A Night at a Country Inn (during The Valley of Fear)
by Clonesgirl
The technical stuff:
RATING: NC-17 for the sex and general naughty goings on.
PAIRING: Holmes/Watson
WORD COUNT: 6,490
WARNINGS: Slash - now you all know what that is - and flowery language
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: The Motley Collection
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed strictly for fun, not profit. No offence intended.
BETAING: Not betaed. Apologies. If you spot any goofs please let me know.
FEEDBACK: Would be lovely.
NOTE: If you wish to link to this story it would be much appreciated if you could let the
author know.
* * *As I lay in bed at the small inn in the village of Birlstone in Sussex, wondering at what hour Holmes would join me - or even if he would join me at all - I pondered just what he needed my umbrella for; my umbrella, darkness and Ames the butler, he had said. An odd combination, to say the least especially since it was not even raining!
We were sleeping in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little country inn could do for us. Our room was one of two on the top floor and I had heard no one in the adjoining room so hoped that it would be a quiet night.
Alas my hope was to be a forlorn one for at that moment I heard footsteps coming down the hall - two sets if I was not mistaken. There followed the metallic clicks of a key in the latch as they entered the room next door. This was accompanied by girlish giggles and a man's voice speaking softly. Oh well, as long as they were quiet, I thought. After all, I was in no position to begrudge others a bit of a frolic when I myself indulged in it as often as possible. I thought that perhaps they were a young couple on their honeymoon until I distinctly heard:
"Oh, Tom Smith, you are wicked! I must be mad to come here with you!"
"Sh, it'll be all right, Jane, you'll see. They all think we're married."
"Ohhh, Tom, what you're doing is just sinful!" she squealed in delight.
"Oh, Jane, what lovely bubbies you have! So smooth and round and creamy white! Mmm..."
I sighed and prayed for deliverance. Apparently the dividing wall between the two rooms was paper thin.
Holmes and I had been lovers now for over two years so that it had become rare for us to spend the night apart and I never could sleep without him beside me. I never ceased to appreciate him for I loved him most completely. He, in turn, although still keeping his little secrets until he was good and ready to reveal them, was vastly more considerate of my feelings. He still loved to surprise me with dinner and tickets to a concert and when not absorbed in a case he was as passionate and devoted a lover as I could ever have wished for and these last two years had been the most rewarding of my life.
To think that I, the most ordinary of men, should have ended up with so unconventional and unique a lover as Sherlock Holmes is a paradox which I long ago ceased to question. Indeed the transition from friends to lovers involved great personal risk to both of us. It had required us to reveal our innermost thoughts; elements of our relationship that were heretofore implicitly understood and therefore always unspoken - our deep friendship, our trust, our care for each other that had grown so very much since that singular day we had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance and had agreed to share lodgings together. Then one day Holmes had been out on a case and had come home with a badly cut hand. He had used his handkerchief as a bandage but when I saw the amount of blood I frankly feared the worst.
Fortunately for him there was no tendon or nerve damage otherwise the use of his hand might have been permanently impaired and I feared the effect this might have on his violin playing. He stood quietly as I bathed his hand and cleaned the deep cuts, only wincing a little when I applied disinfectant. I hoped that there would be no infection and that the cuts would heal cleanly but I knew he could see the concern in my eyes, the anxiety I could not hope to conceal from him for he knew me too well.
As I finished dressing his hand I looked up at him only to find him gazing at me with an unexpected warmth in his eyes. With his bandaged hand he reached out to touch my face gently, his fingers fluttering down my cheek in a light caress - an unprecedented gesture of affection on his part.
"My dear doctor," he murmured, "what would I do without you to care for me?"
I closed my eyes briefly, savouring the rare and unexpected note of tenderness in his voice.
"It is my privilege to care for you," I managed to reply, feeling a distinct lump in my throat.
Still he gazed at me, his face mere inches from my own.
"You care for me too much I fear."
I could not look at him so gazed at the wall behind him instead. "Would you rather I cared for you not at all?" I ventured, fearing that my distress at his injury had offended him.
