DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters in this story, and fully recognize
the ownership of Arthur Conan Doyle. Whilst I respect this, I would also
ask you to respect that this is my interpretation of the characters and
whilst I welcome critical comments, I would appreciate it if they were kept
at that. - Qulturegeek
One winter evening, as I returned from a patient's house, my hansom chanced to pass along Baker Street. I looked up at the familiar house with a feeling of nostalgia so strong I ordered to be let off right there. I hurried up to the door and was greeted warmly by Mrs Hudson and the faint sounds of Holmes' violin.
"Hello Dr Watson!" the good woman exclaimed. "It's so nice to see you again. Between you and me, Holmes hasn't been the same since you left. I'll wager it will lift his spirits to see you, doctor!"
As I clambered up the stairs it grew louder and I recognized it as a Romance that was one of my favourite pieces. I opened the door quietly so that he would not stop his recital. I caught a glimpse of him, a look of intense passion across his features and his whole body seemingly quivering with emotion as he reached the crescendo. He had become sparer since I saw him last; his high cheekbones more pronounced and his sinewy arms even thinner.
As I entered he looked up at me, and smiled a thin smile, his eyes looking slightly sad. I had not seen him in months, and at this look I felt the loneliness he had endured; though not a sociable man, to be seemingly abandoned by his best, nay, only friend, must have taken its toll on him. I took a seat and waited for him to finish playing. I took a look at my former abode; newspapers were scattered over the table and I could distinctly see the morocco case lying on the table. I couldn't help sighing at this, and Holmes placed down his violin and looked quizzically at me.
"So nice to see you, friend Watson," he said as he sat in the armchair opposite me. "I had almost come to believe you had forgotten about me. Is married life so good, doctor, that you cannot tear yourself away now and again to visit an old friend in dire need of company?"
The oil lamp next to him threw his features into light. I was able to see the paleness of his skin and the dark patches under his eyes which I recognised from his restless moods.
"I am so sorry Holmes." I said earnestly. He looked at me then, his eyes glistening slightly. He quickly turned away, standing up to pour two glasses of wine. When he spoke I was sure I could detect a slight gruffness that belied his feelings.
"It is quite alright Watson. Won't you stay for the night? Your old room is much unchanged and it would gratify me immensely to have company for tonight at least."
I agreed to staying, and he seemed to brighten then. The conversation moved to his work, which had, he said, been lacking in interest, and then onto mine. Holmes seemed glad to hear that I had succeeded with the ambition of running my own practise, and I happily told him of my life in general. I shied away, though, of mentioning my wife or, in fact, anything of my wedlock. For unexplainable reasons I found myself wanting to forget that as well.
We talked late into the night, until Holmes stood up to refill our glasses and found the bottle empty.
"Watson, I fear it is later than we intended. I do not intend to send you back home sleepless tomorrow. I suggest we both retire for the night."
I agreed to this, and made my way to my old room. I removed my work clothes and unfolded the sheets on my bed. I lay down, but found it impossible to sleep. I lay there for what seemed like hours, and as I did my senses became unusually attuned to my surroundings; I could hear the distant tick of the clock in the other room and the occasional sounds of a coach passing by on the road outside. I also became aware that I was not the only sleepless person in the house; there were faint sounds of pacing from Holmes' room. After vainly trying to sleep, I made up my mind to seek his company, under the idea that more talk may send me to sleep.
I put on a dressing gown and crept across the hallway to his room, and opened the door an inch. Holmes was, as I had guessed, pacing the room. He was topless; his pale skin looked delicate and the muscles on his chest were more built up than I would have imagined. The door creaked slightly, and he looked up, shocked. I was surprised that I had startled him; little startles Holmes.
"Oh, Watson, it is you!" His voice was breathless, as he quickly reached for a sheet to cover himself with.
"Sorry to have startled you Holmes," I said. "Only I couldn't sleep and I heard you pacing."
He was still attempting to cover his bare chest, but before even I knew what I was doing, I stepped into his room and took the sheet from him. I could hear the sharp intake of breath, and I looked up into his eyes. His beautiful grey eyes.
"Watson." he breathed quietly. His breath was ragged and he seemed unable to say anything else. I put a finger to his lips, then cupped his chin in my hands and brought his face to mine, kissing him softly. He looked startled, then, after we had parted, threw his long arms around me and whispered into my hair:
"You do not know how long I have waited for this, Watson. If only I had known you felt the same way about me."
Our embrace became more passionate, and I was aware of his bare chest against my dressing gown. He must have been too, as when we parted he started to untie the cord with a smile playing about his lips. It fell to the floor, and he gazed upon my body, his hand reaching out to stroke my chest hair. I moved closer to him, feeling a swelling pressing against me. I gave him a small smile then pushed him onto the bed, and removing his trousers.
