With thanks to my beta reader, Anozira .

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter Three

The next morning I was abruptly awoken by a scream from our landlady, accompanied by the slamming of a door.

I immediately jumped from my bed and raced down the stairs taking them two at a time. Long-suffering as she was Mrs Hudson was a hardy woman and I had never known her to scream without reason. As I reached the first landing I caught a glimpse of her hurrying in the opposite direction and down the stairs.

Thoroughly puzzled I tried to open Holmes' bedroom door, but finding it locked I stepped back. What on Earth was going on?

"Holmes?" I enquired, but received no answer. I tried the door again, "Holmes, what's going on? Are you all right in there?" I rattled the handle."Open the door."

I heard the click of the lock, and he opened the door. He was obviously in the process of dressing as he stood there in his shirt-sleeves, his braces hanging by his side. Mrs Hudson had seen Holmes naked on several occasions so I very much doubted that her scream had been the result of catching him in a state of undress.

"Are you all right, old man? You seem...flushed." He did indeed seem a little flushed.

"I'm fine." He mumbled quietly, keeping his eyes from mine.

"What's going on? I heard Mrs Hudson scream."

"I'm rather afraid I gave her a fright." He continued, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the door frame.

"Dear me, Holmes. She's quite a hardy woman. You must have given her some fright."

He did not reply. "What did you do?"

He looked sheepishly at the floor, "I'm afraid she caught me... with my hands... otherwise engaged."

"...Oh." Was all I could manage to say as I tried very hard to contain my laughter.

"It's not funny." He snapped hotly.

"No, no." I cleared my throat, "you're quite right, it's not in the least bit funny." I tried unsuccessfully for a second time to contain my laughter I spluttered for a moment before breaking into a deep laugh.

Holmes flushed a deep crimson and stared at me.

"I think you owe Mrs Hudson an apology." I said once I managed to control myself. "And in future, I suggest you lock the door."

He blushed again and I was rendered helpless with laughter.

As we sat together at the table I began to feel that my laughter had perhaps been insensitive, after all it had been more than a secret that he had entrusted to me. He had trusted me information that could cost his life.

I cleared my throat, "look, Holmes... despite popular theories regarding the ill effects, I can assure you that what you were doing is... perfectly natural, I mean--"

"Enough!" He interrupted blushing deeply. "You really are insufferable at times."

"All I'm saying is that you have nothing to feel guilty about. I...occasionally..."

"I am Catholic,Watson. I have no option but to feel guilty. And I have no desire to hear about your bedroom activities."

I sipped my tea, "at least my concerns that your cocaine abuse had left you impotent are unfounded."

At this moment Mrs Hudson entered with a tray, she began to place our breakfast on the table keeping her eyes down so as not to look at Holmes. Between the two of them I could not say who was more embarrassed. She turned to leave without a word to us, as she crossed to the door I nudged Holmes under the table and nodded in her direction.

"Er...Mrs Hudson." He said standing, "I...I really do owe you my...deepest apologies for this morning...I shouldn't have been...and I regret..."

It was highly entertaining watching the Great Detective sputter and blush like a school boy, Mrs Hudson ever the perfect gentlewoman stood patiently in front of him waiting for his ramblings to reach a conclusion. I grinned watching him trying to find the words to describe what he had been doing.

Once he had sputtered into silence Mrs Hudson sighed. "Mr Holmes, if you must insist on abusing yourself in that manner I must insist that you lock the door and please do not stain my sheets." Holmes turned a deeper colour crimson (if that were possible) and Mrs Hudson looked over to me. "Will that be all gentlemen?"

"Yes thank you Mrs Hudson." I replied, hiding my snigger.

She smiled sweetly and left the room. Once she had left, Holmes turned to face me.

"I believe you're enjoying this."

"Undoubtedly, old chap." I smiled and poured him a cup of tea. "Come and have your breakfast and forget all about this mornings little incident."

He snorted, "for which you are partially to blame."

I put down the milk jug and stared at him, "and how am I to blame for your indulgences?"

He threw up his hands in frustration, "for the better part of my life part of my life I have ignored the urges that present themselves and avoiding thinking...unnatural thoughts. Your recent bumbling has proved to be most uncomfortable!" He collapsed back into his chair.

