There Are No Coincidences

by Void.Of.Memory

Sherlock Holmes and Dorian Gray meet in a hansom on their way home from the club. They decide to meet again, and lights a fire of passion between them. But Holmes has a secret. A secret that could kill Gray. M for some language and two men in an alley.

1. The meeting, among other things

All characters belong to their respective authors.

[A/N: Holmes is mostly from the books, but the Watson/ Holmes relationship is more from the recent movie. Gray is more from the 2009 movie, but some aspects are from the books. Some literary liberties have been taken.]

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Dorian

The two of us met the way you expect men like us to meet: through our vices. I was looking for anyone who'd let me fuck them, some opium and a bottle of gin. He was looking for people with problems that he could solve, and, more often than not, cocaine. My usual shit-hole gin house had been shut down by the police for tax reason, and I had decided to buy the place if it wasn't up and running by the end of the week. I may have squandered much of my uncle's fortune on my pleasures, but not to the point where I couldn't buy one shit gin house. He, on the other hand, would have welcomed the change. 'Routine is boring.' He'd tell me, 'If one gets comfortable in their life, then their life is boring.' I tried not to listen to his advice too much. My life was the way it was because of Harry's advice. I knew better than anyone where that's gotten me.

Our meeting was completely by chance, but he didn't believe in chance. 'Everything has a reason for happening. There are no coincidences.' I'd ask him what the reason for us meeting was. He wouldn't answer most of the time. We had hailed the same hansom to take us back to our respective domiciles. He had just finished doing cocaine, and the stink of it filled the small carriage. I was long gone on gin and women, so I barely noticed. We didn't speak at first. He was staring at me, in such a way I though it was an effect of the cocaine, but after a few blocks, he shifted and tapped his chin. ' So you're Dorian Grey, the man who has sinned more than thought possible for one man, and still keep his face.'

I nodded curtly. ' And you are Sherlock Holmes, detective extraordinaire. I found many of the cases you solved to be extraordinary, the way you found the answer hidden in the smallest clue. But I would have thought someone of your knowledge would keep out of the things of the common vagabond.'

'But that knowledge is precisely why I do it. I cannot expect to understand the minds of those I hunt if I do not join them in their escapades. And my current case has hit a dead end. I need something to stimulate my mind.'

I blinked. For the amount I'd seen him take, and I amount I didn't see, he was surprisingly well spoken and calm.

'You have adapted yourself to the gin you drink, Mr. Gray, as I have I adapted to the things I inject.' he said, as simple as if he was stating a fact.

'How did you know I was thinking that?' I asked, stumbling slightly over my words. I may have adapted to my vice, but I still felt its bite. Unlike this man, apparently.

'It is my trade to know what people's hidden thoughts are.' He cocked his head slightly. 'Some may believe I have a compact with the Devil, a ridiculous notion, to attain the prowess I have. Just as it is whispered you have sold your soul to stay young.'

I tried not to flinch. 'How to you know me, Sir?'

'You have not gone unnoticed. I was hired by the family of a Basil Hallward to investigate his death. Quite suspicious, I'd say. He was the man who painted your portrait, was it not? A portrait that has not been seen since.'

My face clenched, and I started to sweat, as I did whenever Basil was mentioned. It wasn't noticeable, it was more of a mental thing really, but somehow, this Mr. Holmes noticed the slight change in my demeanor.

'Ah, so you did have something to do with his death.' he nodded, then gave an offhand gesture. 'Don't look at me like that, man. The family gave up, and took me off the case.'

I gave a slight nod, not sure really what to do. He had said I was involved, which I was, but I didn't want to fully acknowledge him. I still denied that I killed Basil. I thought he was going to drop the subject and lapse back into his silence like before, but to no avail.

'But, just out of curiosity, what happened to the poor bugger?'

