If the ghost bride didn't appear in a very unfortunate moment… A fix-it story.
…
"Get down, Watson, for heaven's sake!" Holmes exclaimed impatiently.
I groaned and looked at him apologetically.
"Sorry. Cramp."
Holmes did not say a word, staring intensively at the windows of the Carmichaels' mansion through the dirty glass of an old greenhouse. The stage was set, we'd been waiting for a ghost of the abominable bride.
How could he stay so impassive and calm? We'd been in that place for a good few hours. I felt all stiff and cramped, my muscles were strained and painful. I hoped it would not last much longer.
"Is the lamp still burning? ", I asked.
"Yes," came and immediate reply. Holmes continued on staring above my head.
Finally I heard, "There goes Sir Eustace."
And a moment later, "And Lady Carmichael. The house sleeps."
I found our stake-out night inexplicably exhausting. The place, the situation, the atmosphere.
" Hmm, good God, this is the longest night of my life!"
"Have patience, Watson."
Holmes' peaceful words somehow got on my nerves.
What an automaton, emotionless creature! He sometimes behaved as if he was deprived of human feelings. I knew it was only a cover, not real Holmes, my faithful companion.
"Only midnight," I said.
The position I stayed in felt improbably uncomfortable, thus trying to forget about the unpleasant circumstances and pass the time I thought we could have a chat.
There was nothing else to occupy the mind with anyway.
"You know, it's rare for us to sit together like this, " I began.
"I should hope so. It's murder on the knees."
Holmes replied smirking slightly in the darkness. He seemed quite glad, as always on the case.
" Does he always have to talk about murders? " I thought.
Why not learn something about my friend's past? Holmes was always so incredibly mysterious in that regard. Well, it was worth a try.
"Two old friends just talking. Chewing the fat."
I glanced quickly at his face and added, "Man-to-man."
I noticed that my statement startled him, he shifted from foot to foot, avoiding looking into my eyes. I expected such a reaction, it did not surprise me at all, so I continued my inquiries.
"So, a remarkable woman." I said casually, watching his behaviour.
"Who?" Holmes asked too quickly to convince me he did not know who I was talking about.
"Lady Carmichael," I replied firmly.
"The fair sex is your department, Watson," he recited those lines as an actor in a play and added "I'll take your word for it."
"Well, you liked her, " I replied. "A woman of rare perception."
Surprisingly, those were Holmes' words' it was rather unusual for my friend to describe a woman like that.
He did not even move, however, and said dryly. "And admirably high arches. I noticed them as soon as she stepped into the room."
"Huh, she's far too good for him," I tried to hide my irritation, avoiding looking at my friend. " Why can't he never admit he feels attraction towards another person ?"
"You think so?" Holmes asked hastily.
This was getting ridiculous!
I said firmly. "No. You think so, " I glanced at him. " I could tell."
Holmes seemed calm as he spoke with his usual unaffected voice."On the contrary, I have no view on the matter."
But I could tell he was becoming slightly uneasy.
"Yes, you have, " I continued. For once I wanted to explain some past issues and clarify the status of our relationship.
Holmes threw a glimpse at me. "Marriage is not a subject upon which I dwell. "
I could have almost predicted that statement. Nothing new, nothing which I would not have heard before.
"No, no, no. Not this time, my friend ." I insisted then.
"Oh, why not?"
From his tone I realized he became not only embarrassed but also a little upset.
"What's the matter with you this evening?"
I was decided to openly ask about his feelings towards the only person to whom he'd seemed to show any visible signs of affection.
The Woman .
She predominated the whole of her sex in his eyes. Was there something more? I needed to know.
"That watch that you're wearing," I pointed out at a fine and precious pocket watch that my friend was usually wearing.
"There's a photograph inside it."
My friend blinked and looked at me, as if he could not believe I dared to mention the topic.
"I glimpsed it once. I believe it is of Irene Adler."
Holmes' angry reply came immediately.
You didn't glimpse it, you waited till I'd fallen asleep and looked at it."
I could do nothing but admit.
"Yes, I did."
In my naivety I hoped he had not noticed my shameful actions.
"You seriously thought I wouldn't notice?"
