there is a tenderness deep inside where his lovely member has so recently been and I know in my heart that he will welcome me. None the less my heart pounds as, with more than a little trepidation, I quietly ascend the stairs to his room and tap lightly on his door before entering.
Wearing only his night-shirt, my dear one is sitting up in bed waiting for me . The smile on his lips, the warmth in his eyes and the welcome in his open arms all tell me that my fears were without foundation. My relief is so great that, for a moment, I almost feel giddy.
Finding that I can not take my eyes off him, I deposit my candle on the bedside table before removing slippers and dressing gown. He turns down the bed in welcome and makes room for me as I climb in beside him to a welcome warmer even than I imagined.
"My dear, dear Holmes!" he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me and covering me with the bedclothes as we lie together for the very first time in his bed. As I hug him, we embrace fiercely, rocking each other a little.
Held securely in his arms, face buried in his warm neck, I feel as though I have come home. I feel whole, my spirit healed, perhaps of the aloneness that has always been mine. No matter that I imagined this, yearned for it, I had never truly expected to find succour in my dear friend's arms.
How ironical that I, Sherlock Holmes, unofficial consulting detective and practitioner of the fine arts of analysis and deduction, should be brought to such an extreme state of emotion. How I have oft damned romantic love as nothing more than worthless drivel - only to now find myself needing it as a flower needs sunlight. How I have scorned sentimentality - only to now find myself drowning - nay revelling - in it. Forgive me, dear friend, for all the times I have mocked you for these very traits that I now find in myself. I do not deserve you.
Pressing my lips to his neck again and again, I endeavour to convey my gratitude for his care, murmuring his name repeatedly as he continues to embrace me. I also observe that he has shaved to please me - as I also did for him!
"My dearest Holmes," he soothes, "hold on to me, dear friend, and know that I love you, and that I will be by your side for as long as you will have me."
"Oh, John, what would I do without you! Forgive me, dear friend," I murmur contritely. "I was quite... overcome. Your response to me, the warmth of your welcome... Oh, but I never dared hope that you would..." Hopelessly lost for words, I stumble to a halt before I become even more of a sentimentalist and say something that I might truly regret in the future. "Forgive me, my dearest John, but I am truly overwhelmed by your welcome."
"Shhh," he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to my cheeks, my temples, my damp eyes - soft as the touch of a butterfly! - and finally to my yearning mouth where I welcome his lips and tongue, sucking tenderly on them, so infinitely grateful for the deep and abiding friendship and understanding that he has always so unstintingly given me.
How very loving he is - and how grateful I am that his natural inclination is to be affectionate. Would that I were the same! For his sake I will try, I vow, kissing him again. Briefly, I wonder if perhaps my own nature could be more affectionate that I thought. That hardly seems likely, yet in a few short hours I have grown addicted to my dear friend's kisses and touches, not to mention the feel of his long and lovely member. Hm. This requires analysis, and I am far too distracted.
"My dearest Holmes, you know that there is no one for me but you." He nuzzles my neck. Oh, but his words are a sweet symphony to my ears!
"How long?" I inquire tentatively. "How long have you... loved me?"
"How long? Hard to say," he muses. "I know that I became intrigued by your strange ways and even stranger associates during our first year together. As my health improved and I came to know you better, you extended the hand of friendship to me and... I could not help but grow fond of you. I would judge that in the last year I have grown immoderately fond of you."
"Hah! Oh, Watson!" I hug him and we rock a little. "I must confess to reflecting on your handsome self when I have lain in my cold bed at night, wishing that we could be together."
"Oh, Holmes!" Touched by my word he embraces me, covering my face in kisses. "I, too, have yearned for the same thing. I wanted so much to go to you, to slip quietly into your room late at night. I imagined that you might welcome me into your bed and we would embrace and kiss - oh, lots of kisses! - and spend the rest of the night in delightful intimacy. Is it not absurd that we both desired the same thing but were to afraid to speak?"
"Lord, yes, for I also have imagined the same thing; that one night I would walk up the stairs to your room and you would welcome me into your bed and we would spend all night making sweet and glorious love and afterwards I would fall asleep in your dear arms."
