Three Continents Bet

by arlenejp

Three continents Watson. What's that about? It's going to be tested at Greg's divorce party when all John's friends decide on a contest. Big money at stake.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," out of breath. Murmurs from all around the table. We're at our favorite pub, the lot of us.

" John, here's a pint for you. We waited for you to show up to send cheers to Greg."

Settling into the seat, we all raise our glasses towards Greg Lestrade.

"Let me say it fellas. To my divorce. Thank goodness it's done."

"Here, here," goes around the table.

Celebrating Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's divorce is Detective Inspector Jack Dimmock, Forensics policeman Phil Anderson, and Doctor Mike Stamford, and of course myself.

I had asked Sherlock to join us, but he despises pubs.

"Sherlock said he sees no reason to celebrate. Knew this was inevitable. Why did you take so long, was his response."

The chuckles around the table call for another drink.

The night of drinking continues, with each pint consumed having all of us pretty sloshed.

Mike has been telling tales of the two of us in university involving women.

"Yeah, besides uni, one of my buddies that served in the army with good ole Johnny told me some wild stories. He got the nickname of-"

"Shh, Mike," in my plastered state of mind," don't need to-"

" Three Continents Watson. They claimed he shagged anything moving. Yea, that was his nickname," and around the table, all of them are laughing or giggling.

"True, John?" Greg asks.

"Weeelll, if I say so, I did pretty well," smacking my lips.

Phil looks up, index finger in the air, putting a 'thinking' look on his face.

"Got an idea. How good are you still, John?"

"Haven't in a while. Been too busy with- things."

Sherlock has kept me occupied, both in mind and heart. But, can't say that out loud.

I'm not gay, by any stretch of the imagination.

Oh, I've tried it once or twice but-.

And I don't think Sherlock would respond well to knowing his flatmate is besotted with him.

"A bet. How many can you shag in, say a year?" Phil continues with his thought.

"Nah, got a better one. How about a variety of people." That coming from Jack.

"What? Are you joking?" I say out of the haze of drink.

"Greg, what if he has to bed-let's say a short person, tall, skinny, and-", Mike chiming his voice into the mix.

"Wait, stop this!" my hand waving about. But they're so into this they can't hear me.

"How about a blonde, redhead, brown. And make it two years."

Mike stops everyone with a shush, the guys getting rowdy, "But they can't be connected. In other words, no short redhead, or tall blonde. Each a different category."

"Hey don't I have a say in this? After all, it's my body you're asking to perform this, whatever it is you're planning."

It's like I'm not there, not in the picture at all.

"Okay. He has to keep a record, first name, and date."

"No call girls, prostitutes or anything that easy," Greg motions an okay with his head.

"And if he wins?"

There's a slight pause, everyone giving it thought.

"How about-746 pounds each at the end of the two years. Make it worth his while," coming from stingy Phil, the man who always looks to others to pay for him.

My head perks up at that amount. From each! That's quite an amount. A sobering amount.

Greg turns to me, "do you think you can do it?"

Not asking if I want to, or even can at my age.

Everyone's facing me, excitement, the expectation on their faces.

"What the hell! I'll give it a try. Will be fun no matter what," throwing my hands in the air. A shout goes up and glasses raised.

"To three continents Watson," rings out.

"Let me get some paper from the bar and we'll write it up. A signed contract."

It's a good thing that the next day I have the late shift. I don't remember coming home, but now that I'm awake I see I still have my clothes on.

Throwing them off, taking my bathrobe I move to the bathroom, very slowly. I find the paracetamol, down two and step into the shower.

'That's better,' thinking to myself as I dress. Need some food, something light.

"Here. I made tea and toast for you, "Sherlock surprises me with this delivery. He's not known for being aware of my state of being.

"Thanks," taking it, balancing it to sit in the parlor in my chair.

"Strange set of notes you have there, John," pointing to a large pad with writing on my side table. Where did that come from? Oh yes, last night. We, or should I say the guys, wrote it all down. Oh shit! Didn't need Sherlock to see this!

Trying to laugh it off and cover it up with the newspaper, "Oh that! A joke! That's all!"

"Three continents Watson? And a checklist?" Leaning forward in his chair, hands steepled in front of him, " A diverse set of sexual seductions to be played out within two years."

" Don't even begin, Sherlock. Don't-just don't."

"A fair sum of money, I presume, for you."

Getting up, slowly, my head still banging away, I move to the kitchen, place my dish and cup in the sink, and back out.

"I'm going to lie down again. Don't have to be at the clinic until five."

He's not even glimpsed my way" Would my assistance in this matter ease you?" Back to the steepled hands.

" You, assist me in matters of sex?" chuffing," get a grip, Sherlock. This is one matter I don't need you interfering," walking out, and then, back again, taking the pad with me.

Once in my room, I place the pad on the bed, lie down and pick it up.

Thinking how to do this. But-my eyes begin popping out. What the fuck is this?

I don't remember having agreed to all of this, this,-.

Yes, I recall each type of woman being written on it, but then- oh dear god!

There's another list, same thing but the header is MALE.

Me, fucking a man? Males?

I must have really been smashed to agreed to this.

And I even signed it at the bottom! Hell, and damn it!

This is the checklist for John Hamish Watson to complete within two years beginning April 30, 2015, and ending April 30, 2017.

The list below was formulated by Phillip Anderson, Gregory Lestrade, Jack Dimmock, Michael Stamford.

John Hamish Watson will proceed to have sexual intercourse with the stated people below.

No prostitutes call girls or men. No going to gay or lesbian pubs.

Cannot alert prospective victim as to what the purpose of the pickup is about.

As each goal is completed John will check them off and send it to each of us via email.

At the end of stated time, John Hamish Watson has completed this task he will be rewarded with- Seven Hundred Forty-Six (746 pounds)(approx 1,000 US dollars- from each of the signed participants.

FEMALE

Redhead

Grey Hair

Over Sixty

Between Eighteen and Twenty-Four

Colored Hair, Either Blue, green, pink

Over Six Feet Tall-One Point Eight Two Metters

Brown or Black Skin

MALE

Blonde

Green Eyes

Grey Hair

Over Six Feet Tall-One Point Eight Two Meters

Over Sixty

Brown or Black Skin

Signed by, John Hamish Watson

Witnessed by, Phillip Anderson, Gregory Lestrade, Jack Dimmock, Michael Stamford.

Time to strategize! Find the right battleground. Go at this as if I was on the front lines of a war. Pick the best shrub, hole, tree to dig in and confront the enemy.

The enemy? Yea, those that are not right now, at this moment knocking on my door begging me to screw them.

Have to chuckle at this!

I've taken up a pad and pencil to keep track and to write down my thoughts and ideas.

Don't want to use the computer. Sherlock gets into it regularly, and it's not his business. I can leave the pad in my briefcase, which goes to work every day. And on the days or evenings I'm out I'll put it under the bed.

Let's start then.

The pubs will be the best place, I guess. 'Pubs near me,' is my first lookup online.

The one closest to the clinic is not good. Too many people know me there, and I don't want to hunt in my backyard.

There's one near the police station that's probably a hangout for all the Yarders. That's out.

I pick my first two. The Wooden Stake and the Iron Bell. The pictures of the inside I see online makes them out to be more than a dive.

The tube lets out within a street of both of them.

I quick pick-up, a quick shag, that would be ample.

I always keep a condom in my wallet but to be on the safe side, I include the second one.

A lube? A small tube will sit in my trouser pocket.

Where else and how else can I meet people?

Patients? Some really compelling women!

Sigh! Can't forget that I'm going to shag men.

No clientele! Too risky! And against all rules.

As far as the staff, the same thing applies.

Off limits! Not a good idea.

Riding the tube?

I take it most of the time when it's raining or cold. I'll travel it every day now no matter the weather.

I can conduct a conversation easy enough. Even though Britishers are not known for chatting, I can manage something.

'Riding the tube' is written on my notepad.

I would normally sit at a table at the diner. Maybe try a stool at the counter.

'Diner-counter.'

On the internet dating sites. No, not yet.

I'll think of others, but for now, this is a good start

It's taken a few weeks for the flu epidemic in town to subside and for me to go back to regular work hours.

Now I have the time to think more how to collect this wager.

London in the rain! It doesn't keep any of us from continuing our daily lives.

That's why I'm sitting in The Wooden Stake Pub at the bar. Its name tells it all. Inside, on the walls, and hanging from the ceiling are stakes, bamboo, oak, pine and all sizes.

The lighting is warm and over on one side a fireplace, gas, I imagine, throws off a beautiful flame.

The customers are mainly old timers and drunks, but I know there must be a night where the action takes place.

The bartender catches my signal, "what will it be, mate? "

"Whiskey, straight up. Tell me, what's the best night for-you know," waggling my fingers around.

"Tuesday or Sunday evenings are good," walking away and getting my drink for me.

I sit awhile and sip at my drink. But, seeing that it's a no-go for the night, I head out without getting another glass.

Back at the Wooden Stake, the next Tuesday, the bartender is right.

It's the thirties, and forties crowd taking the evening libation after work.

Keeping to my one drink limit, I'm at the bar, facing out when I eye a woman with very short blue hair. Almost a boy cut. I normally don't like that in a woman. I enjoy some curls.

