A/N: Nope, Mr Holmes and Mr Watson still do not belong to me, I am merely enjoying their company. I don't often write sequels, largely because I love first times so much, but I had to make an exception here and decide on a trilogy, because Watson asked nicely.
'Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.' Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)
'A lady was at the door earlier, asking for you, Doctor,' Mrs Hudson said as she bustled in with the tea things and edged Holmes' elbows aside to set them on the table.
'Oh yes?' I asked.
'A Mrs Deynforth, I think she said. When I told her you were out, she asked to be remembered to you, said she is engaged for the rest of today, but might return tomorrow afternoon if that is convenient.'
Mrs Deynforth... My mind turned over for a second or two, searching for a face to match the name, then I recalled it. The lady with whom we had taken tea following her involvement in the case we had been obliged to take on that day, four months ago, when I should much sooner have stayed in with Holmes.
That had been the day on which we had first enjoyed carnal knowledge of each other in the fullest sense. the first day I had known what it was to have Holmes in me, or to be in him, pressed together closer than the boundaries that divide two people can stretch.
The memory leapt in my stomach and I glanced up at Holmes. At present he looked dreadful. His eyes were circled by dark rings, puffy and ill-looking. He was mid-case, a vile case: a murdered wife, a petty set of motives, a respectable-seeming villain... or so Holmes was trying to prove. I had been out with him every day upon it, but his mind was engaged, and just as he had shrunk from me when we had been chasing Milverton, he now removed himself from me once more. The action was not callous, but it was painful for me. I understood, yet I could not understand. Our nights together, wrapped in each others' arms had been a delight, and these past two weeks had been a terrible wrench to me.
Holmes hardly slept at times like this, and although he came to my room three and four nights a week, he simply sat in my chair, chewing on his fingers, and waving me into silence with a careless hand if I attempted conversation with him.
I went to the table, poured two cups of tea and pushed one towards Holmes, which he ignored. I got up, walked around to him and tried to catch his eye. He was not reading the newspaper held up like a fortress wall in front of him, so I tugged it gently out of his hands, which he allowed.
'Holmes, dear fellow, do take a sip of tea, at least. You look like death.'
'Tchah!' was all the answer I got.
'Please. For my sake?' He glanced at me then, caught my eye, rolled his own and reached for the cup, pulling it towards him by the saucer, but not picking it up. I sighed and sat opposite him, taking a sip from my own cup.
'Did you hear Mrs Hudson? We may expect a visitor tomorrow. Do you think we'll be in?'
He shrugged. 'I heard.' He picked up his cup and held it balanced between the tips of the fingers of both hands, elbows on the table. He swirled it round a few times. 'You may be, if you wish. I must go to Vauxhall.'
'Do you need me?'
He took a sharp breath, but then his lips snapped shut and he shook his head. 'Not unduly. No, Watson, stay here and receive the lady. I am sure it will be more amusing than accompanying me.'
I found that infuriating. The way in which he began by suggesting he did not need me then turned it at the last, so that I felt I was being let go on sufferance, that I was being told what I wished for myself.
'Holmes,' I said, unable to conceal the anger in my voice, 'I will come with you if you wish. I am sure I would rather be at your side if you need me.'
'I have said I do not,' he replied curtly.
I tried to control my temper, to remain calm and not fall into the trap of letting my irritation boil over into rage.
'Very well, if you are sure, I will stay here: it is polite, after all. But if you find you need me at any time, will you send for me?'
He grunted non-committally and I watched him. He seemed uninterested as to whether or not I came with him.
But when I had almost taken my gaze away, I caught the movement of his hand – the tight, white-knuckle clench, sudden and savage on the handle of his tea cup.
Holmes was gone before I emerged from my room, rubbing my eyes, the next morning. My annoyance with him persisted. I recognised the same air of jealousy he had displayed the first time we had met Mrs Deynforth. I could do nothing about it. I had no plans to court the lady, I was merely glad to see a pleasant woman, for whom perhaps I might be able to perform some little service.
I spent the morning catching up with some notes on our most recently completed cases – the current one having stolen time out from under me. Mrs Hudson supplied an excellent luncheon, and at half past two, I heard her open the door and a lighter female voice floated up the stairs.
Mrs Deynforth, when Mrs Hudson showed her in, looked a little abashed, so I quickly set her at ease, sending for tea and taking her coat.