I was drunk. I knew that. When I was drunk, I let loose, I didn't think of tomorrow, like Harry taught me. I should have kept my tongue in check, to anyone else, it would have gotten my secret exposed and my life ruined. But this man. This 'Sherlock Holmes'... The way his eyes sparkled with his drug, the hunched posture that reminded me of an eagle, the tall lean figure of his... It made me drop my guard. I spoke before I even noticed.

'I had a friend, Alan Campbell, turn him to ash.'

'Hmmm, Alan Campbell, Alan Campbell. Ah yes! Committed suicide not long ago, did he not?'

I mumbled that he was correct.

Holmes shook his head, eyes closed. When he did open them again, they were even brighter, wolfish, almost. He leaned in and reached out with a spidery finger. 'You are a most intriguing man, Mr. Gray.' His skin was ice cold against my face. 'I should very much-'

'Oi! One of you's stop is 'ere!' the driver shouted, unseen. I started, and Holmes retracted his hand from my face. I peered out to find my own home through the slight London fog. I tipped my hat to my fellow passenger. 'Perhaps we can talk further about mysteries Mr. Holmes, yours and mine. Call on me tomorrow.' my voice shook. I jumped down from the cab, my shoes clacking on the cobblestones, drowning out his reply. I lifted a hand in farewell, but the hansom was already trotting off down the road.

'I shall have to prepare for tomorrow!' I thought to myself. 'If he has weaseled one confession out of me, he shan't do it again!'

I let myself in, glancing at the stairs to see if my entrance had gone unnoticed. It had thankfully. I made my way up to my room. I flung myself on to my bed, and fell unconscious before I had time to undress. I had fallen into the gin's grip; if I had truly fallen asleep, I would have dreamed of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock

There he went, that boy, stumbling out of the carriage. I called out that I'd come early, but he hadn't seemed to have heard me. I went over the facts I had about the boy in my head. The large fortune he had inherited, his parents dead long before he turned 5, the vicious scandals that invade all conversation when his name came up. But, most suspicious of all: his complete lack of ageing. He looked as old as he did when I first heard his name. That was long before Basil Hallward. There was news of a young girl, Sybil Vane, who had committed suicide. It was rumored that her and Dorian had been betrothed. The news of their marriage bored me, but the curious nature of her death was interesting. It wasn't long after that Mr. Gray's name began to appear in the gutter world of the docks, whispered in the night in the brothels and clubs. The cabbie called out our arrival at 221 B Baker St., interrupting my musing. I got off and, in not much better shape then Mr. Gray, got myself upstairs. Watson was waiting, drinking some brandy and read the evening news.

Holmes!' he cried when he saw me. 'Where have you been? It's nearly three!'

'I was- I was out. Though, I met a most interesting gentleman on the hansom home. One mister Dorian Gray.' Watson gasped. 'You've heard of him, no doubt?'

'Holmes, he is one of the most infamous men of London. I have been reading about him in the paper and my clients have told me stories. They say he has personally ruined the lives of all of his friends. Three of them are dead, two by suicide, and four more have been shamed by their families. What ever were you doing with a man like that?' He demanded.

'Ah, Watson! Ever so diligent with my well being!'

'Not diligent enough, I'd say.' He spat disgustedly, 'You've been to the club again. How much Holmes? How much did you manage to inject into yourself before you couldn't hold the needle still?'

'Now Watson. I have done this before and-'

'Yes Holmes, that's why I'm worried. You have to stop. I am sick of waiting up for you to come home, strung out and insane. Or worse, you not coming home at all, and having to find you hovelled up in some shack, trying to conduct experiments on flies.' I tired to interrupt, but Watson wouldn't have it. 'No, Holmes. In three weeks, you'll be on your own. You'd better get use to not having a nanny to look after you.'

'Watson, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don't need you to-'

' Oh, you don't need me, do you? You think that- that boy- Dorian Gray will do anything for you?' Watson exploded. 'Well, then, you can just get on by yourself then!'