He shook his head. "Perish the thought, my dear fellow!" he declared in his velvet tones, his voice soothing and gentle as music to my ears. "It is merely that I do not deserve your love, my good Watson."
I stared at him in shock, feeling all-too-vulnerable and ready to deny that I loved him. But what would be the use when he would see through any denial on my part. I opted for a partial truth.
"Yes, I... care for you like a brother," I ventured cautiously.
Again he shook his head. "It is more than that, my dear Watson. Much more."
"And, of course, also as a friend," I continued.
Once more he shook his head.
"I have... an affectionate regard for you," I stumbled. "That is all."
"Is it? I think not, dear friend. I think - no, I know - that you not only hold me in the highest regard, but that you love me with such a love as is more commonly found between a man and a woman. Is it not so?"
Unable to face him at this bare-faced revelation of the truth of my heart, I made to turn away but he grasped my arms and held me still, forcing me to look on him when all I wanted was for the floor to open up and swallow me in my shame and mortification.
In desperation I tried to deny my feelings for him. "Really, Holmes, you make too much of my concern for your well-being. I..."
"Oh, no, no, no, my dear doctor, do not belittle your feelings for me for I value them - and you - most highly. Indeed I am privileged to be the object of your affections."
I stared at him in shock; this whole extraordinary conversation totally unnerved me.
"You, Holmes, privileged...?"
"Oh, yes, my dear fellow! Privileged indeed!"
I found myself almost speechless. "Holmes, I..."
"Shh. No more words. We both know what lies between us. Now let me take you in my arms, my good doctor, and hold you close to my heart." So saying, he wrapped his arms about my back, embracing me in a most possessive manner.
In our daily activities we were seldom in such close proximity and as I inhaled the scent of his toilet water and the scent that was uniquely him I ceased to resist, for he was precious to me beyond words, beyond all reason. Now I found myself returning his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and clasping him to me. He gave a great, long, shuddering sigh and I thought that he must truly have wanted this, waited for this for a very long time - but then, if I was honest, so had I.
It should have felt most strange to hold him thus, but the only strange thing about it was that it felt perfectly natural and we stood still for long minutes, embracing; relaxing in the warmth and comfort that can only be felt in the arms of a loved one. He rocked me a little, crooning softly in my ear, letting me know of his pleasure at the feel of my arms around him.
"Ah, yes! Yes!," he murmured in my ear. "Ohhhh... so good, so good! Ah, my dear, dear friend, to hold you in my arms is bliss indeed!"
At that point I ceased to question the feelings he engendered in me and merely accepted that, unbelievable as it seemed, the feelings were mutual and I pulled back to gaze deeply into his dark grey eyes in a moment of truth that was ultimately more intimate than any I had ever known. Nothing could have stopped me then from drawing his lips to mine and claiming his mouth in a kiss that was as devastating as it was sweet, closing the door firmly on our past as it did and opening another to a future the likes of which I had only lately begun to dream of.
Looking back on the changes in our relationship prior to our becoming lovers, there had been an inevitability about it, a rightness which neither of us questioned. That night, in my room in Baker Street, we became lovers in a sweet awakening of the senses that knew no bounds. Our passion, our joy in each other was the most pleasurable and exquisite revelation of my life and I will never regret a single instant of that extraordinary night.
As my thoughts returned to the present I immediately wished that they had remained happily in the past for, by the sound of the giggles and laughter next door, shortly accompanied by rhythmic squeaks of the bed-springs, I knew I was never going to get any sleep. After what was probably about twenty minutes, but to me seemed far longer, the sounds began to come faster, accompanied by loud groans and moans.
It was plain that the virile Tom Smith was putting in quite a performance, however, I did not envy him. It was true that I had once had my share of enjoyment with the fair sex, but most of those experiences had been fleeting and were now but distant memories of a former life. All my encounters with women had taken place before I had met and become fascinated with a certain practicing genius in the form of a tall, near-emaciated, violin-playing, unofficial consulting detective.