Holmes was staring at me in amazement. He rolled his eyes.
"Irene Adler," I shook my head.
Yes, I was jealous. I had to admit this to myself. The worst part in that was that Holmes probably saw me through; me and my pathetic sentiment.
"Formidable opponent, a remarkable adventure," he said as trying to justify himself.
Irene Adler was an extraordinary woman. Every man could easily fall for her. But was Sherlock Holmes among them?
"A very nice photograph," I nodded.
He raised his voice, getting more anxious.
"Why are you talking like this?"
Holmes furrowed his eyebrows standing over me and watching me closely.
I returned his gaze. This time I wanted to catch the moment. I shot a question at him.
"Why are you so determined to be alone?"
He was so visibly uncomfortable with my inquires, his face irritated when he asked me.
" Are you quite well, Watson?"
"Is it such a curious question?"
I did not give up, as I truly wanted to find out about my friend's experiences.
And, and it also turned out strangely exciting. His anger, his frustration, the depth of his baritone.
All of which made me feel inexplicably aroused.
Clearly exasperated he answered. "From a Viennese analyst, no. From a retired Army surgeon, most certainly."
I thought it was worth another try. Taming the genius detective was never an easy task but I was a brave man. A former soldier after all.
"Holmes, against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend," I tried to speak in a low and calming voice.
I hoped to direct his thoughts to a more down-to-earth subject.
"I concede it," he agreed.
He listened to me carefully and waited for the rest.
"I am currently attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you", I explained.
"Please don't," he threw back at me quickly.
"Why do you need to be alone?" I emphasized the question once more.
The situation was uniquely rare; to have Holmes in such a no escape position.
He looked down and started.
"If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson," he raised his head and glared at me directly.
"Which I rather fear you are, as I have often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me."
He continued his recitation. "It is the grit in a sensitive instrument."
"The crack in the lens"
I chimed."The crack in the lens. Yes."
"Oh Goodness! "Why, for the god's sake can't he react like a normal person?"
Holmes seemed a bit relieved, although still very tense.
"Well, there you are, you see, I've said it all before."
This was getting out of control. I almost shouted.
"No, I wrote all that. You're quoting yourself from The Strand Magazine."
"Well, exactly," Holmes tilted his head in a nodding gesture, he was noticeably agitated. He swallowed nervously.
"Those are my words, not yours!" I cried exasperatedly. "That is the version of you that I present to the public."
I managed to calm myself down, anger would not get us anywhere. Holmes was observing me, his piercing eyes shining in the faint glare from the outside.
"The brain without a heart. The calculating machine."
I had a hope it would get to him somehow. I wanted to believe Holmes would open up for feelings. I desired to convince him of my deep affection and complete acceptance of him, of the depths of my friendship and trust.
"I write all of that, Holmes, and the readers lap it up."
Holmes grimaced, still looking unnerved.
"But I do not believe it, " I carried on.
I never ceased to believe that one day the shield Holmes built around himself would drop, revealing his real devoting nature. And a big heart. It might have been that moment as well .
"Well, I've a good mind to write to your editor", he exclaimed unkindly.
I ignored that.
He stood there, blinking quickly, definitely touched.
"You are a living, breathing man. You've lived a life," my words surely surprised him. Holmes gaped at me, taken completely aback.
I went on continuously. "You have a past."
"A what?!" My friend reacted in an inexplicably nervous way.
"Well, you must have had... "
How was I supposed to explain such a simple concept to one of the smartest people on the planet? And in that case, one of the dumbest man on the planet?
"Had what?" Came an inevitable question.
He must have been kidding me. He must have had...occasions. Too handsome, too gorgeous, not to be hit on. Female clients literally could not take their eyes off of the man, his physical appearance was equally appealing to his intellect.
Frankly speaking, male clients did not seem to respond very differently. Or even admired him more .
Holmes attracted people, yet he seemed not to notice the fact at all.
"You know," I managed though.
I made a vague gesture pointing out at him. The man was unbelieveable. He behaved like a thirteen year old, pretending not to know anything about … sex.
Normal, sexual desires. Erotic life. All of this.
"No," he denied.