'No, Watson, I merely meant-'

'No Holmes.' Watson shouted firmly. 'I will not put up with this.' He shook his head, then pointed to the door. 'Get out.'

'Now Watson, let's not-'

'Get out Holmes.'

'I see you're tired and upset. There is no use talking to you when you're like this. I will go. It will be better for both of us. A little rest will fix everything.'

'No, Holmes.' Watson muttered. 'It won't '

'Whatever did I do to receive such fury from you Watson?'

'You, Mary and I were having diner tonight Holmes! I told you last week, and yesterday. You knew about this! But you didn't even show up! You didn't even have the decency to show up!'

I couldn't say anything back to that. He was right, I had missed the diner. But why? I couldn't remember; the cocaine reduced the whole evening to a hazy blur.

'Just leave Holmes.' He sighed. 'Just- just go.'

I nodded, and swept out the door. I wasn't too bothered by this; like Watson had said, I had many places to stay, especially as I was. One of them was close enough to Mr. Gray's house. I took a hansom there, and got myself the usual room. It was its own sort of hell there; all my musing written on the wall, the broken bits of paneling and cracks from my drug-induced violence, the stench of vomit and reek of stale urine, partly my own. I fell down onto the small palate, and didn't get back up. Watson throwing me out haunted my dreams, then Dorian welcoming me back in.

Dorian

I woke up, the smell of my own sweat thick in the room. I rolled over, and saw a cloud of my own vomit on the floor. My head pounded as I tried to stand. I flung open the curtains, but was greeted by the cheerless sight of London fog. The sun hadn't risen yet; I glanced at the clock. The hands hadn't passed the 6th hour. I collapsed back on the bed, my vision swirling. I blacked out but not for nearly long enough. It was only ten now, and my head was still throbbing. I don't know what I had done differently; I drank as much, more even, then I usually did. When I drank like that, the whole afternoon was a blur. But today, I even remember what happened last night, even the hansom ride home. The ride home... Holmes! I rung the bell, the noise echoing in my head. My servant came up. I ordered him to draw a bath and prepare for a guest later. He bowed himself out. I looked in disgust at the state I was in; my hair damp with sweat, livery ruined by drink and women. I pulled off my attire and padded into the lavatory in my bathrobe. The house was silent and cold, like it had been since I had killed Basil. His presence seemed to linger everywhere. Sometimes, I even could even hear voice, his laugh, his moan. I shuddered at the though. I could hear the whispers now, reverberating from his coffin. I froze as I heard a cough. It sounded so close. I rushed to the rail and scanned the first floor. A man was standing in the doorway. Sleeved rolled to his elbows and he was carrying his hat in his hands. He was a mess.

'Hello?' he called.

I rushed to the bathroom and ordered my manservant to deal with the man. I wash up, shaved and dressed properly. There was a rap on the door.

'Sir,' my butler asked, 'There is a man at the door asking for you. He says his name is Sherlock Holmes. Shall I see him in?'

The blood rushed to my face as I remembered his wintery brush. 'Yes, yes.' I stuttered, flushed. 'Give him anything he asks for.'

My butler bowed himself out again. I could hear my servant offering whiskey and food to my guest. I gave a glance in the mirror; I knew I was flawless, but I couldn't help but look for reassurance that my sins were unmarked on my face. I straightened my jacket and strode out. I tread quietly down the stairs. Holmes was standing against the fireplace. He had something in his hand, a piece of cloth. I leaned on the doorframe. 'Mr. Holmes. You don't look like you have slept since our last meeting. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Holmes turned and the tracks on his arms shone out from his pale clammy skin.

Sherlock

I hadn't heard Gray enter. The cloth in my hand was too fascinating, the clues it held too important. I pocketed it as he spoke, and when I turned around, he seemed shocked at my appearance. I would imagine it was frightful; I had been sweating out the drugs among other things. Watson had been right: my addiction had come back with a vengeance. I had thought I had beaten it with my boxing, but the boredom of no cases, and the frustration of the current one had driven me back to my syringe.