Finally it was quiet and I sighed and prayed that they would now go to sleep. Another forlorn hope. After what I judged could not have been more than ten minutes, during which time there were more murmurs and giggles, the creak of the springs could be heard again. I wondered if this was going to go on all night.
Just then there was a soft tap on the door and I lit a candle before getting up to unlock it. It was Holmes.
He smiled at me, indicating the noises from next door. "A vigorous performance!" he noted with some amusement. "In progress long?"
"Not long, but this is the second act."
"Hah!" he murmured, beginning to remove his clothing. "Then let us hope it is the final act!"
I agreed wholeheartedly before briefly querying if his investigations of this night had revealed any new information.
"I say, Watson," he whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"
"Not in the least," I answered in astonishment.
"Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter about the murder of Mr Douglas of Birlstone Manor.
As he undressed I hung up his clothing for him and he went to the washstand. At such a late hour the staff were all in bed and there was no hot water available. Another person might have waited until the morning to wash but not Sherlock Holmes, with his cat-like love of cleanliness. He proceeded to get soap and wash cloth and scrub himself thoroughly until his skin was pink. He also liked me to wash his back for him and we frequently took turns performing this small loving service for each other. As I scrubbed his back now he sighed and stretched.
When he had finished his toilet he donned a clean night-shirt and climbed into bed beside me, pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me for warmth. He was shivering slightly and his body felt distinctly chilled from the cold water. I wrapped the bedclothes around him and petted him, warming him with my hands, his presence in my arms at once soothing and exciting.
Unfortunately, the sound of rhythmic squeaking was still coming fast and furious from next door. Smith and his lady were obviously having quite a night of it! I reflected.
"The walls of this old place are at least five inches thick. It is therefore obvious that the room has been partitioned to make it into two - and a most inadequate partition it is too!" Holmes complained. "I shall speak to the landlord about it in the morning."
"Mm," I murmured, kissing his lean cheeks in an effort to distract him.
"This is simply not acceptable!" he protested.
"And who are we to throw stones, my dear?" I chided gently while kissing his neck.
He gave a small, rueful smile. "How true!," he agreed.
I decided that further distraction was definitely in order and proceeded to possess his sweet mouth with my yearning tongue.
"Mmmm, darling John..." he sighed as I covered his face with kisses.
"Sherlock Holmes, you are a fraud!" I whispered, teasing him as he so loved.
"I? A fraud? My dear fellow, you must have me confused with someone else!" he protested with too much vehemence, or so I thought. "I am as honest and truthful as the day is long."
I chuckled. "And you only tell the police what you wish them to know!"
"Is it my fault if they cannot separate fact from fiction? If they cannot deduce motives and find clues?"
"Oh, motives and clues you are very good at," I responded in airy manner. "But they do not know that they are dealing with the biggest fraud that ever lived. They see only a heartless logician relentlessly seeking motives and clues. They don't know the real you; that underneath that cold exterior lies an artistic spirit with a passionate soul and a loving heart."
"Mm, yes..." he agreed dreamily, thoroughly distracted as I had intended. He lay back as I rolled over on top of him, kissing him and stroking his neck and shoulders as I knew from long habit that he loved for me to do. Using my hands lightly, I delicately conveyed my love, my pleasure in his touch, his very nearness.
As I continued to touch him I watched him; watched as the pleasure I was creating engendered long sighs of delight and soft whispered endearments that were infinitely sweet to my ears.
"Oh, my dear, dear heart!" he whispered. "My sweet John! Oh, what would I do without you!" he sighed. "I need you so much, dear friend! So very, very much!"
He pulled me down for a kiss that was as deep and passionate as any we had shared. When our lips finally parted I watched him as his eyes slowly opened and he beheld me with such a look of love that I was humbled by his devotion. I hugged him and told him how I cherished him, how he brought me so much joy while he, in turn, petted me and kissed my cheeks and ears and called me his darling and his beloved companion.
