The Curious Case of Dr. Watson
by Lyrical Soul

Chapter Ten

There are times when I deeply regret ever laying eyes on Stamford that day at the hotel. Indeed, I do wish that I'd let my meagre funds run out, and perhaps went into penury, than to have moved into these rooms with Holmes.

How a man can go from revealing his heart to cruel insults in the span of a quarter-hour is beyond me. It is his way to be biting and blunt, and I am aware he is merely being honest, but the truth, no matter how it is couched, hurts. I sigh and uncover my eyes, only to find Holmes watching me intently.

"Again, I am sorry, Watson. Quite callous of me, really."

"But quite typical," I say frostily, unwilling to give him an inch. "So you wish me to believe you have discovered that you have deep feelings for me? You say you want to help me through my embarrassment, and the loss of my good name, but in the same breath, you would make light of something of the utmost importance for no other reason than to fill your daily quota of bon mots. You, who sneers at any show of affection or budding flower of love, trying to understand emotion, and professing to love! Hah! There are times, Holmes, that I rue the day I met up with Stamford."

That seems to have made a direct hit. His eyes shutter, and his jaw clenches. "I had no idea you found living with me so distasteful."

I allow for a few moments of silence, during which I simply stare at him. Then I lay a hand on his arm. "You know I do not," I say at last. "I am… this entire affair is just too much. I apologise for my last remark."

"But not the others?"

"No."

"Very well." He studies his hands for a moment, then his head snaps up, and his eyes take on the inner fire as they do when he's on the scent. "There is something… Watson, I do believe you are the missing piece in this puzzle! Yes, it is you!"

"What do you mean?"

He snatches up my hand in his. "It is not just for your reputation that you weep, Watson. What is it that you have not told me?"

I attempt to snatch my hand away, but his grip is firm and unyielding. "Holmes…"

"Leave your hand in mine, if you will. Perhaps this gesture of affection will convince you that I am not a brain without a heart, as such things do not exist."

Again, I attempt to take my hand away. "Also something I did not mean, Holmes."

"Analysis, deduction, conclusion," he intones, holding my hand tighter. "Before I came into your room, I knew there was some small detail keeping me from a satisfactory conclusion to this matter. I did not know where I would find this vital clue, though I will admit, your bedroom was not on the list of places."

"I do not understand," I say, my voice laced with confusion.

He laughs softly. "When an admitted lover of the fair sex such as yourself is given the knowledge that another man loves you more than is permitted in polite society, it should come as a shock to your proper sensibilities. However, it does not."

"I am quite shocked!" I protest.

"You are displaying incredulity, Watson, which is far different than running from these rooms as if Old Scratch himself were chasing you. Your lack of disgust at the notion of you and I and deeper feelings leads me to believe that you harbour the same feelings for me, but you have been hiding them, as you did not think me capable of reciprocating. Somewhere in your relationship with Mrs. Langstrom, you were forced to admit those feelings - perhaps not to her- but some allusion to them, which in turn, caused her to take such actions against you." His eyes narrow. "Am I correct?"

"No." I feel warmth suffuse my cheeks, and I turn away from his piercing stare. "I've told you all."

"Your reddened cheeks suggest otherwise." He take a final pull on his cigarette, and stubs it out on my bed post. "It is not your habit to lie to me, Watson. What is it you are attempting to hide so badly?"

"I… am not comfortable sharing the tale."

"You would go to jail for embarrassment's sake? That isn't like you at all."

"No." I know he is right, but I am still uncomfortable. "All right. When Penelope and I were introduced-"

"By Mr. Phelps-Binghampton, no less," he cuts in. "You did not provide that bit of information, Watson."

"I did mention it when I started calling on Penelope, but you dismissed it as a trifle, if you recall."

"Hm… perhaps you are correct as it is my custom to ignore your weekly rituals and such because they bore me."

"Well, that is most certainly good to know, dear fellow."