'Mr. Holmes, are you well?' Gray inquired, 'I can have my man draw you a bath or cook you some food if you'd wish.'

He gave a cry of astonishment as he saw my knuckles. I had been shadow boxing to help me through the withdrawal and had done more damage to the wall.

'That would be agreeable with me, Mr. Gray, thank you. My roommate and I -ah- had a difference of opinion, and he threw me out. I had to spent the night in a less then savory location.'

'You got into a fight?'

'No no. This is what I did to the wall.' I waved my hand dismissively. 'Boxing is my way of coping.'

My companion nodded like he understood. He handed me snifter of brandy and the servant came in, saying that the bath was ready and promising to bring a light breakfast when it finished cooking. 'But what was the argument over? I thought you and that Dr. Watson had been together for years.'

'Yes, well, Watson's doctor side is too concerned with my usage of drugs.'

'You shouldn't have to be punished because you seek pleasure Mr. Holmes.' Gray murmured. He lightly touched the injection sites. 'Never be ashamed of wanting to be happy.' He looked up at me, his face serious, but his eyes shone. 'Never trust a man who is ashamed of wanting pleasure Mr. Holmes. He has either a dangerous secret or something he wants to sell you.'

I laughed, but the drug still had some sway over me. My knees buckled and I pitched forward. The brandy was spilt over Gray's shirt and jacket, the glass smashed on the ground. Gray caught me just before hitting the ground.

'Holmes! Are you alright?'

My head spun. 'Yes yes fine. Sorry about your shirt and the glass.'

'It doesn't matter; I hated this shirt anyway.' He gave me a winning smile. 'Now. Let's get you upstairs. If you want to convince Dr. Watson to let you back into your rooms you should probably at least look clean.

'Touché.' I muttered. I pushed my self up but almost fell again. It was only with Gray's help that I managed to get all the way up those stairs. He left me to wash while he went to find something that might fit me. The filth that came off me was horrifying. Gray called me to his room so I dressed in a robe I found and stumbled to his chambers. The attire he presented to me was a bit short in the arms, but it would do.

'We can go get you a proper shirt later after you've eaten.' he muttered as I came out from behind a dressing screen.

'Mr. Gray. I am very much obliged for what you've done already. You don't have to buy me clothes now too.' I insisted.

' Nonsense. I don't mind at all. You'll just have to make it up to me somehow.' His voice was distant, so I turned. All I saw was his bare back, unmarked, and pale. He had taken off the brandy-covered shirt, but hadn't gone completely behind the screen. I did a double take. I had to force myself to look away.

I cleared my throat. 'Yes, I shall. Do you like music Mr. Gray?'

'Very much so. I play the piano in the near by concert hall on weekend sometimes.'

'Well, then we shall go to a concert in Hyde Park tomorrow. It starts around noon but I shall be by about eleven to pick you up. How about that?'

He finished buttoning up his shirt and came completely out. 'That would be great.' he came closer to me, until he was inches away. His eyes were smoldering and I could smell a faint odor the club and his pomade. My heart quickened.

' Mr. Holmes, you are standing in front -' he whispered, leaning closer as he spoke. A rap on the door surprised us both, and he moved away, red faced. The servant gave me my plate of food and left. Gray lit a cigarette and sat down. 'Go ahead Mr. Holmes. I don't really have any appetite.'

I thanked him and went right ahead. The food was good and I felt better immediately. I looked up at my meal at one point to find Gray staring at me intently. He looked angry and the smoke curled around him sinisterly.

'Mr. Holmes, may I ask you a question?' His voice was a growl.

'You may ask me a question, but I may not answer.'

'What is your relationship with Dr. Watson?'

'Watson?' I laughed. 'The two of us have been friends for years. He has helped me on many cases of mine.'

'Yet he throws you out on the street after one infraction?' Grey scowled. 'Yes he is quite a friend.'