"Yes, yes!" he sighs, "but I truly thought that it was never to be."
"How wrong we both were, my dear, and look at all the time we have wasted!" I lament, leaning over to kiss him once more.
"No more!" he asserts in most forceful fashion.
Our kisses are gentle now, filled with affection for each other. Oh, but such intimacy with a lover is truly extraordinary! To be so close to him. To share thoughts with him as I rest my head on his breast and listen to the soft sigh of his breath and the beat of his heart whilst inhaling the scent that is uniquely his is to experience a closeness that I have never known before.
"My dearest Watson, you must know that when it comes to the finer emotions I am hugely ignorant."
He runs a gentle finger over my lips, tracing the outline. "My dear Holmes, I am flattered that you should think me knowledgeable, but I would beg to point out that I know little more than you do However, if you are agreeable, then we shall learn, together."
"I promise you, dear friend, that I will make the effort," I agree.
"As will I, my dearest Holmes. At least we are fortunate in that we have one great advantage."
"And that is?" I query, intrigued.
"We already share lodgings."
"Hah! And your old acquaintance will never know the true significance of his singular introduction that day at Barts."
"Yes. And to think that Stamford was never even a friend, merely a dresser under me."
"I will always be indebted to him."
He smiles at me. "As will I, my dear, though it is a shame that we will never be able to express our true gratitude to him for introducing us that day."
"Indeed," I agree.
As I continue to gaze on his handsome features I begin to wonder if the events of this night are not something which we might one day come to regret. As the wretched law now stands it is a crime for us to conjoin, even in the privacy of our own bedrooms.
"My dearest, you know how careful we will have to be," I caution.
"Shhh." He places a silencing finger over my lips. "As long as we are prudent no one need ever suspect. You shall always be the great detective and I shall continue to be your loyal friend and biographer. Of course, after a time, and, of course, to deflect any suspicion as to the true nature of our relationship, it might become necessary for one of us to marry," he adds blithely.
I look at him in horror. "Watson, you are not seriously suggesting...?"
He chuckles wickedly, his body shaking with mirth. "Oh, my dear Holmes, if you could see your face!"
He is teasing me! Oh, but he is delightful!
"For one dreadful moment I thought you meant that one of us should get married."
"Perish the thought, dear friend," he assures. "I meant only that we might have to invent a fictitious wife for one of us."
"What an abhorrent conception!"
"I hadn't really thought of children, though I suppose we could invent them as well," he muses guilelessly. "A boy and a girl?"
I am grotesquely affronted by the very notion. "Watson!"
He giggles uproariously. "Oh, Holmes, you really must not take me so seriously!"
A little revenge is in order I think. "Are you planning on marrying the fair Miss Morstan then?" I inquire casually.
"Now there is an interesting notion! Do you think I should?" he asks innocently, but I can see the merriment in his twinkling eyes.
"Oh, only if you think it necessary," I sigh with languid detachment.
"You mean a ‘marriage of convenience'?" He gives me a meaningful look.
He is teasing still. Very well. "Oh, my dear chap, I certainly had not contemplated - as our American cousins so colourfully refer to it - a ‘shotgun wedding'!" There!
He chortles gleefully and buries his face in my neck to stifle his laughter.
"Oh, Holmes, the thought of you having to marry some poor hapless female that you inadvertently got ‘in the family way' because a French letter burst..."
"Watson!" I am utterly outraged at the very notion. "I was not referring to myself!"
"Oh, it is just too hilarious for words!" he chortles.
By simply turning my suggestion inside out he has painted the most ludicrous picture at which I cannot help but chuckle. Rolling over on top of him, I hold his wrists, pinning him down with my weight, our bodies separated only by the thin cotton of our night-shirts. How he delights me!
"My dear Watson, with regard to myself, your reading public would never believe such a preposterous tale. Besides, they know that I am devoted to crime and have no time to spare for the mundaneness and sheer mediocrity of family life."
Far from being intimidated, he merely looks cheerfully up at me. "Then I suppose I shall have to be the one to make the supreme sacrifice." His expression of ultimate martyrdom is priceless.
"Shall you marry Miss Morstan then?" I inquire.
"Why not! She shall be the first!" he declares with some asperity.
