London was decimated by a silent killer. No one spoke its name on their bloated tongues, but everyone knew what it was. But where it was that was a different story.

My name is John Watson and as I sat in the streets of Londontown, I was consumed by the fact that everyone around me was dying. The bodies piled up. But I didn't know any of their names. Maybe they had families. And somehow I was jealous of these dead, rotting corpses. How you may ask? Well, I never knew my family. It's better to live a short life full of love and beauty than a long life alone and dead inside.

"Hello," I called out to a lady alone walking slowly down the muddied ground. She didn't respond. People walk by me everyday, but no one really sees me for who I am.

As I grow old, I'm 27 I want to leave Londontown. Although I've called this dolly wobbles city my home my entire life, I want a different life for myself. I was in the army for a short time. Senseless killing is all it taught me and my hand trembles as I think of the darker-skinned rebels I killed. I don't feel anything anymore.

I slowly rise up off the shit-covered ground and I'm off to Westminster Abbey. Going to the beacon of hope and false religion is a part of my daily ritual. I've done it for my entire life and tonight is no different. I head on over London Bridge and soon I'm on Edgware Road. There's not too many people around this late at night and I blend in with the marketplace's customers. I envision the beautiful woman with their skirts below their knees and how they look in their rattled and cheap corsets. I wish I could live in their homes and fuck them in their beds.

"Shut up," I tell myself. "You don't matter. You're nobody."

"Shut up, get down and say nothing." Wait I didn't say that part. A man tackles me to the hard ground. I do as he says and obey his harsh orders. Soon he chloroforms me and I feel like a University student all over again. Thinking about the man's tone of voice, he sounds like a man I once knew at school but we both went our separate ways. Him off to being a mathematics professor and I, a homeless war veteran with mental health issues. I can't say who is worse off. I guess perhaps me, when I think about it for the two minutes I'm being held captive in a dark alleyway.

The man keeps me on the ground since he easily overpowers me.

"Are you Sherlock? Your voice just sounds surprisingly familiar to me ears."

"Hush." And he chloroforms me again.

When I awake my reddened eyeballs, I assumed my tall captor would be in the bedroom. I was seemingly frantic and called out his name. Or what seemingly was his name.

"SHERLOCK!"

I heard loud as an elephant's footsteps approach the threshold to my room. I drew the covers up to my face and shuddered in my smelly clothing.

The white door creaked open slowly and the man I knew from college wandered into the room with his slightly-heeled shoes.

"Please be quiet Watson, we wouldn't want to wake the prostitutes," Sherlock said.

"Where am I good sir?"

"My home of course. Where else would you be?"

I didn't understand the question the man asked me, considering I was shaking. I hadn't been a home and a bedroom this well-furnished in my life. As soon as I left college, I joined the army. And the twee linens and the silk canopy overhead the beautiful baby blue sheets on the bed could only be afforded by the richest of the men in the country. I never knew Sherlock Holmes was well off. I never spoke too long to any one man at my college because I knew no practice would ever take me on because I hadn't been afforded the privileges and posh lifestyle of my classmates. While they were getting fucked by their rent boys and investing opium and getting imbibed by the finest of cognacs, I was living in the bathrooms.

"John, hello?" Holmes startled me as he spoke his words.

"Yes."

"I want you to be my boyfriend."

"What?"

"And my swordsman and doctor."

I honestly was completely flabbergasted by what he spoke to me. As I digested the full and complete meaning of the request, I wasn't sure what to say back to the man I hadn't seen in over two full rotations of the sun.

"Ummm I don't think you are in your right mind sir."

"This is most definitely not the opium speaking Watson. I have given what I have asked of you so much thought, you cannot even begin to imagine how much I truly mean what I say to you."

"Okay."

He lunged at the beautifully-adorned bed set and stuck his sticky fingers in my mouth. I instantaneously gagged at his digits' placement in my throat and vomited the remaining food I ate two weeks ago.

"Watson I don't expect you to be so easily overcome."

I passed out and didn't awake until the next morning where I was awoken by a nickel-silver tray with a full english breakfast sitting lightly on top of the precious metal.

"eat."

"what?"

"just eat what I gave you, then we'll start." "start what?"

"what you came here to do obviously doctor."

"oh. so raper training?"

"RAPIER," he said rolling the delicate r on the word.

"right," he said to me. Or I said. A/N: FIX THIS DIALOGUE.