"Do not be offended, Watson. I mean that in the best possible manner. But we digress…"

I roll my eyes heavenward and continue. "Penelope let it be known from the start that she was merely looking for a respectable escort to parties, luncheons, and other such functions, but no more. I agreed, since I was of a like mind."

"You didn't want to marry her?"

"She didn't want to marry me," I correct.

"And what did you wish?" he asks, his piercing grey gaze never leaving my face.

"Well…" There would be little use to lie at this point, I suppose. "I wished that you would cease to be so dense and see what I felt for you."

"Hah! I do so appreciate your honesty, Watson," he says, finally looking away. "Continue."

"She and I spent more than our fair share of time together, and I will say that she did like to embark on little… adventures of the flesh, if you get my meaning. It was nothing really untoward, as many young widows-"

"I am well aware that there are women who revel in the throwing off of the yoke of respectability, and give themselves over to the, ah, pleasures of life." Holmes flashes a brief smile, then nods. "Continue."

"Well," I say, clearing my throat nervously, "It seems her husband, the late Lord Langstrom, was a gentleman of some years. She loved him dearly, but married him for a haven after her aunt was deemed insane."

"I looked him up in my index," Holmes says rather nonchalantly. "The circumstances of his death are sealed."

"Suicide, I've heard," I reply.

Both of his eyebrows rise. "Indeed?"

"Penelope's aunt Iselda, who in actuality is Langstrom's spinster aunt, is big on gossip. Lord Langstrom hanged himself in the basement a few years ago. There were heavy debts and mortgages, which left Penelope virtually penniless."

"And an insane aunt on top of it all. It is a wonder she ever found anyone to squire her about town."

"Really, Holmes, you needn't be so cruel about it. No one really speaks of the insane aunt. There are no pictures in the house, and even Iselda refuses to mention her name, other than to refer to her as the scourge of the family."

"Quite scandalous, I'm sure," he says with a hint of sarcasm. "But then, enter you, the gallant hero, to save the day…"

I look at him with a frown. "If you are going to be scornful…"

"Deepest apologies, Watson. Please, go on."

"As I said, I did not hide the fact that I did not wish to marry her… or anyone, for that matter. She enjoyed my company – well, what there was of it- and I was aware she had other gentlemen who called on her. Our arrangement worked rather well, but a few weeks ago, she announced that she'd turned out the other gentlemen she'd been keeping company with, and began to press for more of a commitment from me."

"Did she say why?"

"No, but women often change their minds, so I thought nothing of it."

"How did she press you?"

"She outright asked if I would make plans to marry her. She said she realized that to be married to your chronicler would be a feather in her cap, and take her into a better social circle." I laugh in spite of my anguish. "Though why she would think so is beyond me."

"Why, indeed," he says drolly. "And then?"

"I did not want to hurt her, so I fear I allowed her to think there might be a chance for us." I sigh. "It was wrong of me, I know, but I did not want to appear to be a cad."

"How did she respond to this?"

I feel my face go warm, and again, attempt to reclaim my hand.

"Go on, Watson," he says gently, entwining his fingers with mine so another attempt to move my hand again will be for naught. "I will not ridicule you."

"I will hold you to that, Holmes." I clear my throat. "The, ah… adventures of the flesh she enjoyed so dearly-"

He presses his thumb against the palm of my hand and moves it back and forth in a gentle, reassuring manner. "What exactly do you mean by 'adventures of the flesh'?"

"It is well known amongst a certain crowd that she is not above… that she has no qualms about sexual relations. Most of the gentlemen of my club are aware of it, and if one is fortunate enough to obtain her favour, it is indeed a feather in one's cap. I am not above such pleasures myself, but I, ah, did not wish to be a mere number in the crowd, so I refrained from any real intimacy with her. Chaste kisses, and perhaps bold touching, but nothing untoward."

"I do believe you are the last honest gentleman, Watson."

"You said you would not ridicule, Holmes."

"I am merely stating a fact. Most gentlemen wouldn't have a second thought about taking what she so freely offered."