"I'm very sorry, Holmes." I touched his hand, he didn't pull away as I expected. "I obviously didn't think about the consequences of my actions. I care for you, admittedly perhaps not in the way you mean and I am...I am willing to help you."

I hoped he understood my meaning. Whilst I did have to admit to myself my attraction to Holmes was not physical, I am a curious man by nature and I would be willing to help him in anyway he required.

He did not reply, but toyed with the edge of his tea cup. We sat in silence for a long time before he looked up. "Don't you realise what you're doing to me?" He said quietly.

It dawned on me that my offerings of help where affecting him in a way that I had not imagined. It had never been my intention to frustrate the poor man but now I understood that my actions had been misguided.

As it happened I was not given much time to muse upon Holmes, his sexuality and his private actions.

The 'flu season was upon us and my consulting rooms were filled with people requiring my attention and so I spent several long days dealing with the sniffles, colds and hypochondriacs when I would have much preferred to be stretched by the fire back at Baker Street with my dear friend for company, regardless of his mood.

It was with some relief that a brief note arrived from my friend, I was to join him at Charing Cross station in time for the ten past three train to London Bridge.

And so after passing off my patients, I hurried off to whatever adventure awaited me.

The case on which I joined Holmes on for several weeks proved to be particularly complicated and required both our skills. It is unfortunate that due to the sensitive nature of the case, I cannot reveal the full facts. It involved a document of questionable nature that not only broke the law in a most dramatic fashion, but risked the livelihood of one of Britain's most distinguished families.

It was only when we were travelling back to London sharing out first class carriage with Inspector Lestrade that Holmes was able to hand over the document. Despite the sensitive nature, there was no question that Lestrade could let the matter simply pass and he was in the process of drawing up a case under the Obscene Publications of 1857, a lesser charge considering.

Lestrade glanced at the document, "it's a pity that it's in French. The less people who see this the better." He mused.

"You only have to ask." Holmes replied sleepily, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

"All right, Mr Holmes would you please give me a translation of the document?"

I took the paper from Lestrades hands, whilst I myself could not understand French, like every school boy I had a small understanding of some of the more suggestive words, and it helped that Holmes tended to swear in his grandmother's tongue. The first few lines were littered with such pleasantries and I found myself blushing.

"You read French, Doctor?" Lestrade asked seeing my blush.

"No, no. Holmes has a habit of swearing in French and I'm afraid I recognise some of the words."

"I have no doubt that it's juicy." He grinned at me. "Well, Mr Holmes?"

"I would be delighted to." Holmes sat up, "although you will excuse me if I only give you a written translation."

"Not like you to spare our blushes." Lestrade grinned at him.

"Oh I have no doubt that I would spare yours, Lestrade, but I'm afraid despite being a doctor, Watson here blushes far too easily."

I tried to glare at my friend but catching the amused glint in his eye I found that I could only laugh. As our journey continued Holmes set himself in the corner with his notebook, carefully translating the document. There were times when I'm sure his cheeks coloured.

Shortly before our arrival at the station Holmes put aside his translation and proceeded to sit smoking in a thoughtful manner with his legs crossed without saying a word to neither the inspector nor me. Upon our arrival he handed both his translation and the original document to the inspector.

"Lestrade, I would hesitate no longer." Holmes said as he stepped out onto the platform behind me. "You will find our publisher at 50 Holywell Road. Our esteemed client did not publish this, that much is clear. No doubt our publisher has taken over William Dugdale's rather lucrative business."

"Mr Holmes!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"Read!" He tapped the translation, "and I'm sure you will reach the same conclusions. It is a pity that Dugdale died before my time, I'm sure he was a very interesting chap."

"You're not coming?" He asked as Holmes began to hurry off in the opposite direction.

"No, the credit is entirely yours! Another feather in your cap, Lestrade! Come, Watson!"

I shook hands with the inspector before hurrying off after my friend, trying to fathom what possibly could be the matter with him, for he was acting in a most peculiar manner. He fidgeted terribly during our return to Baker Street and would neither return my glances and comments regarding his agitated state.