'I hope I am not taking up time you were intending to spend some other way?' she asked.
'Not at all!' I assured her, showing her to a seat on the sofa and drawing up a chair for myself. 'It's a pleasure to see you again. You are up in London for a few days?'
'Three,' she replied. 'Really I had a little business to conduct, settling a small matter, which kept me occupied yesterday. Tomorrow I must visit an old friend. But I suppose I might have seen my friend today and then returned home. I decided to stay up the extra day and see whether your invitation stood testing. My apologies.'
I smiled soothingly and waved away the very thought. It was delightful to see her, on any pretext, I said. And in fact, this turned out to be the case. We talked for nearly two and a half hours, with Mrs Hudson popping in and out as a discreet chaperone from time to time, before Mrs Deynforth, now permitting me the honour of calling her 'Caroline', regretfully insisted that she must return to her guest house, the distance being considerable, and the supper bell unyielding. I could not offer her a share in our evening meal at this late hour, so I offered instead to walk her as far as the other end of the park, from which point she would be travelling on well-lit, heavily trodden streets, and not in danger from side alleys and lonely paths. To this she agreed, and it was with a feeling of slight disappointment that I finally left her at the park gates, returning to rooms where the likelihood was that I should be obliged to spend much of the evening in silence, or else listening to Holmes grumbling about the case.
I now carried her home address in my pocket, but was uncertain as to why – other than the obvious fact that she had given it to me.
Holmes, however, was not in our rooms when I returned. Mrs Hudson heard me return and came up to see me.
'You just missed Mr Holmes, Doctor. He was only here for a few minutes, and left a bare ten minutes ago.'
'Where did he go?'
'He never tells me anything, you know. He left you a note on the mantlepiece.'
I went over and found the folded bit of paper.
Watson,
If you still wish to assist, you will find me under the bridge where we waited for Grantley three days ago. Bring your revolver.
SH
I hurried to my room, relief fighting uncertainty in my chest. I had no thought but to join him. With my gun in my pocket, I left the house and walked quickly along the dim streets until I spotted a cab and ordered it to take me to Holmes.
The winter night was cold and moonless, leaving the darkness under the bridge complete, so that I did not see Holmes until his hand fell on my arm. I jumped, with a loud exclamation, heard his frantic 'shush!' and found myself pulled back, even deeper into the shadows.
'Who are we waiting for?' I whispered.
'Grantley again,' he replied in a growl.
'But I thought...'
'He is our man, Watson, I am certain of it. He will come tonight, there is no moon. I think last time it was too bright. He is a creature of shadows when he is not being the life of the party.'
His hands were on my shoulders and I eased back comfortably into their grip, despite the circumstances. He gave a gentle squeeze, which reassured me somewhat. Nothing happened for a while, and he finally whispered low,
'You enjoyed your afternoon?' I was surprised, I had not expected him to show the slightest interest.
'Yes, thank-you. We had a very pleasant conversation.'
'You are seeing her again.'
'I have planned nothing.'
'But she has given you her address, and although you continue to tell yourself that you will do nothing about it, your mind is engaged upon working out a possible excuse for accidentally finding yourself in that locale.'
'Holmes, that is utter tommyrot. I have no such plans.' I paused, I could not lie to him. 'I do have her address. I have no immediate intention of using it.'
'Hmm.' He squeezed my shoulders again, and I was astonished to feel his breath on the back of my neck, and then the cold press of his lips as he stooped to place a kiss there. Such demonstrations were unusual for him on a normal day. To have him do it in the midst of this case, while we were on watch, and in a public area – albeit a very inconspicuous one – was disconcerting, to say the least. He stood straight again, took a deep breath and muttered,
'Please have your gun at the ready, my dear fellow. It may be soon.'
'Do you want me to shoot him, Holmes?' I asked, feeling it would be as well to establish this now, rather than in the midst of a dark and frenzied chase.
'If necessary. That is, if he attempts to outrun us. But I would be obliged if you would aim for a leg, we need him very much alive.'
'Will he be armed?' I whispered back as I pulled my gun from my inner pocket.
'Mm...' He sounded uncertain. 'It is possible. I have not yet established the extent of his desperation. That he possesses or, at least, could easily acquire a weapon, I have no doubt. You have been enjoying softer company today. Do not let it make you careless.' He squeezed my shoulder again, and then we waited.