I coughed. 'There have been more... Incidents regarding my addiction. And others besides. It was only a matter of time, really.'

There fire was a burning in the boy's eyes. 'He can't treat you like that! You own that house as much as he does!'

I frowned. 'Calm down boy. I understand Watson's anger, but not yours.'

'Because you should be treated better then that!' he stood, his rage very apparent. His face was flushed. The temper he was throwing made he seem like a spoiled child. 'You are the greatest detective in England -no the world!- and you have earned some respect!'

'Watson will have forgiven me by tomorrow. There is nothing to get upset- '

I was cut off by Dorian. He had sprung forward and pressed his lips against mine.

'You deserve better then him.' he whispered against my mouth. 'I could give you anything. Everything.' I felt his lips against mine but the rest of my body was cold. I had, once, been with a man. I never payee any attention to women, save The Women, but even she wasn't interesting to me that way. I had exempted myself from any feeling of passion, save for my work. But, along with the ice of my skin, underneath was fire. The same fire that was in his eyes. 'I do find you... Interesting.'

Dorian

His back arched into me and his lips followed mine. I slid my tongue along his teeth and my hand ran through his hair. He ripped through my shirt, ruining the second one in an hour. I pushed him onto the bed and turn to lock the door. When my back was turned, I heard him pulling off his shirt. No sense in wrecking another. I smirked at him and strut over. My hair was tangled in my face and two spots of red were high on his cheeks. I ran my hand down his chest, stopping just above his waist. 'Let's take these off, shall we?'

He grabbed my hand before I could undo his pants. 'Not yet Mr. Gray.' He clutched my other wrist and flipped our positions. Now he was on top. 'I still think it's a bit early for that.' He found my lips again, but didn't stop there. He licked my chest and I moaned. When he bit my neck, I cried out but he pressed his tongue into my mouth stop the sound. My whole body arched into his and I could feel he was at the end of his rope. He released me of my pants and my pleasure was obvious. I took off his and threw them on over the clock. 'Now you have no idea what time it is. Is it still too early?' I panted.

'I don't think so.'

'Good.' I lowered my head below his waist, but he pulled me back up.

'I meant not today. Frankly, I just met you.'

'Don't you feel that connection Holmes?' I murmured right into his ear, 'This lust between us. I have been following your cases for years. and I know you are curious about me. Just let go Holmes. Don't be afraid of this.'

'Dorian.' He brushed my cheek like in the carriage, 'As much as you may be right, I have a client waiting at my apartments. I have to go.'

He got up, stiffly, and put on his-my- shirt and pants.

'So you're just going then.' I spat.

'Dorian, we're meeting up tomorrow. After the band plays, I have nothing booked. Consider tomorrow, all of it, my payment to you.' He winked and opened the door.

'Holmes.' I panicked.

He turned back and looked at me. His regard was cold, his posture upright and his hands were clasp behind his back.

'Please come tomorrow.'

He nodded and walked out. I had no idea why I said that last thing. I never care about the people I fucked. They're a one-time thing, maybe two if I like them, but never something to get attached to. Why did it feel like Holmes was worming his way into my heart?

Holmes

I walked back to Baker Street, feeling ashamed of myself. Think of what his man has done to people! A voice shouted in my head. How he's rip a hole in your life with his crimes. Then again, he has brought you some fair business, with all the clients looking for people Dorian had corrupted. A simple trip to a concert won't hurt anything. I rationalized. I won't let him do anything like that again.

I arrived at 221 B faster then I thought I would. I fixed my hair in the reflection of a puddle and straighten my jacket. I opened the door and almost walked smack into Mrs. Hudson.

'Mr. Holmes! Watson has been looking all across town for you! What happened last night? There was a terrible racket with all that shouting.'

I patted her arm. 'Nothing to worry abbot my dear. Watson and I were just sorting out a problem. There shouldn't be anymore shouting. I'll go talk to him. His he upstairs?'