Sliding off my stool I maneuver over to her only to see I've already been beaten by a young chap. Ah well, I'll try later.

Sitting on the stool I had occupied, is a cute redhead viewing the crowd, leaning on the bar.

I can tell she's taller than I, sporting a very short skirt that barely covers her thighs. A green long sleeve blouse with a deep vee neckline.

" Excuse me, but that's my drink over there," reaching past her.

She leans behind her, picks the glass up and flirtingly puts it to her lips. Oh, this is going to be easy!

"My name is Lola."

"John, Doctor John."

"Trying to impress me with your title, Doctor John?"

"Yes and no."

" Doctor John, I'm impressed. Care to buy me a drink?"

We arrange a dinner date two nights later in a sports bar restaurant, not too expensive.

It becomes evident to me that she's searching for money.

But, as Sherlock would say, this is for science.

The next night a movie and dessert at her favorite ice cream parlor, and over to her flat.

Her roomie is gone for the week.

The sex is good.

-Mark off- the redhead.-

There's a small cafe near the hospital. I usually eat dinner there when I have the night shift. It's quiet;the food is reasonably good, simple fare.

Angie, the waitress, loves listening to the weird happenings in the emergency room at night.

When there are only a few customers, she'll sit in the booth with me, and we'll trade stories about lousy customers and is at least in her mid-sixties and has been a waitress all her life. She's widowed. Not a good marriage from her telling of it.

"Angie, I know it has been a while since you've been to a good restaurant. How about joining me one night? We're both alone."

"Half the time you're so involved with your flatmate it's no wonder you have no one else."

Giving a slight harumph, "Yea, he does that, doesn't he? But I enjoy it."

" I'd love to go out with you Johnny. That's so sweet. But we split the bill. I won't let you pay for me."

I'm not thinking of her regarding the bet. Just a friendly thing to do.

I gape, looking at the woman I knew as Angie the waitress, the door to her flat opens.

She's wearing a purple dress, black heels, and makeup.

Her hair, usually in a bun, is shoulder length, grey, but curled.

Her body is slim, with the typical roll at the waist and tummy gotten as you age.

" Wow! You look-I would have passed you by on the street and not been able to admit it was my waitress I was seeing."

"Did you expect me to dress like this for work," laughing, twirling around.

A taxi takes us to the Hearth restaurant. The evening is surprisingly fun. She loves watching rugby, a game a played at university and now follow as a fan.

We laugh, and conversation never lags.

All in all a great time!

"Let's do this again. Only at a less expensive place. I feel bad having you-,"

"Wait a minute. I don't get a chance to go on a date, and with a younger man, at that! Yes, let's do it again. I have the money and time"

What do I do when dropping her off? Do I kiss her, shake hands? She solves it by placing a tender kiss on my cheek and closing her door.

I've had no luck in the two times I've visited the pub. Washed out.

Probably could have picked up a tall male who kept giving me the once-over. Chickened out though.

" Hey guys, "DI Greg Lestrade' feet and voice proceed him up the stairs.

"Got one for you. An interesting case," flopping on the sofa, manila folder carelessly thrown on the table.

"Damn victim has been screaming at us for days. Now I have suspicions, but nothing concrete"

Sherlock hasn't moved from his chair, so I get the papers and begin to look.

" Sherlock. We haven't had anything in two weeks. How about taking a gander?"

Reluctantly my flatmate looks over my shoulder and reads out loud.

"Rich real estate investor, big house, many servants. Stolen-paintings, worth thousands. Rare fishing flies," he huffs.

" People collect the strangest things."

"John, let's take a look. No need for you to come, Lestrade," grabbing our coats and all three of us leave the flat.

"John Watson and Sherlock Holmes," to the servant who opens the door.

I love these huge houses with the marble floors and staircases wide enough for a truck to drive up.

Into the parlor, we're met by the owner, hand outstretched, "glad you're here. You come highly recommended."

He, Robert Wittinger, introduces us to his wife, Angelica, and daughter, Brittany.

Wittinger is in his sixties, wife late thirties, the second one going by the description in the folder.

Brittany, 22, spoiled by dad, dislikes his new wife.

I listen to Sherlock interviewing the servants.

All are cautious in their talk about Angelica. Guess no one likes her.

Kevin, the general overseer, takes me aside," Angelica, I mean Mrs. Wittinger is not guilty. I suspect Andrew, the butler. He's newly hired and has been making eyes at Mrs. Wittinger."

Putting his arm around my shoulders he guides me to the kitchen as I find out that Kevin has been with the family for fourteen years.

Heavy in the belly, he's forty-two and has secrets.

Sherlock has whispered to me that he may have a relationship with Mister Wittinger.

"Let me get you some of cooks pastry. You'll love it."

He's moving me away from Sherlock and the rest of the household.

I guess wanting to impart some information he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

Sherlock has been drilling Mr. Wittinger and not kindly.

"My employer has a special relationship with me. I surf for him if you get my meaning."

"I do," understanding, "you think I'm a fish you'd like to catch in your net?"

"Yes."

" Why do you think I-"

"Mister Watson, let's say I have a 'nose' for this. I get paid handsomely for fish. And you will be paid for being caught."

"Okay. What does he want?"

"He's a blowjob man. But won't give you. Just wants for himself. Depending on his capacity he might want two. And he's clean."

"When and where?"

"Tomorrow at the Windemere Hotel. Two in the afternoon. Room 235."

"What else can I expect?"

" Play-acting. He picked you up at the bar of the hotel. You grabbed his crotch, and he gave you the room key. No underwear, no names, and talk dirty. Follow his directions. He takes a while to become erect. Lots of playing with him. No violence."

"And payment?"

" Will be waiting for you at the front desk when you are through. It's quite substantial."

"You've got a deal."

Here's an easy one to mark off the list. Very unexpected.

That afternoon I leave the clinic on a supposed errand and - male, over sixty- is crossed off the list.

In the evening Sherlock is going through the papers, and says," the daughter Brittany is the culprit. Have yet to come up with the motive. Let's pay a visit tomorrow. And John, while I'm talking to the wife, Angelica, can you take Brittany outside in the garden and talk to her?"

"She's a kid, why do you think her?"

"I've seen the dirty looks that Kevin gave her Monday before he spirited you away. By the way, what was that about?"

" He was pinning the blame on the wife. Said she was carousing with a few men."

The suspicious look Sherlock gives me, telling me he knows there was more to that conversation. Not going to say anything to him though, so I pick up my book and fake reading it.

The afternoon we're back at the Wittinger's house.

Brittany is in the swimming pool out back and sees me, swims towards the end where I'm standing.

"Well, you're back," getting out, revealing a tiny blue bikini, taking a towel and rubbing her body, continually eyeing me.

"Yes," while she takes a flimsy blue jacket, and throws it on," we've come to find out more. Do you know how the paintings might have been removed?"

"Oh easy enough! Kevin is bopping Angelica. She's taking the stuff and giving it to him at night when she slips into his room."

Taking a cigarette from her gold case she offers me one, and I refuse.

"Don't smoke, but I do indulge in other vices. Do you?"

"Mister Watson, why would you think that?"

" We all have to have fun."

I'm flirting outrageously with her, and she's accepting of it, leaning into me.

Well, if not for the case then definitely for the list. And, she's not bad looking.

Sherlock calls me into the house, but not before I write down my mobile number and give it to the eager Brittany.

" Let's go. I need to talk to Lestrade," swinging his coat around and leaving a puzzled Wittinger scratching his head.

"Figured it out, did you Sherlock?" in the taxi, on the way to the police station.

"Simple. The daughter, whatever her name is. Sleeping with Kevin. He's taking the stolen items and selling them. She's running off with him."

Thinking about this, something seems out of place.

"I can't see her with Kevin."

Sherlock turns to me, gives me that 'you can't be that stupid' look.

"Of course not. She has a boyfriend in Scotland and intends to take the money and run to Scotland to be with him. Is there any intention on your part to make her a part of your wager?"

Laughing at Sherlock's insight, "Yes, I hope to, within the next few days."

-Mark Off - 'Female-Between eighteen and twenty-four'-.

Mid-August and the city of London has been experiencing a heat wave, and because of that, I've been busy at the clinic. Overworked again.

Sherlock and I have had a fair share of investigations to work on recently. Nothing spectacular. He's bored, and both of us don't like the oppressive heat. We've discussed his leaving the city for his parent's place but we both know that would be a disaster. He'd be back here within the week and in an even fouler mood, if that is possible.

So both of us make do as best as possible.

It also means I haven't been out searching for the list.

One day while at the police station, Sherlock has been especially ornery, throwing barbs at everyone.

Stomping out of Lestrade's office to check on some files, it leaves the two of us, and some quiet for a few minutes.

Greg chuckles, "I don't know how you manage with him. He's such a prick. Speaking of such, how's the list going? Haven't had luck in awhile? No text from you."

"No time to do anything. When I'm not working I'm so tired I couldn't get my dick up for anything other than to pee."

Clearing his throat a few times," close the door, John."

What is he up to that the door needs closing?

"Your list of men is going to be hard. I-could make it easy for you."

"Oh, and who would you suggest? Not someone from here!"

He fiddles with a pencil, eyes cast down at the desk. " Noo-Greg, you! You of all people?"