Hours passed, and we hardly moved. My shoulder was aching, even with the comforting weight of Holmes' hand, which never left me once. Suddenly there was a movement in the dark beyond the bridge. Holmes released me at once and sprang forward, flying into the night, so that my gun was worse than useless. I cursed as I heard him cry out. I could not fire, I could not see more than two faint shadows. I could hit anyone, or no-one. As for hitting the man helpfully in the leg... I raced after him, stuffing the revolver back into my pocket. Holmes was rolling on the floor with a man I sincerely hoped was Grantley – otherwise there would be a lot of explaining to do. Then Holmes shouted in triumph and called,
'Light, Watson! Let us have a light!'
I fumbled in my pocket for a match, struck it and held it up. Its brief light illuminated Holmes sitting astride a man who turned his face to me with snarl, revealing himself as Grantley. Holmes had his arms locked behind him, and he was clearly unable to move.
'In my pocket, Watson, Left side.'
I dropped the spent match and went to Holmes by memory. I ran a hand down his coat until I found the pocket. In it, I found a set of handcuffs, no doubt "borrowed" without permission from Lestrade. I fixed them round the wrists of our captive, and Holmes grabbed the link and clambered off him, dragging him to his feet.
'Let us find somewhere with a little more illumination, where we may get to know each other better,' Holmes said, with more life in his voice than I had heard for several weeks.
He marched off down the street with Grantley ahead of him, rounded a corner, and stepped into the full glare of a lamp. I waited outside the ring of light and watched as Holmes twisted his arms to make any movement impossible, and reached inside Grantley's coat, bringing out a wad of papers, which he waved in my direction.
'Check these, would you, Watson.'
'I stepped into the light, took the papers, and looked through them. There were the missing deeds, the set of papers the police had said were burnt. There was the letter, too, that gave Grantley the leverage he had needed to set up his first subterfuge and established his motive for murder. I could not help but think that he had been far less enterprising in his use of the material than our enemy of a few months before, the odious Milverton.
'They're all here, Holmes,' I said, and he sighed.
'Good. Well then, let us deliver our friend here to the Yard, and let them consider their error in not taking Mr Grantley in when I gave them their first chance.'
It took us twenty minutes to deliver Grantley to Scotland Yard. I hoped we might meet a constable on his beat along the way, but the streets were empty, and Holmes did not have his police whistle with him. Once there, it was necessary to persuade the duty officer to rouse Lestrade and bring him in to deal with the criminal himself, but once he had arrived, a somewhat drowsy admission of the police error followed – really the papers made it impossible for him to argue. His thanks were subdued, but I suspected he would be more effusive once he had awoken fully. Lestrade knows where his duty lies. After an hour or so, he let us go, and his gratitude was evidenced in the fact that he assigned us a police carriage to deliver us back to our lodgings.
We were barely inside our private door before Holmes turned and wrapped his arms around me. I was surprised – such a spontaneous show of affection was unexpected. He kissed my hair, then let me go.
'You are the very best of men, Watson. After all I have put you through these last weeks, to still join me at the end of what must otherwise have been a perfectly delightful day for you.'
Danger warnings rang in my head.
'Holmes, nothing could make for a better day than spending the end of it with you. Truly, my dear man, do you still not understand that?'
He looked at me, and the sense of my words must have sunk in, because he gave a hastily suppressed smile and nodded.
'Very well.' I did not like his tone, it was too knowing, he still sounded as if everything I said regarding my attachment to him was a cover, a fiction, invented to deceive myself more than him.
I took off my coat and laid it over the chair, placing my hat on top of it, neatly. Holmes threw his carelessly across the other and his hat, landing half on the table, half on the chair-back, remained there. He went over to the fireplace, reached out vaguely, then turned to me,
'Do you mind sitting up for a while? Lestrade's cheap cigarettes are no substitute for an evening with one's pipe.'
'Not at all!' I had been having similar thoughts, and I settled into my chair, and lit my pipe, watching as he did the same and the smoke rose up in thin tendrils to mingle in the air above us. Contentment flooded though me. Opposite me, Holmes' eyes fixed on mine, and there was such affection in them, so very different from the cold blankness I had faced over the last few weeks.
He finished his pipe before me, and sat there, chewing on the stem as it cooled. The moment my own pipe ran out, I set it down and rose to go to him before he could get up. I leaned my hands on the arms of his chair and bent to kiss his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly, smiling a little, and I stood, holding out a hand to help him up. He ignored it, as is his habit, and rose by himself, but then took my proffered hand and followed me up to my room without a word.