'Yes, but with the mood he's in, shouting with be unavoidable Mr. Holmes. Shall I bring you up some tea?'

'That would be lovely yes.' I patted her arm again and walked up the thirteen steps to our rooms. I rapped on the door.

'Holmes isn't in right now!' Watson called through the door. 'Come back tomorrow.'

'But you've been looking for me all day. Why would I come back tomorrow?' I replied, still talking through the door.

I head quick footsteps and the door opened. Watson was stranding there, disheveled and furious. 'Holmes! Where have you been?'

'Please, Watson. Let me explain. '

He ushered me in and slammed the door behind me. 'I'm listening.'

I sat down in my usual chair. 'Well, you see, after you kicked me out, of my own room I might add, I went to that charming little place I have on the corner of Bosley and Wichister and slept there. Do you recall I said I had met Mr. Gray last night? Well, I called down at his place, where he so graciously provided me with a chance to break my fast and new clothes. We spoke for a while and made plans for tomorrow. And now I'm here.' I picked off an imaginary piece of lint off my jacket. 'Really Watson. I have no idea why you were so worried. I have been places on my own before, you know.'

I looked up and found Watson collapsed in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. ' Holmes. The last time you were on your own that strung out on cocaine, I got a telegram from Scotland Yard saying you had broken into the zoo and were sleeping with the penguins.' Watson started.

'Really, Watson, I thought we had agreed not to mention that again.' I replied loudly.

'And before that, I found you floating down the Themes on a pallet, singing 'God Save the Queen.' He continued, louder then me.

'That was a special case Watson, I told you. The man I bought from had put something in it. I had no control over that.' I said, louder still.

'My point being!' He shouted over me. I quieted down. 'Holmes, my point being that whenever you cave to that drug, you do something stupid. Why would meeting Mr. Gray be an exception to that?'

'He-' I started

'Don't try to defend him Holmes. You know what he's done to people. Done to you.'

I jerked like me had slapped me. 'So you knew.'

'I'm not a simpleton Holmes.' he growled. 'And if you know what he's done, then why do you even talk to him? He is a curse Holmes. He will ruin you, like he's ruined everyone else. Like he ruined-'

'Enough Watson. You, like you so insisted last night, are not my nanny. If I want to become self- destructive, then it is my choice.'

'You are self destructive enough without that boy. That cannot be the only reas-' he stopped. His look changed to one of realization and horror. 'Holmes. Please don't-... You aren't.'

'You are right Watson: you are no simpleton.'

'Holmes. If he finds out he will murder you. Don't do this Holmes.'

'I must. If I don't, I will be haunted the rest of my days. '

'It is insanity!' he stood. 'I may have stood by some of your more outlandish schemes, but I will not stand for this!'

'Pardon me Watson.' I brushed by him and went through the door. 'I have things to do.'

Dorian

The rest of my day was spent moping. I had been so close to getting Holmes under my spell; a few more minuets and he would have been. What had held him back? He had been animalistic after I kissed him, more beast then man. But as he went to leave, he had been cold and indifferent, like he was when I had seen his picture in the paper or working on a case. I remember the face he had when I removed his trousers. He looked... I couldn't name it. Emotion did not come easily to me anymore. I thought about giving Harry a ring, but I didn't want any of his snide comments, not today. I was lost. My pursue of pleasure had given me direction, but I was becoming lost again. Holmes had given me a small flash of purpose, but I had no idea where to go from here. I tried to read, but the words nearly swirled on the page and bored me to death. I fell asleep around 6, and woke two hours later. The sun had gone down and had started to rain. On a whim, I left my house and hailed the first hansom I saw. 'Take me to a boxing ring. One by the docks.'