"Always had an itch for you, you know. And I do swing both ways. No one need know. We aren't asking for names on this list, after all."

The door opens, Sherlock walks in, never giving a thought to knock first, glances at both of us, "What are you two planning? Did I miss someone's birthday?"

Both Greg and I are finding things to do with our hands and eyes so not as to glance Sherlock's way. He would surely guess at something, and it wouldn't be good for either of us.

Greg stands up, takes his raincoat off the rack, "well, I have to be going. I have a date tonight at eight at my place."

"At your flat? When do you ever invite someone to-strange, Lestrade," and for once Sherlock seems unable to grasp the undertone.

"Come on Sherlock. Let's get home. I could use a nap. Even having this day off has me still at odds, " and I wait for Greg to leave before pushing a befuddled detective out the door.

In my room, lying on the bed, I text Greg, Will see you tonight.

See you then

Staring up at the ceiling I'm nervous about this. What if I screw up? Can we continue as friends? Can I even look him in the eye after this?

Stepping out of the shower I dress casually. No need for anything other than my usual khaki trousers, and leave my boxer shorts off. After buttoning my plaid shirt, I realize I have to run the gauntlet that is Sherlock Holmes. He will see no edge denoting my shorts, and that will finish that. Taking off my trousers I put on boxers and belt up.

The man is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, the computer on his lap, and ignores me when I walk into the room.

" I have to be at the clinic tonight. Just got the call. Don't wait up for me. I know this will be a late one."

The clack, clack stops, and I'm in trouble now. " You're not going to the clinic. You and Lestrade!" with a certainty that has me biting my lip.

"Never said anything like that, have I?"

"But he would fill the grey hair man wouldn't he?"

I must be turning a shade of pink because I feel the warmth rising and turn my head away, making like I'm fumbling for my keys.

"Stubborn John Watson. Won't consider me for the statuesque man but would -," cutting him off.

" Stop Sherlock. Leave it be," even though an inner part of me thinks-, no, not good at all.

I believe I have walked back and forth in front of Greg's flat at least six times before the door opens and Greg shows his head.

"Ohh, come on in John. Or are you getting cold feet?"

Reluctantly I enter, feeling all thumbs.

" Are you backing down? If you are, I'll understand. But I won't let you fudge on the list. Can't write it down if you haven't performed."

"I know that and you know I'm not about to renege. I don't know where or how to start, Greg. I've been with a man before, but you're different. I don't know why but this seems odd," this moment is so awkward.

"Sit a minute and let's look at this. I want you. Have a thing for you. You need one checked off; you have me. I'm safe. And will do whatever you want."

Fumbling, my fingers intertwine and Greg steps over to pry my fingers apart and gathers them in his, "Let's do a checklist. Do you want kissing, hugging? Should I undress you?"

"Umm, I'd like us to be in bed naked and maybe kisses, still having his hands in mine, "I-I want you to lead. I'm so skittish," and saying that he leans into me, closing the gap and kisses my mouth.

"How's that?" stepping slightly away, his hands still holding mine.

"Yes, yes, that's good."

"Okay, now do you want mutual blowjobs or just rubbing together?"

"Shit, that's getting awfully intimate!"

"Damn, John, that's what we're about isn't it?" laughing while running a hand over my blushing cheek.

Come on John. This should be enjoyable. You know him, he won't hurt you, he'll do what you want. Get with it!

"Let's climb in bed and see what happens," I make the decision.

"That's better," and he leads into the bedroom.

Dressing to leave, Greg is still in bed up on an elbow, "Anytime you feel the need, John, I'll be here for you. It was good wasn't it?"

"Yes, Greg," surprising myself with the ease of it and how I responded so well, "thanks for getting me over the hump. I would never have-," putting on my trousers.

"Don't even think to apologize. See yourself out, and I'll see you tomorrow, or is it today?"

-Check off- grey male-.

Sherlock hits me with the question first thing in the morning.

"Do I dare ask? Another conquest? Three continents Watson?"

Of course, he'll have found the email sent to the guys about my grey male conquest. "You are one annoying git. Don't you dare blabber it around as to who it was." As usual, the man, head down in his laptop, or is it mine this time, doesn't acknowledge me at all.

That evening I come home after receiving two texts and I know I've got a full night ahead of me.

Come home. Need help solving a case.

Can't come. Clinic is busy.

Clinic can work without you. I CANT.

The minute I walk into the flat he's bouncing on the chair, standing, sitting, only to get up again.

"Out with it! What's got your bloody ass-", but before I finish he interrupts me.

" I'm going to offer- that is if you want- but only if it would help-."

"Damn it, out with it! Stop blathering will you?"

"I would gladly-for science- give-" back to pacing the floor.

Sherlock fumbling for words? Nervous? I'm enjoying the spectacle of it. So I sit and watch and listen. And wait!

"If it would-assist your -aid you- I could organize an hour where-it would benefit-"

I can't let him continue. It's too painful.

"Has this something to do with my list?"

His rambling stops, both mouth and feet, he stands close in front of me.

"I'll be your six-foot male-to-,"

"Shit! Are you fucking with me?" standing up now, not sure whether to laugh, cry or leave the flat.

Spinning around, his back to me, "no, I mean it-for science."

"For science you say? Whose? Yours or mine? I'm not your damn experimental body," mimicking his deep voice," John, let's see how long you take to orgasm."

"Thanks but no. And no more talk of it," moving up and into my bedroom. Closing the door.

I don't want him to be part of this. But the contemplation, the very idea of being that close, brings me to the edge. And I finish with the image of him, his hand, his body.

Paperwork! Paperwork at the clinic and paperwork at the police station.

Greg sidles up to me away from the ears of the others, "okay with it all, mate?"

"Yea. It's all fine."

"Why aren't you closing the six foot one? We all know you and Sherlock -."

"Greg. We are not a couple. Get that through your skull?"

"Gaw on now! We all know the two of you have-"

"Stop! We are not, and that's it!"

"Maybe it's best you wait until the end to post it," walking away shaking his head.

Now, what's making this worse is the picture I carry in my head of Sherlock splayed out on my bed.

The heat wave has quit London, and everyone and everything at the clinic is back to normal. As normal as it gets.

It leaves me time to pursue the checklist, of which I've sorely been lacking in time and energy.

I've been able to visit the Iron Bell pub twice. Almost a modern feel to it. All polished brass and light woods. The music is mainly Beatles and some hip-hop.

The crowd is fun. All my age or younger and I enjoy dancing and chatting with some of them. One gal, in particular, Annabelle has been sitting at the bar with me. She's a librarian and a wealth of knowledge. She reminds me of Sherlock in that way. A good dancer, not afraid on the dance floor. We share stories, but because she's latched onto me I can't get to anybody else.

That means I have to stay away on the nights Annabelle is there so I can explore others. If it were any other time, I would try to continue dating her. Not now.

Part of me wishes I had never agreed to this dumb adventure. Of course, I can always quit, always say I don't want to do this anymore. The challenge of it is what keeps me going, not the idea of the fuck.

Let's go for a drink tonight

Can't Greg. One of my nurses just rang. She fell and is in the hospital with a broken ankle. Have to take her shift

Okay.

It's such a nice day, and I always love the fall weather. I am walking to work and thinking of where to try next and how to get this contract done. It seems just when you want to get laid that nothing comes along.

"Doctor Watson, I have a patient that usually sees Nurse Henderson. Nurse Henderson went home an hour ago. Her father is sick. Would you mind looking at her patient?"

Pushing the paperwork on my desk away, "No problem. Show her into room four. I'll be right there."

Her chart in hand I walk into the room, "Good afternoon, Wanda. Let me look this over for a minute."

Wanda Forsythe, forty-three, smokes heavily but won't quit. Always complains of breathing problems.

She's sitting on the examination table, in the usual open in the front blue gown, legs crossed. The most striking feature is her bright green hair.

"I see you are having problems with breathing. Let me examine you." Nurse Jenkins enters the room while I do the evaluation.

"You're quite cute. How come I haven't noticed you here?" she says between taking deep breaths for me.

"We all have patients to see. It's possible you haven't been here when I've been on duty," trying to deflect the flirt.

"So far everything is looking good, but- as you've probably been told by Nurse Henderson, you should quit smoking."

" I know. She's warned me about it. I promised her I would go to one of the sessions here at the clinic. Are you giving any of the classes," she cocks her head to one side, suggestively.

"No, we have special staff to handle that."

We finish up. Nurse Jenkins leaves the room and Wanda begins asking more questions about how to stop her habit. Innocent enough. Don't need to call in Jenkins.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I have an itch, and I'd like you to look at it," and opens her legs wide.

"I need to call in a nurse, so give me a moment," going to the door.

" Doctor, come here," in a very suggestive tone.

And so help me, I have no idea how or why it happens, but I wind up fucking her on the table.

I run for the door, open it and turn to my office, slamming the door behind me. I'm a shivering mess! What in the hell had gotten into me? I have never handled a patient in the wrong way before and to do this?

I let the staff know I'm going out for a walk. I want a drink but stop short knowing I have to go back and work.

'Yea, you won't drink on the job, but you'll fuck a patient.' shaking my head as if to clear out the memory.

And now! What now! We'll have to wait and see. I'm so horrified by it. I could lose my license!