"The first?" I query in astonishment.
"Oh, yes, and when I get bored with her she will meet with an untimely and tragic demise. I, of course, shall be inconsolable in my grief and my dear friend Sherlock Holmes will comfort me. Of course, after a suitable amount of time has elapsed I shall be obliged to take another wife. You, of course, will again be my best man. Oh, did I mention that you are going to be my best man when I marry the fair Miss Morstan?"
"Uh, no," I mutter.
"Most remiss of me! At any rate, you will be my best man at all my future weddings and my sole consolation when, somehow, my wives all meet with a premature and unfortunate end."
His fake grief is a treasure to behold, but I am none too sanguine about his ‘wives'. "Then I am honoured, I think." I decide that I should compliment him on his resourcefulness. "You know, Watson, you have a far more inventive mind than I have ever given you credit for."
He gives me a most peculiar look as if, somehow, he is none too flattered by my compliment, though I can not possibly imagine why.
"Why thank you, Holmes." His reply would seem to bear a considerable amount of irony. How strange! One would think that I insulted him. No matter. Perhaps it is time to once more explore more direct - not to mention more delightful - ways of communicating.
"My pleasure, Watson. And now that we have planned our future fictional lives, I propose that we attend to more pressing concerns in our real lives."
He looks innocently up at me, as if he is unaware of the insistent swelling of my member, or, indeed, of his own matching response.
"My dear fellow, I am quite unaware of any ‘pressing matters'," he remarks. He none the less smiles slyly at me, pushing his pelvis upward to press us closer together. "Would you care to explain that remark, Holmes?"
I return his smile with one just as crafty. "Oh, my dear Watson, I shall demonstrate these ‘pressing matters' to you in such graphic detail that there will be no doubt whatsoever as to their explicit nature!""Oh, indeed, Holmes? Please do!" he insists eagerly.
"My dear Watson, I intend to!" I assure him. "I intend to!"
Leaning down, I proceed to kiss him thoroughly, thrilled to again feel his tongue seeking my own. Mm, never get enough of his kisses! But his night-shirt is in the way, as is my own. With his permission I reach to quickly remove it as he helps me out of my own.
Oh, the delight of touch! I discover parts of my body that I had never realised were sensitive while at the same time mapping every inch of my dear one for future reference. Oh, but he is a treasure trove of delights and I could spend a lifetime exploring him! What a pleasant thought! And please, God, grant us many years together for he is most precious to me and I could not bear to lose him, especially not now.
It is so remarkably pleasant to lie back and run my fingers through his soft hair as he sucks avidly on my nipples! Such sweet delight! How easily he turns my body to flame, my prick to a bar of iron that yearns for his touch. Shall I suck you to glory this time, my dear John? Yes, for I have yet to taste your bounty!
I turn over and bid him lie back so that I might gaze my fill of him. How pleasing to the eye he is!
Though still a little self-conscious in his nakedness, his gaze is filled with affection. "Do I please you, Holmes?"
I shake my head at the inadequacy of words at such a time. "Please me? Oh, my dear and handsome physician, your body is truly an object of worship," I affirm. "Your attractions," I run my gaze the length of his body, lingering on his standing member and lovely balls, "are legion and I find myself captivated by your manly charms," I run my fingers through the light sprinkling of fair hair on his chest, "enthralled by your dear little nipples," I lean over to kiss each one, "enslaved by your gentle healer's hands that turn my heart and soul to flame," I kiss the palms of his hands and stroke his fingers, "and enchanted by your soft lips that bestow the most delightful kisses, not to mention entice me to distraction," I lean down to kiss him lightly, then again, "again and again." My dear, you are a heady delight, a vintage wine to be sipped and savoured to the very last drop." I kiss him long and thoroughly. "My sweet John, you are irresistible and I adore you!"
"Oh, Holmes!" He hugs me unmercifully, covering my face in kisses. "My dear and wonderful friend, what have I done to deserve you!"
I return his fervent embrace. "Surely it is I who should be asking that, my dearest!" I kiss his cheeks. "Now lie back and relax, my sweet."