Our guileless enjoyment was at that moment rudely interrupted by a loud banging on the door downstairs and we looked at each other in consternation, wondering if perhaps it might be the police with some urgent news regarding the case.
That concern was almost immediately put to rest as the continued banging was accompanied by loud shouts in an Irish brogue so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"Eileen! Where are ya, Eileen? I know you're in there and I've come to get ya!"
The banging continued unabated.
We now heard muttered oaths from downstairs as the landlord was roused from his sleep and went to open the door.
"Mr O'Riley, what is the meaning of this?"
"Out of my way, Throsby! Where is she?" the belligerent Irishman demanded. "Where's me wife? I know she's here and I'm a-taking her home with me!"
"Mr O'Riley, your wife is not here!"
We now heard footsteps pounding up the stairs accompanied by shouts from the irate husband.
"Eileen! Eileen, where are ya? You'd better come out for I've come to get ya! Come on, Eileen! Come out now for I'll not be kept a-waitin'!"
Again we heard the landlord protesting that the man's wife was not there but running feet were soon at our door and the mad Irishman was pounding on it mercilessly, yelling for his wife to come out. There were also other noises coming from downstairs as the whole household was roused by the tumult.
"Oh, Watson, be a good chap and deal with that, will you?" Holmes murmured languidly, sighing contentedly as he snuggled under the bed covers and pulled them up over his ears so that only the very top of his head showed.
I sighed too - in exasperation - and got out of bed to put on my dressing gown and answer the door, thankful that I was still wearing my night-shirt and that at least my arousal was rapidly fading and praying that no one would notice anything amiss on my person.
The moment I unlocked it the door was pushed in so violently that I was flung backwards by the force of it. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?" I demanded imperiously, whilst picking myself up off the floor and trying valiantly to regain my dignity.
"I'll deal with you later!" O'Riley shouted. Then with a cry of, "Ah, so there you are, Eileen!" he pounced on the bed shouting, "So, I've caught ya at last!" and before I could possibly stop him he had straddled Holmes and torn the bedclothes off him.
"Now you're comin'..." He stopped in mid yell, staring at Holmes in dismay.
Holmes merely looked up at him and said in his most languid manner, "Would you mind very much getting off me, Mr O'Riley, as you are creating quite a draft!"
"That does it!" the landlord declared. "Out you go, O'Riley!" and proceeded to grab him by the scruff of the neck. "You have no right to be disturbing these folks! This is Mr Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr Watson from London."
With my assistance the landlord hustled a contrite O'Riley from the room whilst the former profusely apologised to us.
"But I've still to find me wife!" O'Riley was protesting. "I know she must be here. I followed her here!"
As I locked our door and got back into bed once more O'Riley began to pound on the door of the adjoining room.
"Open this door, Eileen or I'll break it down!" O'Riley was bellowing.
"Now look here, O'Riley, that's not your wife! That's a young couple on their honeymoon and you've no right to be disturbing them!"
I told Holmes how I had earlier heard their names and realised that they were not a honeymoon couple at all.
"Ah, a vulgar intrigue! Well that explains why the energetic lothario is reluctant to open the door."
Just then there was an almighty crash as the door gave way to the Irishman's temper and the lady concerned began to scream at the top of her voice as O'Riley attacked Tom Smith.
The landlord was shouting too. "O'Riley! O'Riley, listen to me! Do I not know your wife? And can I not see that this woman is not your wife?"
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sounds of the lady in question who was now sobbing.
"Why, it's the widow Andrews and Will Smith's son Tom!" the Irishman declared.
"What?" the landlord demanded. "You mean to say these folks aren't legally wedded?"
"Course not! Didn't I know your husband well, Jane Andrews, and don't I know your parents, Tom Smith?"
"I fail to see what an English gentleman is doing in a lady's room at this hour of the night in his underwear!" declared the landlord.
"A lady should be spared such a sight!" agreed the Irishman.
"Right! That does it! Out of here, Tom Smith!" the landlord bellowed. "I'll not have such goings on under my roof! What will my guests from London think!"