I was not sure why I took him up there. His room was more convenient, and we usually ended up there if we were intent on sharing a bed. However, he had sat in my room so often, watching me and not touching, that I felt the need to redress the balance in that room, to give myself some better memories of it and remove the uneasiness that went with the knowledge that this must be the pattern of our lives as long as Holmes continued in his work. To bring him up here now was to give myself the reminder, every time, that his reticence would not last forever, and he would return to me again, in the end.
I pushed my hands up under his shirt and vest and smoothed the warm skin. He tipped his head back and sighed with a guttural rasp that twanged at my arousal and sent my pulse racing. It made me daring.
'Do you miss this, when you are focused on a case, or is it simply not in your mind at all?'
He looked down at me, confusion in his eyes. I wished I could run a hand through his hair, but it was dressed and unassailable.
'I...The case is everything. You...'
'I do exist, during a case. You think of me. You acknowledge I am there. Can you really separate me so fully from this?' I tightened my grip on him to illustrate my meaning.
'I wish I could say that this,' he ran a firm hand across the line where my thighs curved up into buttocks, 'was not in my mind during the case, but you would know it was a lie. You know me too well. At one time, I might truthfully have said it did not enter my head, but you have infected me.'
'And yet you think I could leave you?'
'I know it. But don't think of it just now. Now you are here, and I am happy to take advantage of the fact.'
I did not like to point out that I was the one who deserved to take advantage of his finally being available once more. Instead, I sank to my knees, desperate to touch him more intimately, at that instant.
I opened the fastenings on his trousers, slipped my hand inside, and brought him, semi-erect, out into the cool air. I ran my nose up the side of his shaft, pressing kisses in its wake, supporting it in my hand until it hardened enough to stand off on its own. I was about to take him into my mouth when he rested a hand on my shoulder, making me pause,
'No, no, no,' he muttered, 'Up here, if you please.' I wondered why, but was not about to argue with him now, and braced myself against the ache in my leg that always comes when I must rise from a low crouch. He took my arms, and pulled me up, taking the weight off my leg and making the transition easy.
'Thank-you,' I said, softly. He smiled, a look of pure pleasure, as if to save me from that one moment of discomfort had meant the world to him. Such consideration barely marks the rest of Holmes' life; that it is there for me is a source of eternal wonder.
'It is your kisses I miss the most,' he said, the faintest tinge of red colouring his cheeks at the admission. 'The rest is delightful, but let me make up for what I have missed most.'
For a moment I considered pointing out that it was his fault that he had missed it, and that although kissing him was a pleasure I, too, missed, I needed to give him more than that. But then, it wasn't his fault. Not really. Holmes is as much a slave to his own brain as any man is bound to his employer. He could no more address the needs of his physical body while his mind was involved in a complicated case than he could resist those needs in the leaner times.
He pressed his lips to mine. They were still cool from the night air, and his breaths whistled in his nostrils where they had not reopened themselves fully after the chill. I took his top lip between mine, tugging gently. His arms tightened around me, his eyes closed, and he breathed deeply. I felt suddenly overwhelmed, and clutched at him. The thought fluttered in the back of my mind that ever since we had found each other as lovers, it had been thus – holding each other too tightly, making embraces into battles, gripping until our ribs ached and joints cracked and shifted under the pressure, neither of us letting go, wild and uncontrolled in our fervour. It was as if we feared to let go, as if this might be the last time, every time.
When we finally released each other, he stared at me for a long moment.
'Already you move away from me,' he murmured. I frowned at him, not having a clue what he meant. Physically I had not moved a muscle – he had been the one to break the embrace, if it had been anything other than mutual. In spirit, I was as close to him as ever I had been. I laid a hand on his shoulder, holding his gaze.
'What? Holmes?' I asked, searching his shifting eyes.
He shook his head and squirmed out of my hand. I tried desperately to deduce him, to use the little I had acquired of his methods to discover his meaning. You see, but you don't observe... He had once accused me thus. Well now I was trying to observe, to look past his calm façade and deduce the workings of his mind. No matter how I tried, however, no matter how I stared and considered, holding his arm to prevent him from getting away, I could not fathom it.