I hear nothing about the incident. Maybe she realized what was on the line for me and decided not to press charges.

Days later I meet Mike for a drink.

"How's the shagging going?"

"Why did I know you were going to bring that up?"

"Oh, not well, huh?" taking a sip of beer and smacking his lips. Should I tell him? It's hard to sleep at night because the incident has been on my mind and I feel guilty. No, don't open that up John, thinking to myself, you'll be asking for it. Mike certainly would not approve. Good thing I don't have to say where and when I screwed someone.

"It's not as much fun as you think. When you meet someone who fits the bill the first thing on your mind is where and when."

"Not that bad though?" Lifting my glass and staring at the liquid inside, "yes it is not what you think it is. A lot of stress has been put on me," gulping down a good part of the beer.

"Still have time to go. Or you can quit. But, you're doing nice, if you ask me." Yea, what he doesn't know won't hurt.

Stupid, stupid!

I made a gross mistake, and I hope I don't have to pay for it later!

-Mark Off - 'Color Hair-Female'-

November! In the cafe, at dinnertime, thankful that nothing has come of my faux pas with Wanda, the patient. I did see her once in passing, but she ignored me. Good! I hadn't asked Angie the waitress out again, even being in the cafe most evenings during the terrible heat in August.

She serves me one of my favorite meals. Meatloaf which is always moist and comes with mixed veggies and mash potatoes.

It would be fun to ask her out again.

" John, you seem preoccupied tonight. No chitchat?" standing over me while I finish the last of my banana cream pie.

"Well, Angie. I was thinking-."

"No, let me do it. Would you like to go out again, John Watson- Doctor?"

Laughing, I throw my napkin on the table, "Yes you got it right. I was going to ask you but-."

"How about Italian? Say tomorrow? Six? Pick me up?"

"Angie, I'm all for it," paying the tab and standing.

And there she is, when I knock on her door, all dressed in a red blouse and black skirt, and high heels. Again, her grey hair down, but this time tucked back behind her ears with small jeweled pins. Such a contrast from the drab grey-haired waitress I meet at the cafe.

"What will you have ma'am? And your son?" We laugh at the mistake but don't go to the trouble of correcting him.

I've been to this restaurant before, and the food and atmosphere are both good.

" I'm betting you're glad this summer's heat is over."

" The work was bone shattering. But-like all things we get over it."

After the meal we're in the taxi when she leans into me, her hand on my cheek, turning my head to face her.

She isn't! She is, and she does. Plants a soft kiss on my lips.

I return the kiss, and it gets heated.

Arriving at her place," A nightcap is in order, don't you think? Come on in."

Is this going to happen or is she just lonely? Or both? Her flat is tiny, on the third floor, but it's immaculate. The parlor has a chair and sofa. Unsure what to do she walks into the kitchen, kicking off her shoes, "John, take your shoes off and get comfortable." Toeing them off I sit in the armchair, saggy but still clean.

"Do you want coffee or something hard?"

"I'd be happy with anything you have."

At that she gives me a coquettish glance, kneels down in front of me, hands on my knees," would you want more?"

Taking her hands, "Only if this is what you want Angie. No strings attached though."

Standing, she leads me to another room. The bedroom. Never imagined I'd be in the sack with Angie. Have to admit she is wonderful!

Feeling rather peculiar about going back to the cafe by myself I ask Sherlock to join me one evening.

He's been with me on several occasions to this place.

Angie is in front of the counter and waves when we walk in.

I take my usual booth, and she gives a nod that she'll be with us in a moment.

Staring at the menu, although I know it by heart, I hear Sherlock announce, and not quietly, "The grey hair over sixty, hmm?"

I gulp, "Sherlock, don't."

Angie steps to the table, and without hesitation," Oh I know about the bet. Two of your friends were in one night, and I heard them and decided to help you out."

Blushing from my chest to my cheeks, "I'm so sorry Angie," hiding my face behind the menu.

"Doctor John Watson! Don't you go all silly on me now! I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But let's keep it between the group of us, okay?"

Purposely staring down Sherlock.

-Mark Off - 'Grey Hair and Over 60-Female'-

The police are holding a charity Thanksgiving dinner at the station and have asked four other nearby divisions to join in. Our station has a big enough basement room to house all of us.

It cost 20 pounds to attend, and each must contribute a dish. The monies to go to the poor people living in the East End.

Sherlock and I are going but we, no actually, it's I, have no idea on what to make. Sherlock doesn't cook, not even to boil water for tea.

"We can order some dishes," his laptop is open on the table already scanning our favorite takeout locations and the food they offer.

"No, Sherlock. This is the first of these, and I would love to see it continue in the coming years. I want to cook something. Bring homemade."

"Not my area, cooking. What do you suggest and I'll go out and buy the ingredients."

" I have my moms macaroni and cheese dish recipe."

"Here's a quick one that we can make together. It sounds yummy. A bacon potato pie."

"Did you just say yummy?" peeking my head out of the kitchen, pencil, and pad in hand.

"And what's wrong with yummy?" the detective says, a look of surprise on his face.

"Nothing, nothing. Never expect that word from you," stepping into the parlor to see the instructions on the computer.

"Looks simple enough. Okay," writing on the pad, "here's the list. We'll do both of the dishes. Here's the shopping list. Have a go!"

At least I got the git to grocery shop! But it's all on me to cook.

The police hall is decorated inside with paper turkeys, streamers in orange and brown, and even a centerpiece of orange and brown flowers on the main table.

"How plebian," Sherlock's nose wrinkles at the embellishments.

"Welcome you two," Sargeant Sally Donovan says, " Bar is over there. You pay for your drinks," and takes the dish from my hand, "Sherlock, put your dish here and go get something to drink."

I wander over to get myself a well-earned drink and meet up with Greg and someone I've never seen before.

"John, meet Detective Brad Holloway. Used to be in Liverpool and now has transferred to us." We shake hands, and he acknowledges me by saying, "Doctor Watson, that's you, and that's Sherlock Holmes over there. Recognize you from pictures I've seen."

"Excuse me, guys. Sally is beckoning me. Get to know one another. Oh, and don't let Sherlock intimidate you, Brad," and Greg takes off.

"Good to have you on the team, "shaking his hand, a massive paw that covers mine completely.

"My wife wanted to move closer to London. Her family is here, and so the transplant."

Holloway is imposing.

Over six foot two, at least three hundred pounds, brown skin with sparkling brown eyes.

His voice belies the fact of his bigness. It's soft, but you know in time of trouble that sound will be sharp and impressive.

Before we can get too far in our conversation, Sherlock walks over, sizes up the new detective, "you'll do. Intelligent but smart enough to stay out of my way," and meanders off to find Greg.

I hear a giggle from Brad, and I can't help but join him.

"Welcome to the world of Sherlock Holmes," I offer.

I suspect Sherlock's going upstairs into the office to look through files for a case.

"Well, I've hogged you long enough. I'll let you alone to gossip with the others and get to know everyone."

" Doctor Watson," pulling on my sleeve," would you like to come to my house for dinner one night? Without your detective? I'd like to know you a lot better before tackling him."

"Very understanding," again the two of us chuckling.

"That's very nice of you. Here's my mobile number. Give me a call."

Little did I know or suspect.

Dinner at the Holloways takes place the next week. I bring a bottle of white wine, a bouquet of lollies. Wearing my green plaid shirt, black trousers and loafers, I'm looking forward to a comfortable, enjoyable evening.

"My wife, Yolanda, John," shaking my hand is a petite very dark skinned woman. She's so tiny compared to Brad that he would entirely envelop her in a hug.

But her smile is wide and inviting.

"It's good to meet you; we have no friends here as yet. Only my mom and dad. Sit before we eat. We have some time."

Their house is a small cottage just on the outskirts of the city.

It is cozy, with the smell right now of spices and something baked.

Yolanda grins, "Yes, I've baked a peach pie. Brad loves my baking, Hope you also do, "pouring the wine into light green glasses.

There's an awkward moment and, I ask, "how do you like it here, Mrs. Holloway?"

"It's Yolanda, please. I do love the closeness to the city. Easy enough to take the tube in, shop and come home. Right now I'm looking for a job. I'm in advertising."

"So I gather no children?" I warily inquire, seeing none of the trappings of youngsters lying around.

"No, John," Brad answers," we both decided not to have children when we first met. Freedom of motion, you know. We've been married eleven years, and it's worked out fine."

The evening ends with the Holloways making me promise to come next Wednesday for dinner.

I'm soaking wet by the time I reach their house.

I had to wait for a taxi, and with the wind blowing harshly an umbrella was almost impossible to use.

Coming to the front door and having Brad open it," Oh my gosh, look at you! Come in and take off your coat! Yolanda-, Brad yells into the next room," get a robe for John. He's soaked."

"I'm okay, really I am!"

Yolanda hurries in and stops when she sees me," your trousers are wet also. Go into the bathroom, take all off and put this on," shoving a robe in front of me," I'll take everything and put it in the dryer."

Changing, leaving my drawers on, I don the robe. It's hers.

Giggling, and embarrassed, I walk out of the bathroom in a flowery cotton robe, Brad turns to see me and laughs also.

"I guess mine would have fit two of you in it."

I'm ill at ease but have no choice.