I sigh and look away. "I'm not a paragon of virtue, as you will soon see." I rub at my brow with my free hand. "As I was saying, we shared chaste kisses and bold touching, but nothing more. As she became more comfortable with me, it would please her greatly to have me, ah…" I gesture at my chest.

He chuckles, and squeezes my hand in delight. "You mean...?"

"Yes."

"And you... did as she wished?"

"Er... not at first. But then, as time pressed on, and she grew bolder in her endeavours-"

"In what way?"

"We went from simple oral pleasures to… frottage." I wish I could run from the room, but he is gripping my hand tightly, and I'm sure he won't let me go. "Of course, she wasn't under the strict rules of conduct that guide chaste women, and it had... that is to say, I hadn't had... so, of course..."

"This broken way of speaking is quite unlike you, Watson."

"What do you expect, Holmes? I am not accustomed to sharing this type of information with you."

"I am not saying I do not understand your hesitation, mind you. I am simply observing that you have lived in these rooms with me for years, and it is folly for you to think me unaware that you are somewhat of a hedonist, and that you have desires that occasionally – dare I say, frequently, need seeing to."

"You consider me a hedonist?"

"Your daily actions define you as such. Your fondness for fine foods, and your relish in your partaking of said foods, your particular brand of tobacco, your choice in smoking jackets… are all clues, Watson. You revel in sensuous fabrics and foods. Even your writing paper is a far cry above typical bond paper." He pets my knee with his free hand. "Are you offended?"

"No, no... it's just that we've... never spoken of such things." I smile at him, still embarrassed. "And, to be honest, until today, I had not thought you... well, I assumed such needs would be alien to you. Your work taking up much of your time, and your aversion to the softer emotions being my reasoning."

"Oh, Watson," he tisks. "You do me a great injustice. I am human, after all, and have the same bodily functions as you."

"It has not been my habit to think of your bodily functions, Holmes," I say resolutely.

"Oh, I beg to differ, dear friend," he observes, "but we have not come to that yet. Pray, go on with your tale of Mrs. Langstrom and her liberties."

"I will confess that I was flattered by her attempts at seduction, since I do not have the type of life that lends itself to a normal existence."

"There are many who would consider that a mark in your favour, Watson. Those who consider a man who wields a gun and a pen with equal dexterity the ideal mate."

"I don't wish to be mocked, Holmes." My voice is hard. "Really."

"Though I'm certain my tone does carry a hint of mockery, it is the truth. Why did you not wish to marry her?"

"I did not think I would be able to keep make her happy."

"You disappoint me, Watson."

"How? What have I done?" I am genuinely curious at the crestfallen look on his face. "You are of a mind that I should have married her?"

"Of course not. But you are familiar enough with my methods to know I cannot deduce based on a foundation of lies."

"Yes." I sit quietly for a moment, lost in thought. Then, I look at him. "It is not a lie to keep the truth to one's self." 

"That will be a clever rejoinder as you toil about for coir," he returns.

"Then," I sigh, "why do you not simply use your great deductive powers to see my reasoning?"

"It would be better coming from you." He looks at me, then at our entwined hands. "Continue, Watson."

"It is rather simple."

"Yes, it is. Tell me."

"Our adventures together mean a great deal to me, and I enjoy being at your side as you use your brilliant powers of deduction to solve cases. I don't think I would be content living a 'normal' life, any more than you would. Besides, a wife would not understand the frequent trips that often occur at a moment's notice, and the somewhat risqué clientele we seem to attract."

"I should say not. But that is not the only reason, is it?"

I look at him, and am surprised to see a slight blush spreading along his cheeks. "You are well aware that it is not."

"Go on…"

"I tried to explain to Penelope that I was already attached in a way, and that I would be hard pressed to put other things above my work with you. She found that incredibly amusing, that I should consider myself married to you, even in a joking manner."

"And do you?"