Once more he does my bidding, stretching luxuriously, all traces of self-consciousness now gone as I devour him with hungry eyes. Stroking my fingers over his ribs, I count each individual one before inserting my tongue in his naval, thereby causing him to squirm with delight. The soft skin of his neck and throat tempts me to mouth it, to kiss it, to suck it lightly as he arches his head back on the pillow, tossing in abandon. What a deliciously wanton creature he is!
His tiny nipples lure me to suck, to nibble them to hard points. Oh, but he responds so easily to the slightest touch!
My hands drift to his firmly muscled thighs and he parts them for me as I mouth the smooth, tender flesh of the inner side, licking and sucking as he sighs with pleasure. His lovely balls are only inches away as, gradually, I work my way higher. When, finally, I take them in my mouth he tosses in blissful abandon. Oh, my dear, how easy it is to please you! Ah, but I cannot linger here forever for his dear member is standing tall, beckoning me with its salt-sweet riches.
My dearest Watson is hard for me, I realise. He wants me, and that is truly the most gratifying feeling that I have ever experienced. Indeed at this juncture I can not even think of one case which has given me the satisfaction that pleasing my dear friend - and knowing that the feeling is reciprocated - has given me, but then at present my mind would seem to be barely functioning at all. How strange that I do not even care!
This time I shall taste all of him, I vow, sucking avidly, yearning for his prick to spill its creamy musk essence onto my tongue and into my heart. Oh, yes!
"Oh, Holmes, stop! Stop, please!" he moans. "Oh, please!"
Momentarily thwarted in my goal, I cease my ardent sucking and look up at him.
"Wait, my love," he pants. "Let me catch my breath." After a few moments during which he breathes deeply he seems a little calmer and, much to my astonishment, reaches under the pillows and produces a small pot of scented unguent.
He notices my surprise at this turn of events.
"Doctors, also, must always be prepared!" he remarks with considerable slyness.
With fingers that shake a little he removes the lid and dips two fingers in it. As I continue to observe he proceeds to coat my prick with the slippery stuff.
Oh, the feel of his warm fingers sliding over me! Mm, lovely, but this is hardly what I had envisioned. "Watson? My dear, just what do you think you are doing?" I venture to query.
"Come, come, my dear Holmes!" he chides gently. "Have your formidable powers of deductive reasoning totally deserted you?"
"But you cannot possibly want..." I begin to protest.
"Oh, but I can!" he interrupts. "And I do!"
"Dear friend, that is most generous of you and typical of your unselfish nature, but..."
"Hush, my dear, and listen. You gave yourself to me. In so doing, you gave me the most marvellous sexual experience that I have ever known. I would have you also know that same joy, my love."
As I gaze at him in considerable uncertainty he leans forward and confidently kisses me.
Oh, what have I done? He is arguing from a false point of view. He believes - because I have deliberately mislead him - that I am truly virgin. Far from it! Nothing could be further from the truth, but I dare not tell him, and this is the result of my wilful deception. He thinks that I was a virgin up until tonight and that I sacrificed my virginity on the altar of his manhood. Now he wants to do the same. Hah! How ironical! Would that I had been a virgin! But he is, and I have no wish to hurt him!
"Dearest John, I would never expect you to..."
He silences me by placing a finger over my lips. "Holmes, I am a doctor, he gently chides. "Whilst I realise that there will be some discomfort... uh, that is until I grow accustomed to it." His state of nerves is quite endearing. "Equally, I know that you will be... considerate, and that you will not hurt me."
"Oh, my John!" Astounded by my dear friend's generosity, I press my cheek to the spot over his heart, feeling its strong beat. Ashamed of my deceit, I force myself to once more look into his clear eyes. "If it is truly your wish, my dearest John..."
"It is! Dear heart, you allowed me the privilege of claiming you as my own; now you must claim me."
He called me ‘dear heart'! Oh, God, how long have I secretly addressed him in that very manner? So long that it is a miracle I have not addressed him as such in a moment of mental abstraction.
Touching my cheek, he smiles at me with assurance. His confidence and his trust in me are total. Would that I were worthy of them!
"Tarry no longer, my dear," he insists gently.
Defeated both by my own desire and my dear friend's sincerity, I have no choice but to capitulate.