He was so amazingly handsome, stern and serious, trying to show his complete desinteressement in the matter. Adorable. Very charming, in fact.
I swallowed hard and kept going.
"Experiences."
The very thought of his possible past encounters of that kind sent a sudden and unexpected spark to my spine. " Oh, God, now this is getting really awkward."
No other words hit my ears than "Pass me your revolver, I have a sudden need to use it."
I shifted a bit, my eyes locked firmly with his. "Dear Lord, the bulge in my trousers is not what you think it is, man."
I could not restrain myself from telling him what I felt.
"Damn it, Holmes, you are flesh and blood, you have feelings, you have... "
I stopped. " Damn it!" I almost said he had a perfectly well functioning dick which he'd neglected to use for ages.
"You must have…," I inhaled sharply and finished, "...impulses,"
I tried to be delicate. The whole situation was grotesque.
Holmes closed his eyes and whispered with a clear exasperation.
"Dear Lord, I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a murderous ghost."
"Well, still armoured. Let us give it another try."
"As your friend, as someone who worries about you…"
I suspended my voice, trying to sound soothing and protective, "...what made you like this?"
There was a moment of silence and then Holmes slowly replied.
"Oh, Watson..."
He stared at me intensively. I got thrills and I started trembling.
"Nothing made me."
He simply said, his gaze on me.
And he added.
"I made me."
As if it was a sufficient explanation. I shook my head in bewilderment and tried to get to my feet carefully.
"Ouch, my leg!" I cried, as a sharp pain stabbed at my calf like a dagger.
I stumbled and I would have fallen to the ground like a log, if not for Holmes' strong arms which caught me swiftly and surely. Suddenly, we found ourselves very close to each other. He was embracing me, our faces dangerously close.
I did not look up, trying to avoid his gaze. I felt his eyes on me, his stare was burning through my skin. I felt it like a touch of fire that began to ignite the flames inside my body. In an inexplicable way the sensation was going down, directly to my lower parts. Which, I admitted, was not unpleasant, however left me slightly embarrassed.
"Are you alright?" My friend asked me slowly.
"Still feeling numb, sorry."
Thank God it was so dark and Holmes could not see my blushed cheeks and dilated pupils. Unfortunately, my breathing became heavy and ragged. I exhaled and inhaled fast, revealing unavoidably clear signs of my state.
Holmes smelled of a compelling mixture of cedar, musk and something else that I was not able to recognize with my limited sensing skills, which all together made that typically his, alluring, irresistible manly scent. I loved it, my nostrils were full of him.
"Watson," he spoke in a low voice, his mouth right over my forehead, his tone slightly concerned. "Are you fine?"
His slender, nevertheless strong fingers were placed upon me, touching my upper arms, sustaining me. Such close proximity was unprecedented and … absolutely thrilling.
"I very much am," I croaked, swallowing through the lump suddenly grown in my throat. "Like never before in my life." I added and firmly raised my head to look him right in the eyes which seemed glued to my face.
Holmes narrowed them, evidently trying to dissect what I'd just told him. For a split moment he closely studied my expression, my posture; his investigative gaze swept all over me; finally he sighed with apparently increasing understanding.
However, in a dim light seeping through the dusted glass of the old greenhouse I managed to see his pupils blacked in shock, his arms tensed around mine, as he stammered uncertainly.
"Do you happen to be..." He stopped for a while but then whispered tentatively, "...stirred by my presence?"
What a choice of words! I nearly exclaimed.
I felt as if I was going to jump out of my skin, his touch was setting me on fire. I felt Holmes' hot breath on my face as he leaned forward to watch me closely.
"Yes".
Fine. I said that eventually. I had nothing to lose.
Some sort of weird tension had been building between us for a certain amount of time. It needed to be resolved.
Holmes stepped back, shaking his head in a complete confusion. I stared back at him, feeling like an absolute idiot, my pulse accelerating, my groin painfully aching.
"John, " he started softly. "While I'm flattered by your interest…"
"Since when you call me John?!" I interrupted abruptly.
He smirked and said. "You'd be surprised."
A thousand crazy views crossed my mind. What did he mean, for the God's sake? Imaginative scenarios began playing in front of my mind's eyes. "Good Heavens, Holmes, how many times I dreamt of you… "
"No, I wouldn't," I negated.