Upon our arrival at Baker Street, we stepped out of cab and climbed the stairs to our rooms, Holmes walking slightly in front of me. I had no doubt that some aspect of our case was troubling him and turned to ask him what it was after closing the sitting room door behind me.

"Holmes..."

Before I could ask my question, he pinned me against the door kissing me frantically and passionately, his long hands fumbling with the front of my trousers.

To say that this his fumblings were unwelcome would be a lie, for I returned his kisses with equal passion – my arousal as much as his own. The fact that the handle to our door was digging into my back almost painfully hardly diverted my attention. He moved his lips to kiss my neck and I let out a low moan. Suddenly he stepped back as if burnt, a mortified look upon his face.

"Watson, forgive me... I'm sorry." He staggered back before almost bolting in the direction of his bedroom.

"Holmes!" I cried as the door slammed and I heard the click of the lock. "Damn." I slumped back against the door. I was momentarily angry with him for leaving me in such a state but my anger died as soon as it had arrived and was replaced by a deep sadness.

I sighed and re-buttoned my trousers. No doubt my 'bumbling' as Holmes had called it a few days earlier, coupled with this case had frustrated him beyond anything I could have imagined. Whilst his passion I returned, I was sure that some event in his past – most likely associated with those damned pictures – had made him uncomfortable with his feelings. He had admitted it in so many words the night he had told me about his nature. Not wishing to disturb Holmes further, I decided to take a walk, partly to give him some time alone and partly to distract myself from my own arousal.

Buttoning my overcoat I set out towards Regents Park.

Fearful of being discovered in my state, I avoided the gazes and greetings of the other patrons and rambled through the park in a concentrated manner. I paused to watch the ducks swimming peacefully about upon the lake, darting here and there, diving into the depths and then resurfacing with a shake. How easy to be a duck, I mused, watching a mother duck swim past followed by her brood of ducklings.

"They are most tranquil." The voice of Sherlock Holmes said and I turned in surprise to find the man, himself, standing beside me. His eyes were bright and he showed no signs of what had taken place in our rooms.

"Holmes..." I started to say but he held up his hand.

"My brother has some information that we may find useful to our case. We are to join him at the Diognese Club presently. Are you game?"

"Of...of course."

"The come along, Watson!"

I stood for some time in the Strangers Room before Holmes returned with his elder brother. Mycroft Holmes had changed little since my first encounter with the man, he was perhaps a little greyer but, as I reminded myself, he was seven years Sherlock's senior.

"Ah, doctor." Mycroft said offering me his hand. "I trust Sherlock hasn't had you rambling all over the West End in pursuit of this case?"

I laughed, "no. For once, he seems to have trusted the police in that respect."

"Ah, most wise. Sherlock, do sit down I won't have you hovering. I have no doubt that your reasoning sent you to 50 Holywell Road, well I have here," he held out two bound ledgers, "the accounts of the so-called business."

"How did you get these?" I asked taking the ledgers.

"I handle the accounts of the Customs and Excise Office, they seized them during a recent raid upon the premises. I was asked in my official capacity as a Government accountant to take a look. I'm sure, Sherlock, you will find them most interesting."

I handed the ledgers over to Holmes who merely placed them upon his knee and looked at his brother. "Lestrade made no mention to me of this raid."

"You perhaps did not give him time to explain. Scotland Yard were present, but apart from the accounts which we must return to the business, nothing was found. Then I heard of your singularly interesting case."

I was about to ask how he learned of it, when Holmes spoke. "And everything here is in order?"

"Yes, everything is accounted for and nothing is hidden."

"Surely that means..." I started, but Sherlock interrupted by train of thought.

"It means, Watson, that there is something hidden. For a business of this...reputation it is unusual to find nothing."

"Precisely, my dear boy." Mycroft smiled at his younger brother. "What it is, I shall leave to you, I am far too busy at present to join you." He stood, "now, doctor, I would like to speak to Sherlock in private."

"Of course." I stood and bid my leave. Mycroft walked me to the door, closing it behind me. I stood for a moment in the corridor unsure of quite what to do with myself when I noticed that Mycroft had not closed the door fully. Whilst it is not in my nature to pry into personal business, I found that I could not help listening.