I ran my hand over his magnificent organ, teasing him; my mouth closed around it, and I heard his groan of pleasure. He pushed my head down, forcing me to work faster. His fingers crept through my hair as his groans became louder, until I felt his warm goods hit the back of my throat.
I looked up then, and saw such a look of pleasure on his face that I began to kiss it; small, light kisses. He drew away though, and ran his long hands down my body, enclosing my penis in his mouth and beginning to return the favour.
"Holmes," I murmured in ecstasy. He withdrew, leaving his warm saliva dripping from my penis. He licked his lips, and drew himself up to his full height. His eyes, a few inches higher than mine, looked down at me over his long nose. They twinkled mischievously.
"Maybe we should try something else, Watson" he whispered into my ear. Quickly, he turned me around in his arms. I felt his penis, warm against my cold buttocks, rubbing up and down. He pushed into me, bending me over so I was on all fours on the rug. He entered me, pushing my shoulders roughly.
"You like that, don't you Watson" he said, his rocking growing faster and faster. I moved with him, and felt him enter my back passage again and again. I felt his sweat dribbling onto my back and mingling with my own. As he bent over me, he licked it off. I could hear his harsh breathing, and the floorboards creaking beneath our combined weight. Suddenly I could hear something else; footsteps approaching the doorway. Quickly, Holmes sprang off me;
"Watson," he hissed, "quickly roll underneath my bed!" I did as he said, and just in time too, for just after he jumped into bed, Mrs Hudson knocked on his door.
"Mr Holmes?" came her muffled voice. "Are you alright Mr Holmes? Only I heard a dreadful noise up here and became worried."
"Quite alright, Mrs Hudson," replied Holmes, as he leant over, and ran a hand down my body, resting it on my crotch. "I was merely pacing; you know I find it hard to sleep when not.occupied." He squeezed me at that point, and I found it hard not to cry out.
As soon as her footsteps retreated, he swung himself down on top of me as I rolled out from under the bed. We both laughed at the close escape we had had, and then he moved, crouching on hands and knees and looking seductively at me.
Holmes' cheeks were covered in sweat, which made my entry easier. As I forced my way in I heard him groaning, partly from pain and partly from pleasure. I pressed my hand onto his mouth to stop him making further noise as I leant closer to him and pushed my whole throbbing hardness into him. I moved in and out, growing more violent as I did. He cried out a few times, but my hand muffled them, and I continued to grow faster until my juice spilled out over him, and I released him from my grasps.
He stood up, looking pale and sweaty. He gave me a shaky smile and kissed me on the lips. Then he went to his bed and I went to mine. The next morning I left before he rose. We never talked of that night again.
One winter evening, as I returned from a patient's house, my hansom chanced to pass along Baker Street. I looked up at the familiar house with a feeling of nostalgia so strong I ordered to be let off right there. I hurried up to the door and was greeted warmly by Mrs Hudson and the faint sounds of Holmes' violin.
"Hello Dr Watson!" the good woman exclaimed. "It's so nice to see you again. Between you and me, Holmes hasn't been the same since you left. I'll wager it will lift his spirits to see you, doctor!"
As I clambered up the stairs it grew louder and I recognized it as a Romance that was one of my favourite pieces. I opened the door quietly so that he would not stop his recital. I caught a glimpse of him, a look of intense passion across his features and his whole body seemingly quivering with emotion as he reached the crescendo. He had become sparer since I saw him last; his high cheekbones more pronounced and his sinewy arms even thinner.
As I entered he looked up at me, and smiled a thin smile, his eyes looking slightly sad. I had not seen him in months, and at this look I felt the loneliness he had endured; though not a sociable man, to be seemingly abandoned by his best, nay, only friend, must have taken its toll on him. I took a seat and waited for him to finish playing. I took a look at my former abode; newspapers were scattered over the table and I could distinctly see the morocco case lying on the table. I couldn't help sighing at this, and Holmes placed down his violin and looked quizzically at me.
"So nice to see you, friend Watson," he said as he sat in the armchair opposite me. "I had almost come to believe you had forgotten about me. Is married life so good, doctor, that you cannot tear yourself away now and again to visit an old friend in dire need of company?"
The oil lamp next to him threw his features into light. I was able to see the paleness of his skin and the dark patches under his eyes which I recognised from his restless moods.
"I am so sorry Holmes." I said earnestly. He looked at me then, his eyes glistening slightly. He quickly turned away, standing up to pour two glasses of wine. When he spoke I was sure I could detect a slight gruffness that belied his feelings.
"It is quite alright Watson. Won't you stay for the night? Your old room is much unchanged and it would gratify me immensely to have company for tonight at least."
I agreed to staying, and he seemed to brighten then. The conversation moved to his work, which had, he said, been lacking in interest, and then onto mine. Holmes seemed glad to hear that I had succeeded with the ambition of running my own practise, and I happily told him of my life in general. I shied away, though, of mentioning my wife or, in fact, anything of my wedlock. For unexplainable reasons I found myself wanting to forget that as well.