Dinner is good food and good conversation.

My clothes are dry by the time we finish up, but the weather has turned even worse. Wind, lightning and the rain that pours down seemingly none stop.

"Okay, no questioning us. You are sleeping here tonight," Brad exclaims, looking out the window, "you'll never get a taxi, and it makes no sense for you to try."

"I can't impose on you; I can't."

"No imposition and don't give me excuses." Going over to the little sideboard he lifts a decanter half full of whiskey, "It's still early for bed, would you like a drink?"

Nodding a yes, "Come into the parlor, Yolanda, leave the dishes for tomorrow. I'll help clean up later," yelling to the kitchen."

Brad motions for me to sit on the sofa. Yolanda places herself on one side, and Brad settles on the other.

I get a strange feeling. Something isn't right.

"John I have something to say to you. If you get upset by what the topic is you have every right to up and leave and never see us again. That is, outside of our professional lives."

I start up, but Brad pulls me down, "sit and listen to us," he urges me.

"While I was at the party-"

"Oh no, don't tell me you found out about the list? It's all over the precincts, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

I bury my head in my hands and wish to sink into the floor.

"Don't be upset John. It sounds like it's fun, even if you don't complete it."

My voice muffled in my palms, "but you have no idea how hard it is."

"And that's where we are willing to help you. Yolanda and I are used to having partners in our bed. And the list does say black male and female."

" I'm sorry, but I'm not cut out for that sort of thing."

"Okay, we understand. Don't get all stressed over it. Most people back away. We'd still want to be friends if that's good?"

I want to stand up but afraid it would cause embarrassment for them. So I sit and wait for whatever they have to say.

"Have you ever had a threesome, John?"

Shit! Damn!

"No, never." I'm not going there! Maybe? I'm captivated and yet self-conscious.

"Let me start first, Brad," placing her hand on my knee, "I've got an urge for you, John. I told Brad about it when I first met you. I wouldn't mind at all."

Squashed between the two I'm the ham in the sandwich, can't get out.

"No, never." I'm not going there!

Maybe?

I'm captivated and yet self-conscious.

"It's a rainy night; it's silly to go out. A warm bed, king size is in the next room. Would you care to join us?"

Taking a deep breath, "that's a tall order for me to take in."

"You can back out anytime you want. You can set what you are willing to do and have done to you as we will also do."

I'm stimulated, nervous, confused, thrilled, all at once. And hard and stiff enough that my drawers are bursting.

Waking the next morning," Come and get some breakfast, lazy," Brad's voice from the other room bellowing.

Not sure how to tackle this in daylight, I stand up to see my clothes laid out neatly on a chair and dress quickly.

Brad has the table set with eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and coffee. Yolanda is not in sight.

"Take a seat. Yolanda went to work. I have the afternoon shift. Dig in."

Pulling out a chair I sit, not able to focus on Brad.

"Come on John. Loosen up. We had fun," pausing, " or did you? Are you feeling the guilts now?"

"I don't, well sort of, but it was all good."

"No need to feel anything but happy. And now we leave it to you as to whether to join us again."

"It was something different I admit, but I don't want to do this anymore. Please don't be offended," dishing out the bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

"No offense. But let's stay friends. You're invited here anytime you want."

"How about my taking you two out to dinner next week?" picking up the maple syrup and pouring it on the pancakes and eggs.

"Good idea. I'll get Yolanda's schedule along with mine and call you."

We eat and after I clear the dishes with him, help him wash and put them away, I take my leave.

But-this was two birds with one stone.

-Mark Off - 'Brown Skin-Male and Female'-

How the hell did you pull that off so fast?

A text comes in from Mike.

Two in one night maybe? Do I get to guess who? from Greg. I don't respond to either. Don't have to give my secrets away.

At first, I'm uneasy around Detective Brad Holloway, but he's so relaxed that any strangeness quickly wears off. I attend another dinner at their house.

"You've taken an interest in our new detective, I notice. And his wife," Sherlock's eyebrows raising.

Wishing to ward off any further questions, "Yes, Sherlock, your deduction is right. They are the two blacks. And no more questions, because I won't answer them. Some things are meant to be private."

He snorts and continues to look into his microscope.

"You do remember that we have the Christmas party over at Greg's don't you?"

"Yes, my beloved brother will be there," his head popping up, " as a reminder, he's male, over six feet-,"

"If you even think that Sherlock-," rolling my eyes, stepping into the parlor.

"You only have three more males and the Holmes brothers-,"

Yelling out, "no, no no. Do you hear me?"

"Shortsighted, thick-headed, that's what you are," hollering back at me.

I can see myself getting sexually involved with either of those two!

Cold fish Mycroft and Virginal Sherlock. No, not on my agenda. Thanks!

Every once in a while though, Sherlock crosses my mind, and even into the lower parts of my body.

I steal looks at him, wondering. How would that pale, slim body react under me?

And then, shaking my head, I get a firm grip on those emotions.

A shower, a quick hand down there and that's the end of it.

It's always a fun time when Greg throws a party. And this Christmas Day is no exception.

There is one exception! No two! The damnable Holmes brothers. Always with the ready quip! The one-upmanship being played out between the two of them.

I try to stay far away from them and find Brad sitting on the sofa, Mike there beside him.

"Mike, this is Brad Holloway. Mike works with me at the hospital sometimes, Brad." I catch the raised eyebrows from my co-worker. He has put two and two together and come up with the black pair.

"Yes, Mike," Brad says laughing," we are. It appears not only can't John run away from it but neither can we."

The color rises in Mike's cheeks, and we both begin laughing when our attention is caught by a tall, very tall, slender woman in a dark green dress walking in the door.

Mycroft steps up to her, and they exchange words.

"Hey John, "Mike nudges me," there's your six-foot female."

"Fat chance to even touch a finger to one of Mycroft's assistants," scoffing.

Brad pushes me from the back, throwing me almost off the seat, "Go give it a try."

What can it hurt, I think, stepping towards them, Mycroft introducing her to Greg.

"John, this is Mila, my new personal assistant," her nod the only affirmation that she's acknowledged me.

"Good having you aboard. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, I can't stay, but thank you."

"Accent is-, "interrupted by Sherlock advancing on us, "northern Austria, Linz to be exact, and boarding school in Vienna. You speak the Kings English."

"You are right," giving her attention to the man looking her eye to eye.

"Would you like something to eat?"

What is Sherlock doing? Why is he paying her any mind?

"No, thank you I had to deliver a message to Mister Holmes and I have to be leaving. A pleasure to meet both of you" pivots around and steps out into the night.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"I had hoped to charm her into staying so you could work your magic on her. Too bad," a quirky smile.

Sherlock, charm her?

Having no luck at all at any of the pubs and I'm getting very discouraged. What does it take to get screwed around here?

It's the specifics of the screwing that I need that has me left out.

One afternoon the black car of Mycroft's is pulled up at the curb waiting, I presume, for me.

Sliding in, sitting next to me is Mila.

"Afternoon Mila, I guess Mycroft wants to see me. Do you know anything about it?" digging for my best smile and showing my blue eyes.

"Are you enjoying London? Would you like an escort to show you around?" at which she gives me a small smile and stares straight ahead.

I can't get anything out of her. That's the way all Mycroft's agents are trained.

No unnecessary talk. All business.

"John. This game you are playing," once in his office," this," his hand waving about, " childish game might seem engaging to all of you, but you are attempting to enter Mila into it. I'm sorry to say that I cannot permit any of this. You must abstain from any of my agents."

There goes that!

Raising his eyebrows, "but I can and will-," and I get the drift immediately, "not you, not Sherlock. Stop this nonsense right now. God, what are both of you trying to do to me?"

" I can offer you one of my agents who specializes in-," cutting him off I say, "Wouldn't you consider that a call girl or guy?"

"No. This person will only cohabitate to receive information for the government."

"I still don't feel that's kosher for the list."

" A man of ethics," said in his droll way. "Thanks for the offer," making my way to the door.

"John, a moment," seeing him write on a small piece of paper, his hand out, I take it.

"What Mila does after hours is her business," her name and phone number.

Wow! I think. The man has some humanity in him!

Outside I don't see the black car, so I suppose I'm on my own.

I make a call to Mila.

"Doctor Watson. Mister Holmes informed me you would call. I'm not available for two weeks. I'll call you, and we can have dinner together," and hangs up.

She's been trained well. No unnecessary chit-chat. Basics and finish.

I'll wait but continue my search, just in case.

The day before New Year's Eve my phone rings. It's Mila.

"I'm available for tomorrow night. I made reservations at the Landmark Hotel at 6."

"I was going-. Never mind, I'll meet you there."

-Mark off-Six Foot Female- And the last of the Females on my list

It's February and now the exact opposite weather of August.

Extremely cold this last few days and we're told it's going to continue for another week.

I've stayed at the surgery center checking up on supplies when I realize it's almost ten at night.

I'm hungry and tired and not wanting to take the tube I wait for a taxi, stomping my feet and hands in pockets when one finally shows.

"It's just as cold in here as outside. What's wrong with the heater in here?"

"Went out this morning when I started the car. I have an appointment to bring it in tomorrow. Figured I might as well bundle up and finish tonight. You're my last ride before heading home."