The cabbie nodded and whipped the horses. I watched the people through the window the whole way. Once, all those people would have intrigued me. Now, they merely filled me with apathy. The driver stopped just outside a small shanty. 'Now, 'is 'ere is one of th' best boxing rings on 'is side a town. Th' matches are second to none Mi Lord. One of the boxers, a fellow 'oo goes by the name a Thomas Cavell. Cavell's a real fighter, 'is bouts are some a th' best I've eva seen.'

'Thank you.' I muttered, and went in. The place was perfumed with the smell of cheap whiskey, sweat, and lots of men in a small place. I descended the creaky stairs and was nearly keeled over with the stench: it was stronger to the point that I was able to taste in the air. I gagged, but managed to stay standing. I went closer to the ring. I could hear men fighting over the loud cheers and cries.

'Lookin' ta place a bet gov'na?' A skinny man from behind the counter called. ''Is match is 'bout done, but Cavell's up next 'n' he's facin' Huxley. It'll be a good 'un! Odds are nine to one!'

'Uh, yes. I- I'll have two. For Cavell.' I stammered. 'How much?'

''Ree pounds minimum. Each. Any fing else?'

' Yes. I'll have a bottle of that.'

' Right. 'At's 'nother two.' I handed him the eight pounds total. ''Ere 'ou are gov'na.' The man looked over my shoulder at the ring. The cheering had escalated in sound; the match must have finished. 'Th' match's 'bout to start. I'd get closer if I was 'ou, gov'na.'

I thanked him and pushed my way to the edge of the wooden ring that surrounded the sandy pit. I opened the bottle with my teeth and took a swig. It burned as it slid down my throat. I took another one. The two men were already in the sand. A large, stout man was across from me, his balding head was large and his neck was thicker than both my arms. He took a mock bow when the crowed started to chant 'Huxley, Huxley, Huxey!'

Both of the men were striped to their waists, and neither were wearing shoes. The other, smaller, fighter was right in front of me, close enough that I could only see his back. It was marked with scars, but rippling with muscle. Though I could only see the back side of him, the second man seemed familiar. The men started to yell again, and one voice rose above the rest to tell them to begin. Cavell, I assume, began to shift his weight back and forth on his feet. Huxley gave a war cry and rushed forward. There were some blows exchanged, the second fighter's back always towards me. The onlookers were booing as the smaller one never truly attacked; he only slapped the bigger man or gave him a light tap. Then, the bigger man said something. I didn't hear what it was, but it seem to enrage his opponent. Cavell ducked under his attacker and flipped him across his back. Huxley fell into the wooden ring and the smaller man began to pummel him. That's when I caught a glimpse of the slighter man's face. It was Sherlock Holmes. His eyes were bright with violence and his face was twisted in anger. I felt my heartbeat quicken and my skin began to tingle. Holmes gave the man one last punch before scything his opponent's legs out from under him. The big man hit the floor with a grunt. I lifted the bottle to my lips, but I had finished it without knowing. He got up slowly, but wasn't even completely up before Holmes had whipped his hand across the man's face, blinding him. Huxley threw a wild haymaker but Holmes blocked it, twisted and threw a punch of his own into the man's face. The man lashed out but Holmes dodged it and roundhouse kicked the Huxley in the chest. Holmes kicked him so hard Huxley crashed through the wood and landed on the ground. He didn't get up. Holmes was left standing in the middle of the ring. He had an animal fury in his eyes. Like when we were kissing this morning. He turned and saw me standing in the crowd. He blinked and the fury disappeared. it was replaced with extreme... Lust.

Everyone had stopped talking. Holmes exited the ring and took some bank notes of the counter. He grabbed a bottle and came over to where I standing.

'Let's go.' he hissed, grabbing my arm.

We walked out and he shoved me rudely against the wall. I was glad for the dark; my face must have been flushed. 'What are you doing here?' he growled.

'I was watching a boxing match. I had no idea you were in the match!' I insisted.

He opened the bottle and drank almost half. He didn't say anything.