We talked late into the night, until Holmes stood up to refill our glasses and found the bottle empty.
"Watson, I fear it is later than we intended. I do not intend to send you back home sleepless tomorrow. I suggest we both retire for the night."
I agreed to this, and made my way to my old room. I removed my work clothes and unfolded the sheets on my bed. I lay down, but found it impossible to sleep. I lay there for what seemed like hours, and as I did my senses became unusually attuned to my surroundings; I could hear the distant tick of the clock in the other room and the occasional sounds of a coach passing by on the road outside. I also became aware that I was not the only sleepless person in the house; there were faint sounds of pacing from Holmes' room. After vainly trying to sleep, I made up my mind to seek his company, under the idea that more talk may send me to sleep.
I put on a dressing gown and crept across the hallway to his room, and opened the door an inch. Holmes was, as I had guessed, pacing the room. He was topless; his pale skin looked delicate and the muscles on his chest were more built up than I would have imagined. The door creaked slightly, and he looked up, shocked. I was surprised that I had startled him; little startles Holmes.
"Oh, Watson, it is you!" His voice was breathless, as he quickly reached for a sheet to cover himself with.
"Sorry to have startled you Holmes," I said. "Only I couldn't sleep and I heard you pacing."
He was still attempting to cover his bare chest, but before even I knew what I was doing, I stepped into his room and took the sheet from him. I could hear the sharp intake of breath, and I looked up into his eyes. His beautiful grey eyes.
"Watson." he breathed quietly. His breath was ragged and he seemed unable to say anything else. I put a finger to his lips, then cupped his chin in my hands and brought his face to mine, kissing him softly. He looked startled, then, after we had parted, threw his long arms around me and whispered into my hair:
"You do not know how long I have waited for this, Watson. If only I had known you felt the same way about me."
Our embrace became more passionate, and I was aware of his bare chest against my dressing gown. He must have been too, as when we parted he started to untie the cord with a smile playing about his lips. It fell to the floor, and he gazed upon my body, his hand reaching out to stroke my chest hair. I moved closer to him, feeling a swelling pressing against me. I gave him a small smile then pushed him onto the bed, and removing his trousers.
I ran my hand over his magnificent organ, teasing him; my mouth closed around it, and I heard his groan of pleasure. He pushed my head down, forcing me to work faster. His fingers crept through my hair as his groans became louder, until I felt his warm goods hit the back of my throat.
I looked up then, and saw such a look of pleasure on his face that I began to kiss it; small, light kisses. He drew away though, and ran his long hands down my body, enclosing my penis in his mouth and beginning to return the favour.
"Holmes," I murmured in ecstasy. He withdrew, leaving his warm saliva dripping from my penis. He licked his lips, and drew himself up to his full height. His eyes, a few inches higher than mine, looked down at me over his long nose. They twinkled mischievously.
"Maybe we should try something else, Watson" he whispered into my ear. Quickly, he turned me around in his arms. I felt his penis, warm against my cold buttocks, rubbing up and down. He pushed into me, bending me over so I was on all fours on the rug. He entered me, pushing my shoulders roughly.
"You like that, don't you Watson" he said, his rocking growing faster and faster. I moved with him, and felt him enter my back passage again and again. I felt his sweat dribbling onto my back and mingling with my own. As he bent over me, he licked it off. I could hear his harsh breathing, and the floorboards creaking beneath our combined weight. Suddenly I could hear something else; footsteps approaching the doorway. Quickly, Holmes sprang off me;
"Watson," he hissed, "quickly roll underneath my bed!" I did as he said, and just in time too, for just after he jumped into bed, Mrs Hudson knocked on his door.
"Mr Holmes?" came her muffled voice. "Are you alright Mr Holmes? Only I heard a dreadful noise up here and became worried."
"Quite alright, Mrs Hudson," replied Holmes, as he leant over, and ran a hand down my body, resting it on my crotch. "I was merely pacing; you know I find it hard to sleep when not.occupied." He squeezed me at that point, and I found it hard not to cry out.
As soon as her footsteps retreated, he swung himself down on top of me as I rolled out from under the bed. We both laughed at the close escape we had had, and then he moved, crouching on hands and knees and looking seductively at me.
Holmes' cheeks were covered in sweat, which made my entry easier. As I forced my way in I heard him groaning, partly from pain and partly from pleasure. I pressed my hand onto his mouth to stop him making further noise as I leant closer to him and pushed my whole throbbing hardness into him. I moved in and out, growing more violent as I did. He cried out a few times, but my hand muffled them, and I continued to grow faster until my juice spilled out over him, and I released him from my grasps.
He stood up, looking pale and sweaty. He gave me a shaky smile and kissed me on the lips. Then he went to his bed and I went to mine. The next morning I left before he rose. We never talked of that night again.