I smile. "You are hardly the epitome of an adoring woman, and your attempts at cookery are abysmal. But for years now, I have felt a fondness for you that goes well beyond the bonds of friendship. Is it love? I do not know, Holmes, but you must know that I would follow you to the gallows and beyond. I made Penelope aware of this from the beginning. And really, what wife could compete with that?"

"A fictional one, most certainly," he says with a short laugh.

"Indeed," I agree. "My fictional wife sends me off to danger and intrigue with nary a blink."

"I am glad this affair hasn't dulled your sense of humour, Watson," he says, favouring me with a tiny smile that fades quickly. "Tell me more of Mrs. Langstrom, and how she reacted to this revelation of yours."

"I did not tell her that I was fond of you. Just that my work with you was most important, and if I were to marry her, she would become disappointed in her often absent spouse."

"You do have a way with words," he says softly, "and your loyalty is unmatched. Go on…"

"On our last, fateful meeting, she pleaded with me to come to her bedroom after her aunt retired for the evening. As I said, I was flattered – and tempted - but while it is one thing to enjoy carnal pleasures, it is quite another to be caught in a compromising position. It seemed to be the path she was leading me down, and I said as much to her. At first, she became insulted, and denied it vehemently. I decided to leave, and she started to cry. You know that I cannot abide a woman's tears, and I stayed to assure her that her actions had not offended me. Well…" I clear my throat… "one thing led to another, and…"

He leans forward, his eyes flashing with interest. "Go on."

"Sparing you the sordid details will not hasten my journey to gaol, Holmes. I think you are using your great deductive powers as a shield for your voyeurism."

"It is merely curiosity," he defends. "The devil is in the details."

"Yes, but as a gentleman, I will say, for the sake of the case, that I gave in, and shared intimacies with her."

"So when you said 'Penelope played the piano for a few hours', it was a euphemism for pleasures of the flesh?"

"I… ah, suppose you could say that.."

"Would that you had revealed this earlier, Watson!"

"I didn't deem it important. I apologize."

"No matter," he sighs. "So… did you have adequate...? French Letters?"

"Yes, of course," I say tersely. "Regardless of gossip to the contrary, I am no cad. If I do not wish to marry, I most certainly would not run the risk of-"

He holds up a hand to stop me. "That temper of yours runs to the formidable, my friend."

"Forgive me. This whole line of questioning has me on edge. I know you mean no offence, but you have to realize this is uncharted territory for us."

"Yes. But the earlier account you gave was lacking in minutiae. As I've told you many times, I cannot make bricks without clay."

"I know, and I do apologise for my glossing over of the facts. The accusations are embarrassing enough." I take a deep breath, and tighten my grasp on his fingers. "I suppose it could be worse. I could be relating this to Lestrade."

"He would have accepted your earlier glossing over of details and investigated from there. If you wish to take a break... perhaps a glass of brandy?"

"No, no... I'd prefer to get it over with."

"Good man." He clears his throat. "Would you be able to – as a gentleman, of course – give me an approximation as to how long these... intimacies took?"

"Well... a few hours, perhaps. No more than three."

The look on his face is priceless. Incredulity, combined with his trademark curiosity. "Goodness, Watson. The fair sex is most certainly your forte. Or shall I make that simply sex?"

"You asked, Holmes. If one is going to indulge in such pleasures, it is not a good idea to hurry them along. Surely you are aware of this fact."

"I have heard tell of such things."

"You haven't...?" I clamp my lips around that inappropriate question. "Forgive me."

"In my younger days, and various and sundry times when the… urge presses me," he says, devoting singular attention to the pattern of the quilt we sit on. "Furtiveness and naiveté do not lend themselves to... longevity." He finally does look at me, and his eyes are filled with curiosity. "Truly, Watson? Three hours?"

"Give or take."

"Is this... normal?"

"I don't know, really. It isn't as if there is a monograph on the subject, Holmes."