Stroking his cheeks, I press my lips to his with great affection - and acquiesce. "It shall be as you wish, my dearest."
He hands me one of the pillows to place under him and watches as I dip two fingers into the unguent. I rub the outside muscle gently, stroking it to relax him. As he opens a little I slip one finger inside, sliding it in as far as I can to caress the inner walls.
Lord, but he is tight! As I stroke downward he gasps and I know that I have touched his prostate. Excellent! I continue to stroke it, listening to his soft moans of pleasure. As he continues to relax I add a second finger, stretching him a little more.
"Oh, God, Holmes!" he moans softly.
"Good for you, my sweet?" I inquire solicitously.
"God, yes! Yes! But, please, I want your prick inside me!"
"I know, my dear, I know, but I have no wish to cause you pain. You know that I would never hurt you for the world, my love, so just relax and allow me to stretch you a little with my fingers. This way there will be less discomfort for you when I enter you."
"Oh, mm, yes!" he murmurs somewhat incoherently.
His blissful abandon is making me so excited that I can barely keep a rein on my own passion. My balls are full with need, my member jutting to its full reach. The mere thought of entering him, of feeling myself enclosed in that silken heat and tightness is almost enough to finish me now.
"Please, my love! Please now!" he beseeches.
Finding that I can wait no longer, I murmur, "Yes, my heart," conceding to my own great need as well as his. For better, or worse, we are committed to our present course of action.
He is definitely stretched a little. It will have to suffice. As I position myself he wraps muscular legs around me, smiling up at me. However, when I push a little against the entrance he gasps and tightens.
"Relax, my dear, and let me in," I murmur, distracting him from the discomfort by stroking his lovely member.
As he acquiesces I waste no time but push gently and firmly once more - and this time the muscle gives way. As I continue to stroke his full prick he relaxes even more and I push in a little further. So tight! Oh, but he feels more-than-wonderful! He is exquisite!
"Tell me, my dearest. Tell me if I am hurting you," I gasp.
"No. No, my love, but you fill me so full," he manages to gasp.
I smile. "That is as it should be, my dear."
My boastful words have the desired effect and he gives a faint chuckle. His mirth causes him to momentarily loosen tight muscles and, again, I push forward slowly, gently, until I am once more half-buried in him. "How does that feel, my dear?" I inquire most solicitously.
"Oh, Holmes, you feel so big, my love, but... I want it. I want more. I want to be able to take all of you."
He is in considerable discomfort, I realise through the haze of my own lust, yet he is denying it and begging for more.
Oh, my dear, dear John, truly you are a miracle! There are hidden depths to you that I never suspected, dear friend. How remiss of me!
Deeper! I thrust a little harder, a little further in and he moans, my hands continually stroking his prick, my own excitement close to fever pitch. I know that I can not hold on for much longer. I groan his name and thrust deeper. To my surprise, he pushes up to meet me, repeatedly calling my name and begging me more.
"Oh, yes, my love, yes!" he moans. "Everything! Anything! Anything you want, my dearest!"
Grasping him hard, I press him tight against me, pushing in as deeply as I can go. Far from resisting, he pushes back to meet my eager thrusts.
"You hold all of me, my love!" I gasp. "All of me! Am I hurting you?"
"No, my dear, no," he whispers.
"Oh, my heart!" I moan as I continue to thrust deeply into his lovely flesh, a light sheen of perspiration now glistening on both of us. However, I can hold back the dam no longer.
Oh, now! What delicious ecstasy as I thrust one final time into the haven of his needful flesh - and am consumed. As I give him my all his essence spills onto my hands, soaking me with the evidence of his pleasure. Together, we drown in sweetest rapture for long moments that are frozen in time and will live forever in my memory.
My prick still deeply within his flesh, I am overcome by a delicious lassitude as my breathing gradually returns to something resembling normal. Commanding my eyes to open, I see my dear one smiling openly at me.
"My dear love," he whispers softly and sighs. "I never knew."
Returning his smile, I, too, whisper. "What did you not know?"
"That... that sex could be so... divine. Oh, my dearest Holmes, it was exquisite! It was marvellous! Oh, I have not the words!" he sighs in frustration, reaching out to stroke my face with gentle hands. "Was it good for you also, my dear?"