'Holmes I swear. I had no idea you were here. I came only to watch a match I swear. The driver-'

This time I was cut off. Holmes at threw the bottle down and crushed me against the wall across the alley. His body was on fire but his lips were like ice. I kissed him back and he tasted like sweat and blood. He was kissing me so hard my lips hurt; it was like he couldn't get enough. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw his eyes burning with passion. His hands slid down to my hips and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and locked my hands in his hair. 'Dorian.' Holmes whispered against my lips. 'Who are you? I feel anxious. Like I can't breath properly. What have you done to me?'

'You have done the same to me.' I kissed him with every word. 'I was drawn to this place. Everything filled me with apathy after you left. You are my only interest now.' I started to kiss him lower and lower until I was kissing the hollow in his collarbone. I was kissing him gently, but his bones were so fine, I though I might break them. His body leaned into mine, and he moaned. I ran my hands down his arms and his took off my coat. He spun and we fell against the first wall. I lost my shirt and he placed his palms over my heart. 'Your heart is beating so fast.' he murmured. I ran my hands over the muscles in his finely sculpted chest. They waved under my hands and tightened when I put my tongue in his mouth. He unhitched my legs and pushed me off him. I looked at him in surprise. 'What is it this time? An alley isn't good enough for Sherlock Holmes?'

He looked angry and pleased. 'Not in the least.'

I smiled my most coy smile. 'Perfect.' I turned the tables and shoved Holmes against the wall. 'Let me help you with those.'

I shimmied his pants off with my teeth. Holmes breathing had gotten ragged as had mine, though his whole body was tense. I looked up at him but his eyes were closed.

'Get up.' He growled. His voice was as dark as the night was. 'Stand up.'

I did slowly, the whole way kissing his body. When I had reached his lips, he threw me to the ground and lowered himself on top of me. The glass from the bottle was digging into my back, but I didn't care.

Our body rubbed each other, greased in sweat and burning with heat, our mouths always connected. Finally, Holmes took his mouth off mine and started to kiss my neck. I licked his ear and he groaned, barely audible. I bit it and he moaned louder. I ventured down, tasting as I went. His skin was a feast of flavors; his neck was his aftershave, musk, while his chest tasted like mint and spice. I bit his nipple and he cried out. I lifted my head and cocked it to the side.

'Don't.' He moaned, 'Don't stop.'

I smiled and continued my journey. He wasn't tense now, and in complete ecstasy. He would shudder with each breath, his body molding against mine every time I shifted. I flipped us, so I was in my preferred position. We were both wrapped up in this, whatever is was, and we could feel each other's pleasure. I was below his waist, at the curve in his hips. He was still wearing his knickers, as was I, but I was on my way to take those off him too.

'Dorian.' He breathed. 'Don't.'

I chuckled and kept going.

'Stop.'

I slowed. 'What now?'

'Not here, not like this.' He murmured. 'I don't want to think back on this with this alley way tarnishing the memory.'

'Then back to my place.' I kept kissing his lower body though. 'A hansom will be around somewhere.'

'I must get back.'

This time I froze. 'Again, you are leaving me. Holmes, why? Why are you doing this?' I stood and looked at him disgustedly. 'Do you not understand? You cannot ignore passion such as this! It will be your ruin Holmes!'

He had replaced all his garments and was leaning against the wall. 'I know, I know.' He sighed, it was a sigh filled with anguish and regret. 'Tomorrow, I am all yours.'

He got up and stumbled out of the alley. I heard his voice call a hansom and the clatter as it drove off into the night. I was angry. Didn't he see that I wanted this? That he wanted this? I felt the blood from the glass in my back drip down, but not for long. I roared and punched the brick alley wall. That was the second time that man had left me. Both times I yearned for him to come back. What was he doing to my heart? I found myself impatient for tomorrow to come, to see that man. A man who had just left me alone behind a club without so much as a goodbye. You know what this means. A voice said. I did. I had found a direction again. And its name was Sherlock Holmes.