I assumed he was referring to Caroline. That seemed to be the focus of his mind at the moment. Was his suggestion that I was transferring my affection onto her? In which case, what signals had I given that this might be so? Damn it all, what hint had I somehow given him that this terrible, terrible falsehood should ring more true for him than the fact of my arousal, now deflating in my distress, or my fervent return of his embrace? There must have been something, for why would he invent it? I gave up on my attempt, and set to work on his buttons instead, reasoning that the surest way to prove my fidelity was to demonstrate it in the most physical way I knew.
I had him naked in a matter of seconds, he was not hindering me, simply not helping any more. I let go of him, and he watched me with one eyebrow raised as I removed my own clothes. He sighed as I pressed myself tightly against him, feeling us both growing hard as I swayed softly against him. I slipped my arms around him and he sighed again, now in undisguised arousal. His breathing had grown less regular, and I let one hand drop to stroke from his waist to his thigh and back again, while my other hand held the back of his neck, ruffling the hairs at his nape.
'How can you imagine that I would wish to tie myself to a woman when I have this to look forward to with you?' I asked.
'I know,' he replied, inexplicably. Then he seemed to regain all his interest, his arms were suddenly alive around my waist and he used his weight to tumble me onto the bed, landing on top of me and leaning in to kiss me as he brought a knee up to give himself a way to rub against me. Our groins clashed, dangerous with heat and moisture, and Holmes, taking all the responsibility upon himself, rocked and pushed against me, until I was so close to climax that I found myself whining into his neck. He reached between us then, closing his strong, nimble fingers around us both together, and finishing me a matter of seconds before himself.
I lay crushed under his weight, feeling more content than I had these many weeks, yet still with a sense of unease at Holmes' deduction. I stroked his back and wondered whether it would be fatal even to consider the credibility of his words. It was too late, of course, they were already in my mind, festering and infecting me with uncertainties and confusion. It was all a lie, a misunderstanding at best. Yet... What did I want for the rest of my life? Nothing. Nothing more than Holmes, either in my bed or out of it. His company was what I craved, whether the activities in which he joined me were carnal or mundane. Yet, I had said that marriage was not out of the question, and that suggested that my mind wanted something else, wanted to crawl back into the safe, acceptable role of the true, legal, vowed-before-God husband. It was not what I knew my heart wanted, but my rational mind was eager to remove me from the day-to-day uncertainties of life with Holmes, and the danger of discovery, the spectre of which would always hide in the corners of our clandestine couplings.
The thought tore at my mind, and my eyes prickled with tears. Rage at Holmes for putting the suggestion in my mind, confusion at the wretched disparity between what I knew I needed, and what some sly and loveless part of me wanted.
I raked my fingernails down his back and he grunted in pain. I breathed hard, trying to control myself, unable to believe that I could show such terrible weakness to Holmes, even as I knew that he had seen me far weaker, and I had welcomed his comfort on those occasions.
'Do not distress yourself, Watson. What will be will...' I did not let him finish.
'No, it will not. Holmes, I have no intention, do you hear me? No intention...' He rolled off me, leaving one leg thrown over my thigh to anchor himself in the narrow bed, and took my hand in his. He squeezed it and left our fingers interlaced.
'Watson, you are the very best of men, and I would not be the one to hold you back. You will be happy, married, no doubt.'
My stomach went ice cold, and a rush of nausea hit me sit suddenly at the realisation that he truly meant it.
'But Holmes, you and I...'
'A fantasy of yours. It never happened.'
'What? Why?'
'Because you, my dear Watson, are designed to be entangled with the fair sex, and your staying with me simply through some ludicrous sense of duty will not do.'
'You wish me to leave?' I was incredulous. The last time I had married, I had practically had to steal away from Baker Street in the dead of night, and every second of my married life had been haunted by the spectre of him, either in our minds, or in person, as he turned up at the most unlikely moments to whisk me away. 'Look at me and tell me truthfully that you would rather I married this lady than stayed with you.'
'I am tired,' he said, with finality, as though this was an acceptable answer. Then he withdrew his hand and rolled over awkwardly, leaving me in a terrible position, naked, my side pressed top to toe along the warm flesh of the back of the lover I had waited for all my life; but now reeling with the uncertainty of whether or not I should even stay next to him. After a moment, I decided I simply could not.
'I'm going to your room,' I said, as gently as I could. He made no reply, but as I left, I heard a deep inhalation, which cut off sharply, as if some spasm had caught him unawares.