"Be careful, Sherlock."

"I'm always careful, but I shall keep your warning in mind."

"Don't play the fool, you know what I am talking about."

"And I repeat, I'm always careful."

"I presume he took the information cordially."

"He did."

I realised at this moment that they were discussing Holmes recent revelation to me. It had never crossed my mind that his brother would know also, but upon hindsight I suppose it is hard to keep secrets from a man like Mycroft Holmes.

I heard Mycroft sigh, "Sherlock you're my younger brother and I am fond you. Considering what has taken place before, I do not want to see you hurt." It was quite touching to hear that despite Holmes' comments about his brother lacking a heart, Mycroft clearly cared about his brother.

There was a long period of silence before I heard my friend comment in a strained voice; "I don't know what to do."

"Far be it from me to advise you in matters of love, Sherlock."

"Love is a fictional emotion brought on by our fear of ending up alone." He sneered somewhat half-heartedly in reply.

"And yet," Mycroft mused, "you find yourself under her spell."

"I don't love him."

"The way you look at him suggests otherwise." I heard the sofa creak slightly no doubt as Mycroft sat down next to his brother. "Does he know about that vile man, Victor Trevor?"

"Only parts."

"You haven't told him the truth. I think it would be wise to tell him."

"No! I can't!"

"From what I have observed, not just today, he clearly returns your affections. He may not be aware of them, but you do hold a place in his heart. Tell him the truth, Sherlock, and end the matter for good. Then... either obey your feelings or leave the matter."

Holmes took some time before he replied with a quiet, "thank you."

I heard Holmes stand, and quickly moved away from the door to inspect a painting on the opposite wall. I knew that he would no doubt have a suspicion that I had been listening, but if one is so careless to leave the door partly open... As the thought crossed my mind I realised that Mycroft had fully intended upon my hearing, his talk had been meant for me as much as Sherlock.

"It is strange, is it not," Holmes said crossing to stand beside me, "that being an Army man you are so drawn towards sailing ships."

"There's something calming about them, and Holmes, I grew up in a small fishing village." I replied.

He smiled at me and held out the account books. "We have two days before Mycroft has to return these. I suggest we retire to Baker Street and begin our search. Come, and not a word, let us not break the rule further."

Our return journey to Baker Street was not as eventful as our first. Holmes sat quietly brooding either upon the case or upon his brother's advice. I myself found that I was distracted. Had I really held Holmes in affection for this long? Mycroft must truly be a perceptive man if he had seen what I had not. Had Holmes told me the truth about Victor Trevor?

I had little doubt that he was referring to the photographs, which Holmes had told me had been taken during a moment of drunkenness and high-jinks, but what did he mean by 'had he told me the truth'? Was there more to the story than Holmes had admitted? All this I pondered during our short journey to Baker Street and only realised that we had arrived when Holmes gently touched my elbow.

I stepped out of the cab and watched as Holmes paid the driver.

"Afternoon to you sirs." The driver touched his cap and soon was off.

Still lost in my thoughts I followed Holmes up to our rooms without a word.

Obscene Publications Act 1857 - was introduced by Lord Champbell after an article in the Daily Telegraph was published about the various sexual thrill-seekers that hung about Holywell Road, and it was thought that this encouraged a 'dangerous promiscuity'. The bill was supported by 'The Society for the Suppression of Vice'. It was the first time that the word 'pornography' (meaning 'the writings of prostitutes') had been used as part of the English language. 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' was prosecuted under the 1959 Obscene Publications Act.

50 Holywell Road – Holywell Road (aka 'Bookseller's Row') was full of book shops, it was very popular in the Victorian times probably because of the unregulated nature of the place, there were 57 porn shops in 1834. Number 50 was home to William Dugdale.

William Dugdale – William Dugdale published pornography from his shop on 50 Holywell Road, including 'Yoek's Preceptor' which advised the best places to find gay men in London. From 1825 – 1849 he exclusively published porn. He spent numerous sentences in prison, he was one of the first people to be arrested under the 1857 'Obscene Publications Act'. He died during his final prison sentence in 1868.