Holmes and I looked at each other and chuckled.
"Out you go, Tom Smith, and don't you show your face around here again!"
The unfortunate Tom Smith was unceremoniously ejected from the room, his erstwhile lady-love still sobbing uncontrollably.
Most of the servants must have been on the landing by now and we heard their merriment and jeering as Smith was marched downstairs by the landlord.
I sat up and looked out of the window in time to see a half-dressed Tom Smith limp away into the night, vainly attempting to get into the other half of his trousers while carrying his boots and the rest of his clothing.
Poor chap! I thought in some sympathy, describing the sight to Holmes.
Holmes was smiling. "Hah! So the erstwhile lothario has been cast out into the night, no doubt to find fresh conquests on the morrow."
Unfortunately everyone seemed to have forgotten about the original cause of all the commotion, namely O'Riley, who was now in the process of comforting the weeping Mrs Andrews.
"Oh, Mr O'Riley, Tom Smith forced himself on me and there was nothing I could do! He was too strong for me and had his wicked way with me!"
Holmes and I looked at each other in disbelief and almost burst out laughing.
"There, there, me darlin'! There, there! Sure'n Tom Smith had no right to be forcin' his unwanted attentions on ya' like that. There, there! Hush now and O'Riley will take care of you."
Holmes sniggered. "If that young man's attentions were unwanted then Moriarty's the pope!" he declared.
It was my turn to laugh, the bed shaking with our mirth.
"Ah, sweet Jane, 'tis a comely wench ye are! I declare even a saint would be tempted by your charms!"
"Ohh, Mr O'Riley!"
"Hah! Full of blarney!" Holmes chuckled.
There followed the sound of the door quietly closing and the key turning in the latch.
Shortly after this we heard, "Oh, Mr O'Riley, you are a wicked man! And what a lovely prick you have! So big and rosy brown!"
"Aye, me darlin', and what sweet bubbies you have! Oh, they're just luvely!"
Holmes sighed. "What a shame the events of this night will have to remain unmentioned in your account of this case."
"Yes," I agreed. "Never mind, Holmes, I shall write it up for our own edification."
"Excellent! I shall look forward to it!"
At this time the rhythmic creaking of the bed-springs started up once more and Holmes and I looked at each other, unable to keep a straight face.
"That woman has certainly landed on her feet!" he remarked cheerfully.
"You mean on her back!" I muttered.
"Oh! Hah!" he chortled. "Very droll, my dear! Very droll!"
So saying he pounced on me, wrestling me onto my back. "And I have decided that that is where you belong also, my dear - on your back! Or perhaps on your knees," he added thoughtfully. "Either is delightful."
I laughed up at him. "Are you going to force your unwanted attentions on me, sir?"
He proceeded to lift up my night-shirt, exposing the lower half of my torso, and grasped my rising prick in his warm fingers, manipulating me shamelessly.
"Indeed, I shall make you beg me for it!" he proclaimed haughtily.
"Never!" I declared as he leaned down and kissed me as the bed rocked with our laughter.
Alas, we were to be interrupted yet again. This time it was by the landlord who, having finally remembered O'Riley, was now knocking at the room next door.
"O'Riley? O'Riley? Mrs Andrews, are you all right in there?"
Shortly we heard the sound of the door opening and O'Riley's brogue.
"Sure'n the lady's fine, aren't you, me dear? I've just been givin' her some comfort as a gentleman should."
Holmes buried his face in my neck to muffle the sound of his laughter and I was forced to clap my hand over my mouth otherwise they would have heard us back in Baker Street.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine now, Mr O'Riley. I'm so very grateful for your help," the lady replied demurely.
O'Riley and the landlord wished Mrs Andrews goodnight and we listened to their footsteps retreating down the stairs.
Holmes rolled over to lie on his back, his face flushed from his laughter.
He grinned at me. "Watson, have you ever come across such a ludicrous situation in your life?"
"Only in a Henry Fielding novel!" I chortled.