"I bet the little woman would have a good warm pot of tea and something hot to eat," mumbling while I keep my hands in my pockets, my hunger forgotten.

"Live on my own. Discovered it's easier than finding a woman who cares enough," a gruff laugh, stopping at a light.

"I tell you what. How about this? I could use a bite to eat and a drink. There's a pub right down the street from where are that's open. How about I treat you to dinner and some brew."

"Hey, awful nice of you. Guess you have no one to go home to either."

I do, but not one that would sit waiting to indulge me and care for me.

"Name's Cornelius, Corny for short," shaking my hand and settling into a booth. The pub booths are empty. Two fellows are sitting at the bar, and that makes us and them the only patrons.

A tubby waiter waddles to us looking as tired as I feel.

"Watcha having?"

"Do you have anything already made that's hot? And a beer for myself and my friend," I say.

"Still have bangers and mash, if that's to your liking."

Corny agrees and that's done.

At least it's warm in here and we've sat away from the door and the large window.

An uneasiness follows, both of us strangers and not knowing what to say next.

"So, what's you doing out in this cold?"

"I had work to do. I own a clinic and surgery center and needed to clean up some things left undone.

"You're a doc then."

The food came and we both dug in eating voraciously.

"Just what the doc ordered," he finally said and picked up the beer glass and I followed suit.

Noticing his green eyes, I chuckle to myself. Too much of a coincidence.

Our meal finished it's back out into the cold and the taxi.

"I thank you for the meal and companionship. Do you play pool?"

"Sometimes, Corny, but I'm not good at it."

"Come out tomorrow night to Beacons Pub and join me and some friends for a friendly game. Small betting. How about it? I'll pick you up at seven."

"You know what? That sounds like something different. Yes, I'd love to join you."

"And I'll have the heater fixed, "laughing at that and he drops me off at Baker Street.

"See you tomorrow night Corny."

Into the flat to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, laptop on, "Had a good evening I presume. I left the pot of water on, all you have to do is heat it."

My surprise must show on my face because he goes on," it's late and consuming a hot tea would be soothing."

"Thanks, but I had something to eat and beer," and moving to my chair I relate the events of the evening.

"You are optimistic that Cornelius will be the green-eyed one."

"Yes, I hope so."

"Having not approached you or given any indication he's not averse to sex with a man I would doubt it."

Slowly rising, weary," I hope he is. I'm going off to bed. See you tomorrow."

The taxi is right at the curb at seven and Corny yells out the window, "hop into the front, John."

"See, heat is all fixed."

What a cute place Beacons Pub is!

The usual beer signs hung on the walls, some lit, the typical dark wood, the same bar stools, and a few tables.

Going to the back through an open door, there are two pool tables, four electronic pinball machines.

Corny acquaints me with the six other men in the room, and there are beer, pretzels and other bar food going around.

It's all general high spirits and laughs.

Somewhere along the way, I hear that Corny is in a long-term relationship with an Irish woman and I drop the thought of getting involved with him.

"Hey all, I have to call it quits tonight. I have to be up early for work tomorrow," I yell, over the raucous noise of the room.

"I'll drive you home, "Corny calls from the other side, "give me a minute to wind up here."

"No need, Corny. I'll make my own way."

"Give me your number, and I'll text you when we next meet here." making his way to me.

the guys are meeting Sunday night. I can't be there, but go if you can

I will try. Thanks Corny.

At Beacons Pub again, being greeted by the guys I am ready for a fun night of pool and the usual guy bantering.

We're well into our game when there's an uproar from the group.

Someone has come into the back room and everyone is greeting him like a long lost friend.

"John, come and meet Neilson. Neil this is our newest member here, Doctor John."

Shaking hands," I know you. I was interviewed by your head nurse last week. Saw you run in and out."

"That's why you look so familiar. What were you there for?"

"I came back from Sweden two weeks ago. That's where I was born and need a job now that I'm back in London to stay. I'm a clinician."

"I'll have to ask Nurse Ryan about you and the results."

"Good. So let me get a beer and I'll join all of you."

By the end of the night, it's clear to me that Neil is gay and has taken to playing at flirtation with two of the men.

And he's blonde!

-Mark off Male Blonde-

My Army uniform, while snug around the waist still manages to look good on me. It's reunion time, and I'm very excited to go, primarily because it's in London, not some other city.

I haven't been to the last three. Too many memories from the time in that I don't care to revisit, but this time I'm determined to see the guys.

Weather-wise it's typical March London weather. Rain and more rain, followed by more rain.

Sherlock and I have been on two significant criminal cases, and he's as happy as a bunny rabbit. Jumping on the tables, and chairs, playing upbeat music on his violin.

"Going to the reunion are you?" walking into my bedroom. I don't mind; the door was open anyway.

"Yes," twisting and turning to look into the mirror that only comes waist high.

"It looks like you stepped out of one of the male modeling magazines."

Did he slip up and tell me he looks at model magazines? Male ones?

I keep as grave a face as possible while taking off the shirt and giving my flatmate a stare that says out.

He ignores it even though I know very well he grasps my body language by now.

"Sherlock, I'm getting out of this uniform for now. Would you mind leaving?"

"Now would be a perfect time for us to-," Preventing him from going further," Get out!" in a harsh voice, although underneath that I'm begging him to throw me on the bed and devour me.

Before I can understand what he's doing he closes the distance between us; his hands surround my face, his lips touch mine briefly, and then darts to the door, stops there," You know where to find me if-, and as quickly as that he is gone.

My body refuses to function; my brain is dead.

Like a statue, I stand, stuck in the same pose as when the curly haired man brushed my lips. He kissed me!

That man who has never shown any affection, any sign, kissed me.

Sherlock Holmes kissed me!

Releasing the breath that I didn't know I was holding, I go about removing my army trousers, finding a jumper and jeans to replace the uniform.

I have to leave my room eventually so taking a deep breath I walk into the parlor.

He's there on the sofa, the laptop on the table, "I think we have a little case to work on if you feel like it."

Just like that, not acknowledging the tremendous thing he did.

Thinking twice I sit in my chair, hands on the arms," Tell me about it."

And it's business as usual.

Only it's not. There's a something in the air that's changed. A tension, as if there was a weight pulling us down. An unspoken what?

Shaking myself out of the void I'm in I miss most of what Sherlock is expounding on.

"Must be coming down with something. Can you repeat it?"

Do I see a smug look? Quietly he reiterates, and we begin to sort out the burglary case.

Wavering at the door to the hotel, Army uniform on, I'm slapped on the back, hard enough to jolt me and push me slightly off my feet.

"Watson, glad you could make it this time. Jolly good. Missed you last year."

My entry into the hotel was now a certainty. I had no choice.

There are at least forty of us in the room, and walking further in amid hellos and handshakes, over to the bar to grab a whiskey and look for the buffet.

Before I could find the buffet, I'm stopped and greeted by my army roommate, Lewis and the hour is spent in reliving memories.

Taking up my second drink, "I'd like to get myself something to eat before I wind up drunker than a shithouse rat."

Laughing he lets me go and to see the buffet at a side of the room.

Balancing a paper plate and fork in one hand while my drink is in the other, I'm in the midst of picking up the small sausages when I'm thrown off balance by another hand slapping my back, and saying at the same time, "well, captain Watson, glad you're here."

"Hello, Angus."

Angus Stewart. Don't have to turn to know that voice. He was a nuisance in the field hospital, following me around like a puppy dog.

The other guys swore Angus was trying to get in my pants, but I didn't see it that way.

He was always upbeat and enthusiastic about everything and loved being with people.

"Come and sit with me and let's catch up," Angus pulls on my arm, leading me to an unoccupied table.

Knowing there's no getting away from him, it's my turn to play puppy dog and follow.

"Oh, you've got a drink! Do you want a refill?"

Scooping up a piece of sausage and some beans and placing them in my mouth, I chew, then swallow," No, this is my second. I want something to eat first."

He crosses his legs and watches me while I eat, his gaze never leaving me, finally saying," I've been wondering about you. But I've seen you in the papers with that Sherlock dude. Your boyfriend?"

Almost choking at that, "No, my flatmate."

Sitting up straighter and leaning on the table, closer to me, "Single are you?"

He nudges my arm and winks.

" Yes, still. And you?" trying to be polite.

"Was with a guy but we broke up a few months ago. At least I left. This time."

And so the guys were right. He is gay.

"Hey, would you like to get out of here and go someplace where we'd be able to talk more?"

Is that an invitation to what?

"You know Angus, I came here to mingle with everyone, so I'd like to stay."

Not to be deterred, "That's fine with me John. But could we meet up sometime for tea or dinner?"

He's not going to let me go easy.

"Fine. I'll give you my cell, and you can call me."

"Why don't we pin it down right now?" he says, his phone out and waiting.

No escaping Angus and his determination.

"I'm free tomorrow night at eight. We can meet at the Wooden Stake Pub," figuring it's close to home and easy to leave if need be.

"I don't know that one, but I'll find it and meet you there," getting up, "I'll let you finish eating. See you then," and wanders off.

I enjoy the rest of the evening even with Angus always in the corner of my eye.

The Wooden Stake is quiet, but it's a Sunday night; I don't expect too many people to be out, and there's Angus at a corner table.

"I waited for you before ordering. What do you want and it's on me. I invited you."

