Outside, water patters against the footpath under the brilliant rays from the sun. Dr John Watson stares out his window at the passers-by of the London streets. Everyone has something to do, somewhere to be. Except Watson. His mentor and BFFL, Sherlock Holmes, died from lack of blood after falling off a waterfall strangling his nemesis.
From the corner of his eye. Watson sees a strangely dressed woman approach his door. Rather portly, she was, dressed in a flamboyant, animal print overcoat with a dead animal of sorts around her shoulders. She knocks on the door, creating a strong rapping sound. Watson sighs deeply, picks himself up, and moves to his front door.
"Ahoy there," John says to the portly woman. Her face is strange, not seeming to fit the rest of her body.
"Ahoy there John," Her voice was also strange; strained in a way, as though feigned.
"Please, come in. What is your illness?"
"I'm homesick Watson. I've been travelling for a long time. But I feel better now; being here." Her voice - it is so familiar. Where had John heard it before?
"I'm sorry, madam-"
"Moffat," she says.
"Ooooh that sounds familiar but strange, just as your accent does. Now, Madam Moffat, I do not think that homesickness is a real illness. On another matter, why did you say you started to feel better now, being here and all?"
"Well, I used to live in this area. I came here a lot, in more ways than one," she smiles slyly.
"Oh… Um-"
"Watson," The woman steps towards John, so close that he can smell the fish on her breath. "I love you. I'm alive John. And I've missed you. I'm home now."
"Sh-Sherlock?" The Doctor stammered.
She begin to strip. She flings the rat on her shoulder across the room. Her overcoat drops to the floor. Revealing that she – well, that he – is wearing a grey suit of 50 shades. His hair: black, slick with grease, and combed backwards in a poor attempt at class; was the epiphany of sexy hair. Watson's boner started to wag like a dog's tail. This is him. Back from the dead. Sherlock fricking Holmes. And knowing him, he will be fricking.
"We have a lot to catch up on John, such as how your body's changed over the years. Now bend over."
"Yes sir, I mean, Sherlock."
"Please, call me Moffat," he says nonchalantly while pulling down John's trousers.
"Wait, wait. Sh- Moffat. I'm married! What will Mary think?"
"She'll never know this happened. I promise."
John spreads his ass cheeks for Sherlock. He penetrates his butthole. It hurts so much. But he does it for Sherlock. He can feel his butthole tearing and his eyes watering. John wants to please Holmes. Sherlock roars a mighty roar as he fill Watson's butt with his love. Sherlock is love. Sherlock is life…