"Good? Good is hardly the word, my John! Surely splendid! Wonderful! Incredible! Remarkable! Beautiful!" I enthuse. "Oh, my dear, dear heart, you are a wonder to me!"
As I pull back a little my softened member slips free of the warm sheath of his body. He hands me a handkerchief with which to wipe my fingers and I lean down to taste him; to lick at the cream that lies spattered in heavy drops on his belly. His salt-musk taste is tart on my tongue - and addictive! I can not seem to get enough of him as I lap up every drop and move lower to lick at his wet member, thoroughly cleansing it whilst he sighs with pleasure and pets my hair.
"Mm, Watson! Oh, you are wonderful! But I really should check you, my sweet."
"Really, Holmes, I am a doctor and can examine myself," he protests.
"‘Sauce for the goose', dear heart. Now part your legs."
He reluctantly obeys as I hold a candle closer. However, my fears are allayed and I am relieved to see that there is no blood on either of us, stating as much.
"My dearest Holmes, you were so careful, so gentle with me. Allow me to thank you for your care."
He pulls me down for a lovely affectionate kiss.
"My pleasure, my dearest John."
Abruptly, I notice my member, limp and sticky with unguent and decide that I really must cleanse myself - and with hot water. Getting out of the warm bed, I shiver a little in the cold air, don my dressing gown and head for the bathroom.
As I cleanse myself I contemplate my reflection in the looking glass. Is it my imagination, or is there a subtle change in my appearance? Yes! Yes, there is!
My lips are somewhat swollen and I have never seen them in this condition before. This is remarkable, but is it any wonder with all the this kissing? Such kisses! I had not realised that kissing made one's lips swell a little. As I touch them and run my finger over them it occurs to me that they look... almost voluptuous. Hah! I make note of it for future reference as one never knows when such knowledge will be of use.
I touch my cheeks, my neck. Upon gazing at my small pink nipples, now shrunken with cold, I remember the feel of his warm mouth on them. How lovely it was! I never even realised quite how sensitive they were until now. Remarkable! Observing my hipbones, I notice the faint marks of his hands where he gripped me hard as he claimed me, and still there is that tender feeling deep within to remind me of his recent presence there. How very affectionate he is! How manly! And how tender!
As I dry myself I am reminded of his incredible heat and tightness and the sensation of being fully sheathed in his marvellous flesh. Oh, yes! Soon, my dear, soon I shall be within you again - as you shall be deeply within me once more! God, yes! My dearest John, I shall never let you go! The mere thought of our bodies uniting once more, merging once more in annihilation of the senses, makes me warm inside.
Gazing once more at my appearance in the looking glass, I can not help but smile at my remarkable transformation. Yes, I will make time for love, as well as crime, in my life, not just to please my dear friend, but because I can now admit that I, too, need affection, and with the help of a little necessary but harmless fiction, no one will ever even suspect the true depth of our feelings for one another. But now I must go for my lover awaits.
As I once again enter his room I observe his appearance. He has donned night-shirt, dressing gown and slippers, his hair is dishevelled and his lips, too, are swollen and looking very-much-kissed. I have also never seen him appear so... so content as he passes me to leave the room.
Removing my dressing gown, I once more don my night-shirt and climb into his bed. It is still warm and, as I lie waiting for my dear John to return, I observe the room around me from the miniature sail-boat that he built himself sitting on a table by the bed - intricate work that - to his grooming aids; from the sea motif on his bed cover to the to the pattern of the ceiling plaster. Although small, this room is still larger than my own. I decide that I like it, this room which my lover has made his own.
As my dear one rejoins me and we settle ourselves in the bed, I observe that our legs intertwine naturally, as though we have always slept this way, always will. It is hardly my normal sleeping position, yet it is strangely natural to feel the soft mound of his genitals pressing against my inner thigh as my own nudge the firmness of his hip. Odd, for the sensation would even seem to be comforting.
As I turn to observe my dear friend I see from his expression that he would seem to be taking our current situation perfectly in stride. Perhaps I should simply take a leaf from my lover's book, cease this useless prattle in my mind and simply accept our current situation for the obvious happiness that it has brought to us both.