I don't argue with him, and we give the waiter our orders.

"I looked you up and saw you're a doctor, John. Oh, I can call you John right?"

"Angus, we're not in the army anymore. Yes, John is fine."

Our drinks come, and for a few moments, we enjoy the brew, all the while I'm wondering what I'm doing here.

"What are you doing with yourself and where do you live now?" finding my voice, at least trying to seem interested.

"I own a smoke shop all the way over on Maple Street. It's not big but brings in enough to keep me going. Had it for three years and I'd like to open another one if I find the right partner," and his hand briefly rests on mine and then slides away.

"If you're inferring what I think you are, thank you, but having my clinic is enough for me."

Chuffing back a laugh, " and then there's you running all over the place solving crimes with your partner. In bed as well?"

"Sherlock and I-" tired of repeating this litany over and over when wishing the opposite-.

My glass stops partway to my mouth. Did I say that out loud?

"John are you okay? You just got an awful strange look on your face."

Strange yes, but I did not say it loud so Angus could hear it; it echoed loudly enough in my head.

It continues, this, whatever, from my head, through my torso, down to my quivering groin.

"Excuse me, Angus, nature calls," standing, my legs wobbly.

In the stall, I sit on the toilet my head in hands, rocking.

It is Sherlock. It's him I think about all the time, even in my bed.

Back to the table, after gaining my equilibrium, " why don't we call it a night? I've had a hard day."

Outside Angus points to a Tesco supermarket across the street, "I need a few things. Come with me and then we'll say goodnight."

Following him, still shaky, we go in, he grabs what he needs, and at the checkout, looks me in the eye, and it's then I notice-he has green eyes! Green eyes!

I place my hand on his and look up into those green eyes, "Why not go back to your place for a drink-or something," implying more with the glance I give.

"Would love it army buddy," walking out and into a taxi.

-Mark off-Green-eyed Male

Waking up in Angus' bed, the clock reads three twenty-five. It's pitch black in the room, and I gently unwrap Angus' arm from me, rise and begin to dress.

Flicking on the table lamp, "John, you don't have to go. We can have breakfast together."

"No sorry. I have the early shift at the clinic. Oh, and I can't-,"

"John, you don't need explanations. Go to him, tell him."

I stare at the naked man, "What do you mean?"

"You called his name out, twice as a matter of fact, while we were at it. You're in love with him, with Sherlock Holmes."

Not answering something I'm not sure about, I dress, lean in toward Angus and kiss him," thanks, but-,"

"No buts, I understand. It was great this one night, and you've got other things to do. So go and good luck."

Ambling up the steps to the flat there's a lamp turned on in the parlor and Sherlock is sat in his chair.

He stands, walks close to me, sniffs, "You found your six-footer, and it wasn't-," jerking his coat off the hook, I stop him from leaving, pulling on his arm.

"How do you know?"

"Obvious! You come home at four in the morning. You were with an army friend who is six feet tall," pushing me aside he heads down the stairs, displeasure in that deep voice.

"You've got it wrong," as he's halfway down the stairs.

I stand stunned. Six-footer? What is he-? And then I get it. Angus is over six feet.

I haven't had a chance to post it to everyone that it is green eyes and not the six foot that I was after.

Sherlock this one time, and it had to be this one time, deduced wrong.

I've managed a bit of sleep, and by morning it's evident that Sherlock has not been home.

I text him.

I'll be home at seven. See you then JW

No answer at all. I climb into bed leaving my door open to hear his footsteps if he comes in.

No Sherlock either texting, calling or being at Baker Street.

By the third day, I'm beyond worried.

"Mila, is Mycroft in?" on the phone with Mycroft's assistant," Sherlock has disappeared."

"Mycroft is out of the country where there is no internet service. Do you want me to send an agent out to look for him?"

" No, let me see what I can find."

Greg's in his office at the station, and I barge in without a knock, "Sherlock's been missing for three days. I'm scared of what he's done to himself."

"Is there a reason?" standing up and going out of the office into the main facility where all the police have their desks.

"I upset him, I think. He could be doing drugs again."

"Listen up all," banging a stapler on the nearest desk, "has anyone seen or heard from Sherlock Holmes in the last week?"

There's muttering," who cares, why bother, he could go to hell for all it matters," all coming from different cops mouths.

"Okay you bastards, I don't care about your feelings for the man. I asked a question, and I want an answer."

" I saw him," a heavy-set older man, seated right next to us," going into the Lincoln Hotel on Windsor St. Real dive of a place. Looked disheveled, and moving like he was on something."

"When was that?" I ask, ready to run out of this place to the hotel.

He picks up a pencil, puts the eraser end in his mouth, looks up at the ceiling, takes the pencil out, "a day ago, about noon, I think. In poor shape he was."

Rushing out the front door, I yell back, "Thanks, I'll call you Greg if I need you."

In the lobby of the hotel, the police officer is right. The place looks like it's been around for years with no updates. Worn carpet, chairs sunk in, scratches on the desk.

Behind the desk sits a bald man with a newspaper in his hand. He looks up as I walk in and doesn't make a move.

I don't think Sherlock would use his real name so I plunk down a fifty on the counter and ask if a man with curly hair, tall and skinny is staying here.

The man, cigar in mouth, lifts himself off the chair with an effort, touches the money," don't know. See all kinds here," his face eyeing my wallet.

I take out another twenty, he bends back, takes a key out, "room six. Drunk or drugs. But he's a mess."

Unlocking and opening the door, the first thing that hits is the stench of alcohol and the funk of an unwashed body.

Food and liquor bottles are on the floor and dresser, and lying spread-eagle on the bed, is the man I'm looking for.

Stepping over all of the rubbish I see he's not awake, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, hair all askew. His face is white and drawn, those cheekbones even more prominent.

Reaching over to nudge him," Sherlock, can you get up on your own? It's John."

Rolling his face back and forth, "huh, hm, go way. Nothin' to do. Need more stuff," and he elbows his way up and then flops down.

"Come on, big man. We need to get you out of here," lifting him up, one of my arms around his shoulders, " can you tell me what have you been taking beside liquor," dragging him up off the bed.

He slumps down and almost carries me to the floor.

I stand back up, and with my free hand slap his cheek a few times, "Sherlock, stay awake for me. Tell me what you've been taking."

Words slurred, "John, can't see him anymore. He didn't fuck me as six foot. Doesn't love me."

And down to the floor he sinks, taking me with him. I put an arm under each of his armpits, his back against my front, and walking backward pull both of us from the room. I could carry him over my shoulder, but this is easier, for me.

"Hey, you can't take him! He still owes me for today," the desk clerk points to us as we move toward the front door.

"Come here and reach into my left pocket, take out my wallet, and take whatever monies he owes and a bit more to call a taxi. And hurry."

The man steps over and finds the wallet, snatching out the bills.

I know he's robbing me, but I don't care.

Within five minutes there's a taxi, and I drag us both out the door, shoving a near unconscious detective roughly into the back seat.

The driver is looking in the rear-view mirror and says," Hey, your friend really did it up didn't he?"

Giving him the address of our flat, I settle this rag doll in the seat and sit next to him, my arm around his shoulder, his head flopping on my chest.

In a low voice, "what did you have? What did you down beside the alcohol? Please tell me," shaking him so his eyes open, but it's a vacant stare. "Heroin and Percocet, lots of liquor," his breath making me nauseous.

His hand touches mine, pushing my arm, so my hand is resting against his groin, pressing both our hands hard against his firm member.

"Give me more, more. Need to forget. You look like him," his other hand now rubbing my hardening member.

Dislodging the hands from our respective private parts I realize he must have had sex with someone!

A man!

A man who looked like me!

We reach the flat, my having to crawl with him up the steps, and I bring him into the bathroom, sitting him in the shower.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but I have to take off your clothes," and proceed to do so.

His trousers and pants are off, and I'm trying as hard as possible not to touch or see his lower parts.

In all the years I treated him for wounds and scrapes that was one area I never had to address. With the water temperature on cold, I turn on the shower.

His whole body jumps at the touch of the sudden assault of water.

Resigning myself to the task at hand I run a soaped up cloth through in his hair, over his face, taking in the rest of his body.

"What the hell are you doing," he yells at me, awake, forcing my hands off him.

I hand him a towel, after turning off the water, place his robe on the toilet, "dry yourself and come out. I'll have something for you to eat and drink. And then you're working off the effects of those drugs," sounding harsh and walk out

Changing quickly out of my wet clothes into my PJs and robe, I make tea and a chicken broth with noodles.

His eyes wander every place but on me, while quietly sitting down at the kitchen table to eat.

"Into bed with you. As soon as I clean up here, I'll come and sit next to you."

" Not going to bed," sulking, playing with his fork.

"Sherlock Holmes, in about ten minutes you will be in withdrawal, and I don't intend having you sprawled out on the floor. Get into that room and now!"

He's in bed, moaning. His body twitching, jumping. Having seen this in my years as a doctor I leave him alone to let the poison wear off.

I take a chair and sit next to him, putting my feet up on the mattress knowing I'm in for a good couple of hours.

I've already called the clinic to tell them to get someone else to work tomorrow.

It's hard going watching him going thru the throws of withdrawal.