He climbed back on top of me, lifting up his night-shirt in order to straddle me once more, both of us still shaking with merriment.
"Now where were we, my dear?"
"You were going to make me beg for it," I chuckled, stroking his smooth, muscled thighs.
"Indeed, and I shall!" he murmured in a most lascivious manner.
He leaned down to kiss me but, unfortunately, the preposterous events of this absurd night were not over yet and we were interrupted by a muffled sound from outside the window followed by distinct scratching noises that grew increasingly louder.
Holmes shook his head and looked heavenward. "If I am not mistaken that will be the lusty young lothario returning to claim his lady love."
As I gazed up at Holmes in dismay we heard the sound of soft tapping on the window next door followed by, "Jane! Jane, it's me, Tom. Let me in!"
There followed the sound of the window being opened.
"Tom Smith, what are you doing back here? You'll get me into trouble, you will!" declared Mrs Andrews.
"Oh, but I love you, Jane! I couldn't bear to be parted from you!" proclaimed the lovelorn Tom Smith.
"Oh, Tom Smith, you're mad!"
This was followed by murmured compliments on Jane's womanly charms, giggles and a loud squawk from protesting bed springs.
"Probably from their combined weight!" Holmes grinned.
"Ooh, Tom, you're a big boy!" she squealed.
"Man enough for a woman like you, sweet Jane!"
Very shortly thereafter we were once again assailed by the sound of protesting bed springs.
Holmes collapsed to lie on top of me, our bodies vibrating with laughter.
"Oh, I can't remember when I've laughed so much!" he chortled.
"Oh, God, nor I!" I moaned, trying to stifle my hysterics.
Another sound intruded now - that of quiet footsteps coming up the stairs.
"Oh, no, not the landlord!" I moaned.
"Probably come to see if the lady's in need of more 'comforting'!"
It was apparent that the two people next door were far too involved with each other to have heard the sound of footsteps over the discordant sound of the bed springs for the squeaking continued non-stop. Obviously the landlord had heard them too for the next thing we heard was, "What's going on in there? Mrs Andrews! Mrs Andrews, are you all right?"
The noises immediately ceased.
"Mrs Andrews! Mrs Andrews, open the door!"
"It's all right, Mr Throsby, I'm coming."
"No doubt!" I muttered.
"Oh, Watson!" Holmes chuckled and I covered his mouth to stifle the sound of his laughter while unsuccessfully trying to suppress my own merriment.
Once again we heard the sound of the window being opened followed by some muffled noises and then a distinct thump on the ground and the sound of running feet. Obviously the agile Tom Smith had not been hurt in his fall. Thereafter we heard the sound of the door being opened and Mrs Andrews wailing, "Oh, Mr Throsby! Oh, thank goodness you came!"
"What happened?"
"Oh, it was awful! Just awful! I was asleep when I was overpowered by Tom Smith. He must have climbed in the window. He gagged me and had his wicked way again. Oh, it was awful! Just awful!" she sobbed.
In desperation Holmes and I tried valiantly to stifle our laughter, the bed vibrating with our mirth.
"The Sarah Bernhardt of Birlstone!" Holmes commented gleefully.
"A born actress!" I agreed, chuckling merrily.
"There, there, Mrs Andrews, you're safe now," the landlord soothed. "I'll see to it that he doesn't come back here again and if he does I'll set the dog on him."
"You would?"
"Don't you worry your pretty head. That young man will not set foot on these premises again, I promise you!"
"Oh, thank you, Mr Throsby, thank you! You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that!"
Holmes positively chortled with glee and once more buried his face in my neck in a fruitless attempt to smother the sound his hysterics.
"That's all right, Mrs Andrews! That's all right! You just put your arms around me and I'll keep you safe, don't you worry!"
"Oh, thank you, Mr Throsby. I do feel safe with you here."
"Oh, no, not him too!" I moaned, chuckling helplessly.
"Oh, hah! Men seem to succumb to that lady's charms with monotonous regularity!" Holmes giggled in my ear.