"Your extensive knowledge would lend itself to the writing of one, I'm certain." His ears have turned an interesting shade of red. "Your publisher would gladly accept such under a pseudonym."

I gesture at the telegrams littering the floor. "It is of no consequence now. Besides, I don't think it is my forte, Holmes. As it is, I can barely discuss it with you." I clear my throat. "But back to the subject at hand..."

"Yes. So... forgive the... intimate nature of the question, but to your knowledge were there any... signs of... passion on her person?"

"In all your duties as the world's only unofficial consulting detective, you have never investigated a case such as this?"

"People do not seek me out for cases such as this," he says sadly. "Since the truth is not usually sought after."

"True." I clear my throat. "It is just that you are usually more direct in your questioning."

"I am not so heartless, dear friend, that I would cavalierly bandy about questions pertaining to your intimate encounter with the woman who now accuses you of taking liberties above and beyond what she consented to."

"I know," I say gently. "I never imagined there would be anything that would embarrass you."

"Prick me, do I not bleed?"

"Indeed you do," I answer with a searching look into his clear grey eyes.

"Go on," he says, shifting his gaze from mine.

"There were no marks of passion on her body, if that's what you're asking," I continue. "Were someone to see such a thing, it would surely invite untoward comments."

"Of course." He tilts his head to the side and looks at me again. "And on your person?"

"I did not think to look," I admit. "I don't believe there was anything remarkable."

"I would like to look when you have finished recounting your tale. If her version of the encounter is that it was an attack on your part, it would stand to reason she would have put up a rather valiant fight." He sighs. "After a while, you and Penelope went walking in the park?"

"Yes."

"How was her demeanour? Was she content?"

"Quite so," I say, unable to resist seeing him blush again.

"Watson..."

"Sorry, Holmes. She seemed to be so, having gotten what she wanted. Our walk in the park was nice, and she seemed genuinely happy to be with me."

"Did the topic of marriage come up again?"

"Yes. But, it was prior to us going to the park.  We were still… it was just after… damn, I'm stammering like a school boy. It was post-coitus, and she began to act rather strangely."

"How so?"

"She began chattering on and on about things, but I admit I wasn't really listening. That is, until she declared that we should wed immediately so that she could have my 'talents' all to herself. And she hinted she would forsake all others and devote her entire being to my, ah… satisfaction, and ..." I stop and shrug. "I'm sure you understand."

"Such delights would be yours exclusively by right. And what was your response?"

"I may well be mistaken, but in my languid state, I do believe I stated that we had achieved perfection and had nowhere to go from there. Or something of that nature. We both laughed in agreement, and we spoke no more of it."

"But as a woman, I am certain she filed it away for future use. My god, Watson, your whole reputation could be ruined on an offhand comment made when your guard was down. Women! The fair sex, indeed."

"You think this is revenge, Holmes? But why would she? I can see no reason for her to be quite so angry at me as to bring up accusations that surely would be proven false."

"She has made it seem that the accusations are true by virtue of her being a woman with whom you'd been squiring about town, Watson. What reason would there be to doubt her word?"

"Good lord," I groan and shake my head ruefully. "You will come and visit me when I am imprisoned?"

"I shall do my level best to see to it that you are not imprisoned, Watson. I must find out why she is hell-bent on revenge. It cannot be as simple as your refusal to marry her, nor your off-hand comment that you would rather continue to get your cream free than purchase the farm."

"I never...That is not what I said!"

"Even as unlearned as I am in the ways of the softer emotions, I know that it is what she heard. Perhaps it pushed her over the edge of reason." He untangles our hands and stands up. "I will need you to remove your shirt, Watson."

The abrupt change of subject does not fluster me, as I am accustomed to the quicksilver workings of his mind. But the request, coupled with our new-found feelings, makes me blush. In addition, his voice sounds odd, though I can barely detect it through the pounding of my heart. "Yes, of course." I stand up and unbutton my shirt under his watchful eye.

"Take it off, if you would…"

"Sorry…" I swallow hard, and let the shirt slide from my shoulders and drop to the floor.

