The herbs have been working. I seldom think of John, other than his being my assistant. Yes, that's all John is-my assistant. The case we are working on is particularly dangerous. It involves a drug lord and a few other unsavory characters. John and I are getting ready to go under cover. Before I change into my street clothes I play Zigeunerweisen by Sarasate. John comes into the room while I am playing. He towel dries his wet hair and smiles at me.
"Sherlock, that is beautiful. I've never heard you play it before," You say in wonder.
I look at you as you stand in front of me in your striped robe. I frown as I say, "You aren't dressed yet? Hurry up John; we don't want to miss our quarry."
You shrug and leave the room. I could be mistaken, but it feels as if the room just got colder.
After a small interval you come downstairs and we both look at our reflection in the mirror. We each have beanies on. I am wearing a hoodie. You are wearing a ripped up military jacket. We both wear baggy jeans. I have biker boots on. You have on your boots from Afghanistan. I smile at your reflection because I cannot bear to smile at you face to face.
"Are you ready for battle, John?" I ask as I look into the mirror.
You nod and without a word we walk out into the foggy night.
I pull a scarf out of my pocket. I hide my face within its folds. Soon we are on our way to a crack house. We walk because no one will take us in a cab. We then take a bus. As we descend the steps of the bus even John shivers from the cold. We have only gone a short distance when I take your arm. "John, we are being followed." I whisper into your ear.
We duck into an alley. "Hurry, John," I say as I drag you along behind me. When your hand encloses around mine, I shiver, but not from the cold. We enter the den. The dregs of society lay on dirty mattresses. Their hopes and dreams destroyed by the pipe and the needle. I should be repulsed. I am not. I crave a fix. I can hear our pursuers. They are almost upon us.
I pull John down beside me on a dirty mattress. "They will soon be here," I whisper into your ear. "Follow my lead."
I hear voices. "I know they came in here. I can't see a thing, bloody drug addicts."
As luck would have it the moon peaks out of the clouds, illuminating where you and I are lying.
"Shit, what are we going to do?" You whisper in my ear.
"John now is the time. Follow my lead." I command. I then unbutton my shirt. The moonlight glints off of my nipple ring. I pull a crack pipe out of my pocket and light it up. It's just tobacco. I take a long drag. Then I hand it to you. My eyes never leave your face as your lips enclose around the mouth piece. You cough and sputter, then hand the pipe back to me. I snatch it from you. I want to taste your saliva that lingers on the metal. I look at you again. The men are upon us. I put the pipe down. Then I take your face between my hands and kiss you. I only withdraw my lips long enough to whisper in your ear. "John, go with me on this."
You fall into the part with abandon. Your lips part and I slide my tongue in. I taste you. My body jerks in reaction, as we orally explore each other. I whimper, each sound accompanied by a cloud of foggy cold mist. You wrap your legs around my waist. Then you pull us to the side. You grip my lower back with one hand, while you squeeze my nipple ring with your other hand. Your fingers trace the wings, the double snakes, and then the rod. My groin tightens with desire. You are now devouring me with your mouth. I no longer care if I am the dominate one or not.
I barely hear our pursuers as they walk by and say, "Jesus, fucking disgusting bun boys."
One danger has left us as another begins. My hand works its way into your shirt. Then below your waistband, your jeans rub against one finger, the elastic band of your underwear against the other finger. My lungs feel as if they have shrunk to the upper part of my chest. My breathing is shallow. The fourth finger of my left hand, the third finger of my violin hand, works its way down, like a third finger stretch into another position. When it reaches the rough barbed hair below your navel, I stop. My courage has left me. "I am Sherlock, the world's greatest consulting detective," I whisper to myself as I pull my hand away from you, away from passion-back to logic. My heart, which I have proponed not to have, breaks again.
The moon goes behind the clouds and we are once more immersed in darkness. We roll away from each other and lay there in silence. I am the first one to speak. "I don't think our quarry is coming tonight."
You answer. "No, perhaps he's on to us."
I am mad. I am ashamed. I am alone. I am bereft and so I lash out. "John you have an unerring knack for stating the obvious. Let's get back to Baker Street and hash this over once more."
"Sherlock," you whisper.
I shake my head. "John, please don't talk. It will distract me."
You nod. "Okay, sure Sherlock, I just want to say that well you know it's hard for me to broach personal…things."
I look straight ahead; my eyes fixate on the drug addict next to us. Our eyes meet in understanding. I take a deep breath. "Come on John, back to Baker Street."
The journey home goes by in a somnambulant haze. I crave the needle. My hand shakes for it. Tonight is definitely a danger night. I smoke one cigarette after another. You say nothing. We enter Baker Street in silence. You barely mutter a "Good-night" and then you run upstairs.
Mrs. Hudson looks at me and her smile fades. "Oh, Sherlock, you look awful."
I sigh. "I'm fine."
She doesn't miss a trick, the old dear. We both look to where you had been standing. "Sherlock, talk to John, tell him how you feel. I know he feels the same-he must."
I don't confirm or deny your words. "Mrs. Hudson, I am not sure of what you are referring to. However, if you are referring to what I think you are, John Watson would never admit to having feelings for me. I would have to be cold in my grave before he would weep."
"Oh Sherlock," you say as you take my hand.
I smile sadly into your eyes. "Good-night Mrs. Hudson," I say as I kiss the top of your head.
I then make my way upstairs to my room. I take off all my clothes. I lay on the bed naked. The moon once more makes an appearance, making my skin glow in its illumination. I hear a small sound at my door. I am up in an instant. I know you are on the other side. I want to reach through the wood until it splinters. I stand there knowing that you are just out of reach. I wait, then you turn on your heel and leave. I go back to bed. It's going to be a long night.
