Only once have I ever witnessed my friend Sherlock Holmes to engage in any display of affection where a woman was concerned with any degree of sincerity. I confess that at the time my actions could only be construed as eavesdropping, though I came to it, somewhat ironically, through purely honorable intentions. I had some vague inkling that Holmes and his client had known each other prior to the case in which she'd hired his services, but could not say to what extent until the morning following its conclusion. I had risen late, fatigued from the exertions of the case, and paused in the hallway before entering the sitting room as I heard two voices conversing. Recognizing that it was Holmes and his client speaking, and loath to inconvenience him since he was engaged, my first thought was to return to my room. However I was, I am chagrined to say, transfixed by what I heard to be the nature of their conversation.

She had commented upon something to the effect of his having come a long way from Montague street, and some friendly exchange had followed ending with him offering, if she ever needed anything, to come to her aid if she would only call. She waved this off gracefully at first, but seemed to think better of it. There was a silence. Then came the words that had frozen me in the hallway.

"Sherry -" she asked, making me fairly start at the familiarity of her address. Holmes seemed not bothered by it at all.

"Yes?"

"I do wish to ask you for one thing." Her tone had grown grave, and I detected something almost like incredulity or apprehension in Holmes' inflection when he replied:

"What?"

"A kiss," said the lady. Her voice had grown quiet and she spoke quickly, as though confessing some weakness. "One kiss, and that's as far as it will go."

There was another long moment of silence at this. I heard Holmes shift uncomfortably on the sofa, and at this point I peered around the corner into the sitting room wide eyed and ready to make an 'untimely' entrance upon an awkward scene, should it become prudent to break one up.

"Why?" Holmes demanded at last. He and the lady were seated at opposite ends of the sofa, which I was viewing from behind, though I suppose when she glanced down before replying it was to worry the hem of a sleeve or fiddle with a handkerchief. When she spoke, her voice had only become quieter, and was thick with emotion.

"Because I want to know what it's like coming from a man who's letting you have something. As opposed to wanting to have something from you."

She did not lift her eyes following this. As for Holmes, his features changed in a manner I have seen only rarely. It seemed to me he hadn't exactly been wearing the sardonic, aloof mask he normally employed as they'd been speaking, as I'd read open suspicion and confusion on his face when he'd questioned her as to the motives of her request. Now, however, his eyes softened, and a sort of knowing concern and sadness replaced the mistrust in them. Beneath this, still, was something of the furtive, feral quality I had observed in him in those rare moments that I'd seen him let his guard down previously - like a patient who does not trust his doctor that what's about to happen wont hurt, actually. Nonetheless, when he next spoke, it was to say:

"Alright."

His client's gaze flickered back up to meet his, her eyes damp and vaguely surprised. She only stared at him at first, opening her mouth once as though to say something, but closing it without speaking. Holmes shifted where he sat a bit awkwardly, running his tongue over his lips and glancing away, then back to her with a questioning expression that I read to say how do you want to do this?

After a moment's gathering her nerve, she slid closer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, her movements slow and strangely careful. Holmes looked down at her, eyes candid and features open and frank. Her gaze flicked down to his mouth once, then back up to meet his, before she finally leaned towards him. His only movement was to incline his head slightly, and close his eyes, as their lips met.

In the spectrum of kisses I have seen, it appeared perfectly genuine. At first Holmes made little response and merely let her kiss him, but there was no sense that he was holding anything back. Finally he began to return her actions in kind, although with a certain tentativeness, as if to avoid scaring her off. It was a long, slow, kiss. Neither of them pulled away at its conclusion, each drawing back slightly in equal measure, seemingly loath to move away from one another too quickly. Her actions I had greater difficulty interpreting, though Holmes seemed determined not to run before she did. They sat there, lips still poised over one another's, each a bit flushed and breathing a bit quicker until at last the lady rose to her feet. Holmes' eyes as well as his posture followed her as she stood.

After this, I know little of what happened, save that I heard nothing except her retreating footsteps and the closing of the sitting room door as I made my own hasty retreat back down the hall to my room. I suppose she merely rose and left, without saying a word. In any event, after the shock of witnessing such an exchange, I had suddenly come to myself and realized with no small sense of shame that I had been spying, however unwittingly, on something of an intimate moment which I had in no way been invited to be privy to. It was a lack of any idea what to do - how to make reparations or indeed if any such thing was in order - not cowardice, which sent me back to my room. Save drawing up an account of the incident, for no other purpose than to settle events in my own mind, I've made no mention of the lady, her request, or its singular result since it occurred. When I did finally make my entrance upon the sitting room that day, I found Holmes still seated upon the sofa, his slim body angled into a corner, melancholy and contemplative. He never made any comment on the affair, and only smoked cigarette upon cigarette that morning before finally going out. To my knowledge, we have had no word from his unusual client since.