He stifles a yawn. "My sweet, it is twenty-five to four. I don't think that I can stay awake much longer, especially after our amorous activities."
"Amorous indeed!" I agree. "But you are correct - we both need sleep to recover our strength."
"And our virility!" he adds slyly, reaching to snuff out the candles.
I chuckle. He is so delightful! "Hah! Our virility indeed, my dear! I believe a hearty breakfast is in order!"
"Yes, indeed," he agrees, stroking my back and running his fingers through my hair. "Sleep in my arms, my darling Holmes, so that we may greet the morning together."
"Mm, yes," I sigh, for once thoroughly contented with my lot, even if I do not have a new case to occupy me. Methinks that, at least for the present, my mind will be fully occupied in pursuit of the more sensual mysteries, an investigation which promises to be most a most pleasurable one indeed.
All at once I realise with what intimate endearment my friend addressed me! No one has ever addressed me thus before - but then my demeanour would hardly permit it, nor the business-like manner of my relationships. Astonished, I turn to face my lover.
"You called me ‘darling'!"
He, too, appears surprised at his own words. No doubt it was a slip of the tongue.
"Why... Why, yes. Yes, I did." Gazing at me in most candid manner, he inquires if I mind.
Do I mind? I ask myself. Do I mind if my dear lover addresses me as ‘darling' in such intimate circumstances? Of course not! How could I when I have addressed him thus in my own mind, if not aloud? Besides, I seem to remember uttering several endearments myself - in the heat of the moment, so to speak.
"My dearest John, you may address me in whatever manner pleases you, and if you choose to call me ‘darling' at any time in the future, who am I to object? T'would indeed be a niggardly heart that would gainsay such expressions of affection."
"And you do not have a niggardly heart."
I chuckle at his words, contradicting as they do his opinion from earlier years.
"Hah! Once upon a time you opined that I had no heart, did you not?."
"Yes, I admit that I did. I hope that you can forgive me for that. My conclusion as to your lack of emotion was rash and ill-conceived. However, you will admit that I had not known you long at the time that I wrote those ill-conceived words."
"Quite. I will also admit that at first I deliberately kept you at a distance. Of course, you were practically an invalid after your Afghan adventures."
"True. I spent a long time convalescing. But what made you change your mind about me?"
"My dear fellow, it is really very simple. As your health improved I began to realise what enormous assistance you could be in my little investigations. A member of the medical profession who can shoot straight, and has no compunction about doing so when lives are at stake, is a most valuable asset. I would have been a dozen kinds of fool not to take advantage of your sterling qualities. As time passed, I came to realise that I would rather have you at my back any day than one of those bungling Scotland Yarders for I had come to trust you." With my finger I trace the outline of his moustache, admiring my lover's many attractive features. "As to forgiving you, my dear fellow, I am humbled that you should ask for my forgiveness now. Please believe me when I say that I forgave you long ago and only just now remembered your words. Can you forgive me for ever mentioning them?"
As he grins at me I know that I am forgiven. "Of course."
"Thank you, my dear. Besides, your long-ago words may be of aid in the future. If your reading public continue to believe me to be cold-hearted, then they will never suspect our present circumstances."
"True."
He leans forward to touch his lips to mine in a kiss so affectionate that my heart soars, sealing our past and promising so much for our future. Of course one kiss becomes several.
"My dearest Holmes, your kisses could rouse the dead!" he murmurs, stroking my shoulders and upper arms with his gentle hands.
I rest my head on his shoulder once more. "And you, my dear, are very far from being deceased!"
He chuckles. "Indeed, my darling, but let us sleep now anyway."
"Yes," I sigh. "I must confess that I am somewhat fatigued."
"Then I will bid you goodnight, my dearest Holmes," he murmurs.
"Sleep well, my dearest Watson."
My heart's desire beside me, I allow myself to drift, his kisses warm on my lips and my body just a little tender from our vigorous loving. Mm, vigorous indeed! I shall be lucky to be able to walk in the morning and I may not sit for a week. Hah! My dearest Watson will be in exactly the same boat! Oh, but I shall have him again very soon! What a wicked thought! Mm, I think I that shall dream about it...
*