Blood started buzzing in my veins during our exchange. He called me John . Jesus Christ !
Pushed by a sudden, desperate thought I grabbed the flaps of his coat and pulled him down. It was high time I'd taken the initiative; I did not care at that moment about future consequences.
"Come here, Sherlock," I murmured, tugging him down until our lips touched.
He stood up there for a split second; motionless, eyes wide open, lips stone cold and feeling like cut-out out of marble. Then he noticeably softened, batted his eyelashes and purred almost inaudibly into my ear.
"Is that what you want, John?"
"Oh, God, yes!"
My natural reaction was grasping him harder. He responded willingly.
I pushed my hungry, impatient tongue against his teeth, trying to make him let me in. Sherlock gave up, panting heavily. I invaded the territory without additional warning; our tongues tangled, our breaths mixed.
At first, he stayed stiff, like a statue, gradually he started reciprocating my actions. His mouth was wet and warm, and inviting. He tasted and felt unbelievably hot. " Those marvel lips."
The sensation was so mind-blowing I nearly passed out. Nothing else was important, the whole universe shrank to the two of us kissing desperately.
We clung to each other tightly, our hands were moving up and down our clothed bodies. My bowler dropped to the floor, Sherlock's deerstalker followed it soon.
I knew my erection was too obvious not to be noticed by him; no sooner than after a moment he clearly found himself in the same position.
"John…," he moaned. "John."
"Are you alright, Sherlock?" I wanted to know.
"I'm...I'm...I believe so." He managed to groan. "I've never expected I could…, you could, we could…"
"I know."
Without any further hesitation my right hand, which was previously placed on his shoulder went down, slipping over the small of detective's back, brushing fleetingly his muscled bum on its way to the fly of his slacks. Then I began impatiently unbuttoning them, feeling the huge bulge pushing up against the soft fabric. Finally I managed to work them all out, and with a help of the other hand I rolled his trousers down, together with his elegant pants.
A wonderful view of Sherlock's throbbing erection appeared in front of me. I had never expected him to be that enormous though.
He was beautiful.
I admired the sight for a while and then I simply dropped to my knees.
"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock stepped back, dazed by my actions.
In reply, I leaned forward and swallowed him in one swift movement. I did not stop engulfing him until I felt his pubic hair on my nose.
"Ugh," he grunted. involuntary canted his bony hips, making me deepthroat him. I choked at first but I raised my hand, showing him everything was fine.
He began thrusting faster, his rhythm was increasing, literally he fucked my mouth and I relished every second of it.
My excitement grew to the point where I could not restrain any more. One of my hands dived into my own pants; I took a firm hold of my swollen and generously leaking member and began stroking it. I established a rhythm coordinated with Sherlock's unstoppable pushes.
A few moments had passed before my companion's movements became furious and desperate. The air was filled with indecent grunts and moans. Sherlock's deep voice vibrated inside my skull; the obscene noises he made were sending impulses to my brain which responded at once, inducing a series of pleasant stings right into my groin.
I knew I would not last much longer. momentarily I sucked on my friend's glans harder, using the tip of my tongue to press into the slit and there he was, a few erratic thrusts and he was ejaculating with a loud shout, spurting his semen all over the place.
I withdrew, watching him come, a few milky drops landed onto my thirsty mouth. I tasted them, licking around my lips; that seemed to be what finally sent me over the edge.
I squeezed my own cock firmly, a couple of rapid motions and I was gushing my own seed.
We stayed in our positions for some time, Holmes standing over me, unmoving and silent and I, sitting on my heels, head full of racing emotions. And worries.
I was not able to process what had just happened. " Not now. Later."
Suddenly, I felt Holmes' hands on my temples, his delicate, long fingers intertwining through my hair.
"John," I heard. "John, John."
Could this be Holmes' voice? Usually sharp, imperious and authoritative, at that time became tender and affectionate.
"Let me help you to your feet." He said, trying to pull me up.
"Ouuch, cramp!" I cried.
Sherlock laughed silently.
"Don't try to fool me, doctor Watson," he said, "or you'll make me repay you right now!"
…