There followed the sound of the door quietly closing.
"Ooh, Mr Throsby!"
"Don't you worry, Mrs Andrews. I told you I'd keep you safe and I intend to!"
"But your wife...?"
"Shh! She's fast asleep."
"Now we know why Mrs Andrews is a widow!" I muttered uncharitably.
This earned me a thump on the arm. "Watson!" he giggled.
Throsby meantime was praising her womanly attributes while the widow Andrews giggled and told him what a fine figure of a man he was and the bed springs once more protested the combined weight of two people rhythmically rocking.
"Those bed springs are certainly getting exercised tonight!" Holmes quipped.
For that I gave him a light slap on a slim buttock. "No wonder they are worn out!" I remarked.
"Oh! Hah!" he laughed. "John Watson, I am seriously concerned about your sense of humour!"
"Why on earth?" I asked innocently.
"Because you are beginning to sound like me!" he chortled.
This earned him a slap on his other buttock and I rolled him over and pinned him beneath me as he continued to cackle.
"Sherlock Holmes, I find that remark highly insulting!" I teased, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face while Holmes grinned up at me as our ears continued to be assaulted by the sound of worn-out bed springs.
"What are you talking about, Watson? I compliment you on the improvement in your sense of humour and you claim that I insult you? This is quite absurd!" he sniffed while looking at me sideways from under his thick lashes.
"Sherlock Holmes, your sense of humour is sly, dry..."
"...and yours is positively pawky, my dear!" he interjected, chuckling.
"Just for that..." I threatened, while pulling up his night-shirt, parting his smooth thighs and encouraging him to wrap his long legs about me.
"Dear me, am I going to be punished?" He batted his long lashes at me in a parody of coquettish womanhood.
"Count on it!" I promised, bringing his hand to my hardening prick.
"Dear, dear, dear! Who can I turn to for deliverance from this wicked man?"
"Not the landlord obviously!" I muttered, listening to the creaking sounds emanating from next door and which were now coming hard and fast.
This earned me a hearty slap on the rump. "Cheeky devil! Come up here!"
I moved up to straddle his chest and watched avidly as he guided my heavy prick toward his mouth whilst stroking and nuzzling along its length. Just as his pink tongue came out to lick at the tip there was a fearful commotion in the next room as the door was thrown open and we heard yells of, "So I've caught you, Jim Throsby, have I? Caught you with that red-headed slut! I'll have your balls on a skewer for this, I will!"
Mrs Andrews was once again screaming and the landlord was yelling, "Agnes, for God's sake put that down before someone gets hurt!" Apparently the landlord's wife - for presumably it was she - was armed in some fashion.
"Probably a good strong poker!" Holmes commented cheerfully.
"Should we not do something?" I worried, listening to the landlord's screams of pain as his wife yelled, "Take that, Jim Throsby! And that! And that!"
"And spoil their fun? Certainly not! I will wager that no one will be seriously injured and in the unlikely event of murder, well, we shall certainly know who the killer is, won't we, my dear?"
"But, Holmes...."
He silenced my protestations by taking my softening prick into his mouth and paying homage to me with lips and tongue in the sweetest possible manner, at the same time fondling my testicles and teasing at the entrance with an exploring finger before inserting it deeply and stroking maddeningly over my prostate.
The servants, once again roused from their sleep, had now joined in the melée next door.
"Whore! Harlot! Slut! I'll teach her! I'll cut her heart out!" Mrs Throsby was yelling whilst I groaned with pleasure at Holmes's tender ministrations.
To the accompaniment of shouts from the servants and more screams from Mrs Andrews I moaned, "Oh, my darling, let me turn around! Let me taste you!"
Holmes released me only long enough for me to reverse my position before his mouth once more engulfed me and I swallowed all that I could of his generous length and began to suck avidly on him whilst also bestowing internal bliss with my finger. From that point on we were totally oblivious to the happenings next door and determined that nothing and no one would spoil our enjoyment of each other.