Sometimes I take a cold cloth and wash his face, give him a sip of water, and listen to his mumbles.

He mutters things from his childhood, calling out for Mycroft, of all people.

He calls out my name, still with his eyes closed.

"I'm here, right here. Right with you," wiping his brow with my hand.

"He fucked the six foot. He fucked him instead of me."

Who he thinks he is talking to I don't know.

"I didn't Sherlock. Listen to me. Can you hear me? It's John."

"Have to tell him to go," partly sitting, grabbing my shirt, his eyes half-lidded, "you can live with me instead," taking his hand away, he lies down, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow.

I know that he doesn't realize it's me sitting with him.

Don't know who he thinks he's talking to until he says," Greg, stay here. I love John. He doesn't care," his voice fades away, tears fall.

Leaning back in my chair, dumbfounded. So this is what this event is all about.

He surmised, wrongly, that the six-foot man is Angus and that meant I didn't care about him.

Overcome with my new understanding I sit and look at this wonderful, beautiful man. He loves me. And I love him.

Sherlock is up and around, tired, eating and not talking. Not meeting my eyes either.

Time to get this out in the open and on the table.

It's a mild evening, and I have the windows open. The sounds of the street, the birds and his tapping on the laptop is all I hear.

I'm ready to dive deeper into all of this, this misunderstanding.

"Please put the computer away. I need to discuss something with you."

Ignoring me, he continues to type.

"If I have to fight to remove that from you physically I will. Now please, this is important enough that you need to listen."

Snapping the lid closed, almost hard enough to break it, he slides down the chair, legs extended, head down on his chest.

"I'll come to the point quickly. I did sleep with a former army friend, Angus, and he is over six feet," the lanky man squeezes his eyes closed tight.

"You didn't think straight. You missed one big feature," pausing for effect, " Angus has green eyes."

I watch Sherlock's eyes snap open, sitting up straight, his interest now totally absorbed in me.

"I concluded wrong?"

A wry smile crosses my face," Don't worry. I won't let anyone know, but yes, you did," and with my heart open, with everything showing on my face, "Sherlock Holmes, would you not only be my six-foot man but would you be my only man from here on? I love you, you wonderful, absurd-," and before I finish he's sitting in my lap, kisses ranging round my face, "I love you, John Watson, love you, love you."

-Mark Off- Six-Foot Man-

If heaven could be spelled out it would be us lying side by side in the morning, my hands gliding over Sherlock's face, feeling the slight stubble on his skin. Those cheekbones, high as mountains, tempting a kiss from me.

Sherlock surprises me with his gentleness.

It's not easy to remove myself from his presence, but I have to take care of the everyday problems.

I had texted each of the fellows who signed the contract that I had completed it in the allocated time.

Phil texts back, Screwing is fun. You got to enjoy it all. congrats

Sex. You fucked anyone you could get your dick into. Well done.- from Jack.

I'd love to hear which one you liked fucking the best. You hit the dick jackpot.- Mike wrote.

A cock's dream. To fuck all different kinds of people. And for you and your flatmate to finally admit your feelings. I'll let you know when we're meeting to celebrate.- is Greg's response.

Bringing in the mail three days later, I see, besides the junk mail, there are two envelopes. One addressed to me and the other to my flatmate.

Curious, I hand Sherlock his and impatiently tear open mine.

You are invited to a party to celebrate John Watson's completion of the contract.

To be held at Wharf Pub on Sunday, April 12, 7 pm.

Reward to be given that night.

Suit required.

"Hmm, that formal, is it?" I say to my love, "are you going?"

"Of course. What better way to announce our new relationship?" happily grinning at me.

I show up with Sherlock in tow purposely being about fifteen minutes late to give some surprise to it all.

I pull out a chair, and Sherlock sits, giving each one at the table a 'yes, he just did that' smile.

Greg, Phil, Mike, and Jack, are quiet at first and we hold hands in full view on the table.

"It looks like beside congrats on finishing the list we can make merry for these two finally admitting they are in love?" Greg's grin a mile wide.

Sherlock begins by saying," If you are referring to-,"

"To make it short, yes, we are in love," cutting him off and he gives me a sour look.

Clapping and hoots from all, "it's about time," heard.

Sherlock says nothing but squeezes my hand.

Clearing his throat he pointedly looks at Greg, "Shall we commence with the real reason we are gathered here today?"

"First we need some good Scotch to celebrate and not just beer. But also,'" reaching into a giant shopping bag at his side he brings out children's party hats.

"What? You're crazy if you think I'm wearing this," coming from all but Sherlock. He folds his arms, his face showing his displeasure.

"Anyone who doesn't wear the hat will not get a drink, understand?" Greg talks over the complaints.

Grudgingly all, except Sherlock, put the hats on. He sits with a quiet determination.

"Come on there. For me?" saying it with a smile that I know my new love can't refuse.

He picks up the offensive hat, a cone-type, and perches it on his curly hair. It wobbles and falls off.

I pick it up, arrange the rubber band under his chin, and now the hat stays firmly on his head.

I place a little kiss on his cheek, to the cheers of the others.

And, 'tongue him,' 'let's see some passion,' 'give him a whoopee.' It doesn't sit well with me and not the man next to me.

The waiter descends on us holding a cake and places it in the center of the table, "I will be back with your drinks, gentlemen."

Oh, this cake! I could murder all of them at this moment!

It's frosted white on the sides and chocolate on top. The writing is white,' Three Continents John Watson.'

But the most significant feature is raised off the cake and is long, roundish and tan-colored.

A large penis.

A large cut penis with a whitish cream looking as if it's spurting out the tip.

Sherlock gives out a huff of a laugh. But it's not a good laugh, more disgust at the proceedings.

I know I'm bright red from my neck to my ears.

Everyone is laughing, throwing smutty jokes out, 'Does it look like that Holmesie old boy?'

'Is it that long?'

' Hey who measured it? I never got the chance.'

'Is it that big?'

'Sherlock, suck on this one.' and more.

I can sense him tensing up and tighten my hand on his.

To be honest, I feel the same way, but what can I do.

Greg shushes everyone, "John will cut the cake taking care how he works on that lovely penis," and that brings more laughter.

"Shush everyone. What we have here is a very solemn moment."

His body leans under his chair bringing up a large manila envelope.

"For his heroic work," eliciting chuckles.

'here, here's,' from everyone at the table, well almost.

"This envelope contains the reward for your hard work."

'What hard work, he stuck it in.'

'Fucking is hard work?'

'Does he still have one left?'

'Must have. He's giving it to Sherlock.'

A low rumble emanates from him.

Shifting my weight to touch shoulder to shoulder I nudge him playfully, and he stops.

Why is this envelope needed? It's too big!

"Go on, open it. We all chipped in on this."

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it. There's the contract with each one checked off, and stapled to it the check.

And, a coupon for a store that sells sex toys, and another one for male enhancement pills. A paper with porn websites listed. Leaning back in his chair as he always likes to do, Greg giggles, "this was all thought of before we knew about this new development, "waving his hand towards both of us," but now it will be even more handy," cracking up laughing.

"Damn you, Greg, that's enough," but even I have to chuckle at it all.

"Go on John. Cut the cake," Greg says between bouts of hysterical laughter.

My flatmate, not used to bathroom humor, is sitting stiff as if a rod was through his back.

Not wanting to say anything out loud, I take my mobile out of my pocket and, "Excuse me I've got a text." I don't but have to quiet Sherlock, or he'll walk out.

I know you don't like being here-but for me, please

"Where are you going?" tugging at his sleeve as he pushes his chair aside and stands.

"To take care of a bodily function, what else?"

A few seconds later I receive a text, for you, I will behave and listen to their stupidity

A sigh escapes my lips when he returns to the table.

Greg tilts his head, "is all okay John?"

"Yea. The clinic needed an answer to a clients problem, that's all, "rubbing my hands together, "okay let's get to that cake and the Scotch."

I understand that where I cut this cake is essential. To make the usual circle in the middle, no not right. To cut beginning at the tip doesn't work either.

Aha, thinking to myself, I have it.

The only way to do it is to slice the penis from the tip to the end.

Receiving lots of oohs and args, as if I'm cutting into their penises, I begin the slices.

This way everyone gets a part of the shaft.

I keep the slice with the semen.

"Aha, making sure you have the orgasm, aren't you?" from the mouth of Jack.

More giggles, more off-color jokes.

I feel the tension in my love's body, and keep lightly rubbing his arm.

The drinks are on the table, and for a while it gets quiet, consuming the cake and drink.

Phil pipes up, "John are you even going to let us in on how it went down. Give us more info on how you met these people?"

"I considered that question would come up and decided not to answer anything about the people or the event. It's too personal, not only for them but me."

"At least we know about one person, "giggling after taking a sip of the scotch, Mike continues," and the possible happening."

Getting up from my seat, I draw myself up to my full height, my hands tighten into fists and pronounce, "There is one consideration I ask of all of you. What has occurred between Sherlock and me is our business. Just as I would never think to ask you personal questions of your spouses or girlfriends I request the same consideration," and sit to an audience now quiet.

Sherlock bends over to me, kisses my cheek, whispering thanks in my ear.

Greg clears his throat, raises his glass," to a real gentleman, to a friend and here's to a long and happy life for both him and Sherlock."