So I finished my single egg that I had and we got to work.

So I followed him into the terrace and he threw a stick at me. I didn't catch it. I slowly bent up to pick it up and watched his gaze follow me all the way to ground. I thought wooden swords were for idiots. He daggered his stick at me and I fell to the ground.

"Ow."

"Get up."

We continued on this marvelously grand lesson for the rest of the day without even taking a break for a nice chilled glass of water. The next day he said to think of the sword fighting as a dance.

"But I don't even dance."

"You'll learn, they all learn."

I didn't completely know what he meant by that so I didn't dare think about the sad morsel of a thought in my brain ever again.

The workouts were excruciating. We never took breaks and I couldn't exactly tell you why I wouldn't leave the giant mansion with a nice bed and a full kitchen with eggs and oregano. I hadn't eaten anything with the most aromatic yet slightly bitter perennial herb. I can smell it thinking about it now. Can you reader? I can and it's a glorious feeling. I suck it in to my nostrils. The sound is audible and Holmes looks at me.

"Dearest Watson, are you high?"

"No. Just thinking about some stuff."

"well if you are chap, you must share some of you puff."

"Puff."

"Puff."

"Isn't that like being…gay?"

No it's like being high on cocaine. And gay."

"Oh."

Wow I didn't know Holmes was such a junkie, but I guess when you're rich, there's a lot of minutes and seconds on your hands. I wish I had that kind of time.

"Refocus your attention Watson."

It had been 1 long year of working out and although I had become a completely competent doctor once again, I wasn't that much of a swordsman. Maybe Holmes knew this but didn't have a care that I was bad. Maybe he knew I was bad all along. I didn't like to burden myself with the thoughts like that, but they did creep in sometimes. And that night after our practice, my life changed forever.

As we set our actual rapiers down in the shed out by the horse's two-story colonial style home, I felt something peculiar. Like something was going to happen that had never happened before.

We were cleaning up and making sure the horses were prepared for the endless rain that is so common in the land of Britannia, you all know about it. Innit? I was completely knackered but as I placed the rapier into a holding tube hung on the wall, Holmes and my hand lightly touched each other's. We looked at each other and knew what was about to happen.

Holmes lightly slid his arm up my newly-enlarged bicep and held my cheek in his large hands. He tore off my red linen tunic and unfastened my brown calf leather belt that he had given to me. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that he would lead me. He handed me a cloudy vile and told me to drink. I drank. When he said suck. I sucked. We kept each other up that night with strokes of our bodies and nibbles on our butts. At dawn we knew we had to go back to our normal lives. This would never pass in our time, it just wasn't accepted. How backwards society is.

I wanted to be able to yell from the rooftops and write poetry sonnets about my love but I kept as quiet as a mouse. I couldn't ruin his status in society. It's one thing to make love to men on the side, it's another to take a man with you on a dinner date and to the opera.

Falling in love formed something that was whole in my body. I felt it like a horse-drawn carriage CRASHING into me on a cold winter's night with the light but porous frozen water droplets gently covering my eyes.

The next night as we lay in bed together, we just sat next to each other. We were so familiar with each other, fucking hard wasn't even in our daily vernacular. That was too common, we were unique.

"Marry me you fool!"

The words took me aback, I spit out the splendid cup of tea my servant made me.

"yes. yes. yes. Holy cow, yes."

Right then and there I wanted him to come on me and write his name in his own ejaculate on my own buttcrack. Then I would slowly lick it off my anus and he would be inside me arse, mentally and emotionally. Which is better than physical stuff. Wankers.

We slept and fucked and then repeated that for a while. I thanked him in the language he was forcing me to learn for 3 hours a day. Deutsch. Danke schön Englische Mann. We only speak non-conversational Deutsch to each other because we play student and teacher. It's all very naughty readers. As the day to be wed vastly approaches, my nerves become increasingly larger. My dress robes are picked out for me by the fashion designer I didn't know was employed and living in the horse's quarters. He recommends I wear a black tuxedo with a blue bow tie even though I think in my own mind that definitely clashes I continue to agree with him on everything that comes out of his mouth. But something that is more on my mind.

I don't know what to write to my husband-to-be. Maybe a sonnet. Yes, of course a sonnet. This romance has wrapped me up in all of its glory and I am pregnant with its joy. I feel like I am about to birth it out of my bosom but something stops me every time. But right now, nothing can stop me.