He steps close to me, small glass in hand. "Hmm…" He touches the back of my neck. "This is where the unruly constable hit you?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"All right." His hands turn me so that my back is to him. "There are a series of scratches on your upper back, just above your shoulder blade," he says, his tone clinical and devoid of emotion. "And another scratch just above your waistline on the left side." He turns me back to face him, and runs the glass over my chest. "A faint outline of teeth here," his finger hovers just to the left of my right nipple, "and another on your shoulder."

"I... had no idea. I do not recall receiving them."

"I should say not." He steps back, and puts his glass into his waistcoat pocket. "There is nothing on your person that would indicate that you forced her to participate in anything that she was unwilling to do."

"Most certainly a relief."

"Yes." He looks at me, then steps closer. "As I said earlier, I have seen you in various stages of undress over the years without a second thought. But looking at you in light of my newly minted feelings, I am… you are… breathtaking, Watson."

I smile and duck my head at the rare compliment. "So, your feelings extend beyond words, then?"

"Before you disrobed, I would have said no, and meant it with my whole heart." A finger goes to his lips. "My mind is a maelstrom of thoughts and imaginings that I have kept locked away for my own good. But it is like an attempt to stop a river's flow with a finger. It will not do. I am not given to delving into pleasures of the flesh on a regular basis, as it is distracting and often meaningless."

"And now…?"

"I cannot stop thinking of your 'no more than three hours, give or take'." He reaches out a shaky hand and places it in the middle of my chest. "And I wonder what it is you did to cause someone to bite you here." A long finger hovers above the teeth marks near my nipple. "I truly want to know."

"Don't get yourself so worked up, Holmes. You must concentrate on the case."

"As strange as it is to admit, I must say I cannot." He grips my forearms in his hands. "I find you very compelling, Watson."

I should not encourage his madness, but I cannot resist. "Is that good or bad?"

"Bad. Good. Both, Watson. Your honour, your sadness, your hurt… they are mine also. I.. had no idea that I had such deep affection for you."

"I did. Well, not in the physical sense, but I've never doubted my place in your heart."

He drops his hands. "Of course you saw what I did not. It is written in your tales, for all the world to see."

"I do not speak of you inappropriately in my writings."

"No. But, that you show yourself as my… follower, for lack of better word, when in reality you are far smarter and much better looking than you portray, speaks volumes to your readership."

"I do that to show you as the focus of the tales, Holmes."

"I know. But in your eyes, I am a knight, a saviour, and a demigod, all rolled in one tall, thin figure. It is humbling that you have so much love and trust in me. I thought merely responding to your love in an intellectual sense would be enough, but it is not."

It is all I need to hear. I grab his hips and tug him against me. "You'd better be certain it is what you want, Sherlock Holmes, because if we begin down this path, there will be no going back to the façade of mere friendship."

"Into the breach, eh?" A slight smile twists his lips as he looks down at me. "Perhaps now wouldn't be a good time to fully indulge, but I would be grateful to for a sample of your… talents."

"And so you shall." I back him against the wall near the door, and place my hands beside his head. I see the anticipation in his eyes and take a deep breath. "Close your eyes."

He frowns. "Is that necessary?"

"For you, yes. I want you to feel it, not deduce it. Close them, and concentrate on the sensation."

"Fine." He closes his eyes, and relaxes against the wall.

I lean in and brush my lips over his, coaxing his mouth open to accept my tongue. The taste of him is unexpected. Where I anticipated cigarettes and a bitter aftertaste, I encounter a heady combination of tobacco and freshness that causes me to moan. In an instant, an intense hunger rises in me, taking me by surprise, and I move a hand to his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss.

His hands go to my waist and grip me fiercely, pulling me to fit between his spread legs. He moves his hips forward uncertainly, but then finds a perfect tempo, and urges me to follow. Though he is most certainly not inexperienced, I do revel in the fact that he lacks the finesse of one who does such things often. 