Much later, as we lay quietly together, I noted that things seemed to have calmed down considerably next door, until I heard, "Oh, Mrs Andrews, what a terrible night you've had!"
"Oh, Sophie, it's been awful! Just dreadful! Oh, put your arms around me, dear Sophie. Yes, like that. Oh, that's lovely! Now give me your rosy lips."
Holmes and I looked askance. "The upstairs maid!" we both realised.
There ensued a brief pause, followed by, "Oh, Mrs Andrews, I've never been kissed by a woman before!"
Holmes and I looked at each other in amazement. This form of affection between women was new to us also.
"Did you like it?" Mrs Andrews inquired solicitously.
"I think so, but I'm not sure... Do it again!" Sophie decided.
"Watson, remind me to take this form of relationship into consideration as a source of motives in future cases," Holmes commented thoughtfully.
"Yes, indeed," I agreed. "I must admit I would never have thought of it."
"Nor I. A most serious oversight on my part!"
He turned to me then, his eyes boring into mine. "As for you, John Watson, I have decided that for the remainder of our investigation I am not letting you out of my sight! It is exceedingly obvious that no man - or woman! - is safe from the wiles of that lustful creature! If I had not returned when I did, no doubt you, too, would have been in there 'comforting' her!
"Really, Holmes!" I protested. "You go too far!"
"Hah! Not nearly far enough! I have decided you are much too handsome to be left to your own devices. By my side, Watson, and that's where you will remain!"
"Well, certainly, Holmes, but you said you had no need of my company this evening - or rather yesterday evening - merely my umbrella."
"Huh! A near-fatal error on my part! It shall not happen again!"
"Oh, Holmes, surely you're not jealous!"
He cupped my face in his hands. "Oh, my dear chap, never, ever let me catch you in flagrante for I would not be responsible for my actions."
So saying he clasped me to his breast in the most covetous way, claiming my mouth with his long and lively tongue and ravishing it most thoroughly.
I ran my fingers gently through his hair, deciding it was time I reassured him, for his pride was always a delicate thing. "My dearest Holmes, you know that there can be no other for me now," I whispered soothingly. "I am committed to you." I kissed his cheeks. "Devoted to you. And no woman could hold a candle to your lean grace, your beautiful eyes, your sweet lips," I kissed him softly and stroked his neck and shoulders, "and silken skin. And when you wrap your long legs around me so warmly as I enter you, you squeeze me so delightfully in welcome. Oh, my sweet, no woman ever was so tight! And besides," I added slyly, reaching to stroke his softened member, "no woman could give me what you can!"
"True!" he commented, chuckling delightedly.
"And as for you, Sherlock Holmes," I threatened, only partly in jest, "if I ever catch you with a woman or, worse still, another man..." I let the threat hang in the air.
"Perish the thought, dear boy! Perish the thought!"
I decided it was time to turn the tables on him. "I saw the way you were looking at Barker yesterday."
"Watson, this is not like you!" he declared petulantly. "You know that I merely regard the participants in the drama as a source of motives and clues, nothing more. Besides, at the time I half suspected that Barker and Mrs Douglas had done away with the lady's husband."
"And now?" I asked eagerly, hoping he would now tell me what he had earlier discovered.
"This evening, my dear. All will be revealed this evening."
I sighed. "Really, Holmes, you treat me no better than you treat the police! Being your partner - and lover - certainly gives me no special privileges!" I huffed.
"Now, now, my dear, allow me my little surprises," he said mildly.
At that moment we heard, "Oh, Sophie, what sweet lips you have! And what dear little bubbies!"
"Ohh, Mrs Andrews!"
Holmes and I looked at each other and simply burst out laughing.
"What a night!" I sighed.
"Hah! And I would not have missed it for the world!" he declared, giving a hearty chuckle..
"Nor I!"
We finally settled for sleep, my dear one's head on my shoulder and his arms around me. As I drifted off I reflected that it was fortunate that we lived in London and not in the country - this was more excitement than my poor nerves could stand!
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