I wrench out of the kiss, and trail tiny bites across his jaw and throat, glorying in the sounds of pleasure this creates in him. "Holmes." I whisper his name as I nuzzle the spot behind his ear, and nip at the lobe. "Dear lord…"

"Indeed," he whispers, his voice ablaze with excitement. His hands roam the expanse of my back, then slide down my sides, and up again. "Truly, your descriptions of yourself in your writings do not do you justice, Watson.  Rather deceptive." His hands massage my shoulders, then smooth down the centre of my chest, where he pauses. "The hair here feels like fine sand under my fingers. Oh!" He arches his back as I delve my tongue into his ear. "That is the most wonderful sensation!"

"Indeed," I echo, and repeat the action, smiling as he groans again. I move away from his ear, as I am becoming restless and edgy, and wanting to feel his naked flesh against me. "Holmes… we need to stop."

"No." His mouth latches onto my collarbone, and he sucks hard.

"Holmes, no!" I push at his head, breaking the contact. "Don't mark me… not now."

He licks his lips and leans back against the wall. "You make me forget all reason, dear boy. And you are as tempting as an entire catalogue of criminals."

"Then quite tempting, indeed." I burst out laughing, then kiss him with a long, passionate yet gentle kiss, pouring the intensity of my emotions into it, thrusting my tongue back and forth against his, allowing him to feel that I do not just lust for him, but that I also love him.

His hands feather through my hair, then hold my head in place while he takes over the kiss, and begins to ravish my mouth. No gentle kisses for him! His mouth is relentless and hot against mine, as he takes what seems to be the very breath from my lungs. He urges me closer to him, grinding his hips into mine, moving his hands to my backside, pulling me to feel the hard length of his need. He tears his mouth from mine, and buries his face, sweaty and flushed, into my neck. "Watson…!" he whispers fiercely. "Watson!"

A sharp rap on the door startles us both, and we jump apart guiltily.  

"Yes?" I am panting as though I've been running for hours.

"There's a telegram for you, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson calls out.

Holmes chuckles against my neck. "How inopportune," he whispers, his mouth near my ear.

My breath catches as his tongue sweeps along my outer ear. "Stop!" I hiss, then clear my throat. "Just… slide it under the door, Mrs. Hudson."

She grumbles something I do not quite hear, and the paper slides under the door. "Do you need me to take your dinner tray?"

I press my full weight against him and still his restless movements against me. "I'll bring it down directly, thank you."

"All right," she sighs.

Holmes listens to her receding footsteps as they go back down the steps, then bursts out laughing. "Dear me, Watson! You have corrupted me!"

"Good." I stoop down and pick up the untimely telegram. "It's from Lestrade."

"What does it say?" he asks, moving away from the wall to stand by the window.  

"'114 Derry Lane. Come immediately.' That's Miss Beauchamp's address."

"Indeed? Then by all means, we should go immediately." He opens the window slightly, and inhales the night air. After a few moments, he turns and looks at me, his eyes dancing with pleasure. "You are rather addictive, Watson. I had no idea."

"And I had no idea you could be so… passionate," I return. I look at the bed, then at him. "We shouldn't linger here, as I feel an overwhelming urge to see how it would feel to press you into my mattress. I don't think Lestrade would be pleased should he have to wait for two or three hours. Give or take."

"My blushes, Watson!" His voice is pitched higher, and his eyes have gone dark with desire. "Indeed it would be folly for us to linger here as I, too, am tempted to lie in your bed. With you, no less. If you will excuse me, I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes. I need… cold water would be a great idea." He looks down at my trousers. "For us both."

I refuse to follow his gaze, or look at what I'm sure will be evidence of his arousal. "Go, Holmes."

He laughs and wrenches the door open. "Five minutes, Watson!" He gives me a wolfish grin and is gone in a flash.

I snatch up my shirt and go over to the basin. Cold water is a grand idea, indeed.

 
Chapter Eleven