With This Pen - Accountability

He sat at the foot of the bed, his head sunk upon his chest, his slate-coloured eyes searching my face through long dark lashes. I grunted and turned to face the wall; I did not wish to have my face searched at this late hour, and certainly not by Sherlock Holmes.

“You know, Holmes,” I interjected sharply, “you only call me that either when you wish to seduce me, or when you know you’re wrong. Whichever it is, leave me alone.”

I sat up suddenly, bearing down upon my companion, my eyes blazing with fury. “Besides the fact that you have deluded some poor girl into thinking that she has found the love of her life,” I hissed fiercely, “you betrayed my trust.”

“Whether or not you intended betrayal, Holmes, the fact remains that what you had with Agatha[1] essentially amounted to an affair.”

“It might have been necessary for the case,” I continued, “and, normally, I trust you implicitly when it comes to following your methods, but when you infringe upon our relationship, I must stand my ground.”

“How far?” I barked. “How far did you get with the lovely Miss Agatha, Holmes? How deep did Escott plumb her drain?”

“If talking about it is disgusting, then what is what you did, Holmes? And just what did you do? I can’t imagine you just talked your way into an engagement with a suburban housemaid.”

A defiant gleam flashed in his eyes. “Am I allowed to speak now?” he asked petulantly.

“You make it sound like I forced myself upon her,” he muttered somewhat defensively. “Which, I assure you, isn’t the –” he wisely chose to cut himself short, hanging his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry, John.”

“Putting aside the fact that seducing the young lady under false promise of marriage could be construed as forcing your suit,” I said evenly, “I want to know exactly what transpired between you and Agatha.”

Holmes closed his eyes, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Do you really –”

“So, frequently enough that you lost track. Well, you certainly didn’t waste any time, did you? Open-mouthed or closed?”

“Don’t pretend to be scandalized, Holmes. Remember who you’re talking to. So did that luscious tongue of yours find its way into someone else’s mouth?”

Holmes winced visibly. Accolades or damnations from the rest of the world mean nothing to him; I alone can wound him with a single harsh word. I blush to confess that I felt a surge of perverse satisfaction in knowing my shot had hit its mark. My enjoyment was short-lived, however, when I saw the hurt in his eyes. I took a deep breath and reached out a hand, laying it gently upon his.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said I, my anger draining away. “I should know better than to add fuel to an argument rather than trying to heal this rift.”

“John, I never intended this to cause a rift between us,” Holmes answered softly. “I should have considered your feelings in the matter.”

I squeezed his hand. “I often forget that you knew nothing of love before we came together,” I answered.

Holmes gave an ironic chuckle. “I’m still not sure I know anything of love. In retrospect, I should have known you would be upset by my seduction of Agatha.”

“No, meaning that I would have used another method to ingratiate myself into Milverton’s household. What do you take me for?”

“A man who still has some serious apologizing to do,” I answered dryly. I leaned forward and kissed him gently, then rested my forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes. “My dear Holmes,” I said earnestly, “I must confess that jealousy, while playing a substantial role in my wrath tonight, is not the root of my problem. Rather, it is fear.”

“I was the first person, male or female, that you ever kissed. Up until this Milverton case, I was the only one. Perhaps …” I steadied myself. “Perhaps your choice to pursue the housemaid was coloured by your desire to broaden your horizons, so to speak.”

My companion made a wry face. “Honestly, Watson, you hardly cast me in a charitable light. Are you saying that since I kissed a girl, I might turn into some sort of libertine?”

“Hardly,” I chuckled. I raised his hand to my lips, growing serious once more. “My dear Holmes, do you even know how frightened I am that you’ll grow bored with me, or discover someone who suits you better –”

Holmes threw back his head with a barking laugh. “Watson, who in this world could be better suited to me?” He nuzzled me fondly. “You can’t honestly think I would even consider loving anyone else?”

I looked down at my hand, which was still clasped in his. “We have been lovers for just under five years,” I said. “Neither you nor I know what the future can hold. I have no guarantee that you will see fit to stay with me for the rest of your life.”

“But we’re not. Our relationship is sanctioned by neither church nor queen, and so there must needs be a certain informality in the arrangements.”

“I mean,” I continued with some asperity, “that I have no legal claim on you, or you upon me. There is nothing that holds us together, no legal bond –”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Watson! Do you honestly think that a simple piece of paper would change anything between us for good or for ill?”

“There is more to the sanctity of a marriage contract than a simple piece of paper, Holmes,” I growled. “I am speaking of commitment and a sense of accountability –”

“Accountability!” he snorted. “Are you suddenly desirous of becoming a kept man, then?”

I bristled somewhat at this. “As unworthy of you as that remark is,” said I rather coldly, “I will remind you that I spend most of my time and effort devoted to your Agency, rather than my own career. In the past month, I logged less than seventy hours at my surgery, whereas your cases have taken up –”

“Your time, Doctor, has been more than amply remunerated,” Holmes broke in acidly. “But if you wish to concentrate more upon your career –”

Sometimes the only way to stop Sherlock Holmes during a rant is to lean forward and kiss him. While in most circumstances, this tactic would be highly inadvisable, the privacy of our bedroom allowed me to use my tongue quite eloquently without speaking a single word.

Holmes pulled back breathlessly some time later. “Really, Watson, must you distract me so while I’m busy being unreasonable?”

“I was merely illustrating my point; I have no wish to stop spending time with you, whether here in our bed or out in the streets of London. But while I’m acting as your agent, I find myself neglecting my future. Most of the fellows I graduated with have practices that actually make money by now.”

My companion stared down at our joined hands. “I must admit that you have a point,” he conceded. “Would you allow me to sleep on the problem?”

“Holmes,” I laughed lightly, “I was merely explaining why the whole incident distressed me so. I wouldn’t seriously expect you to –”

Holmes gave me a silencing kiss, his tongue teasingly fluttering over my lips. “No more talk, old man,” he murmured, pulling me into his embrace. I only managed to break free long enough to extinguish the lamp, then we both became amazingly eloquent while saying not a word. We wrestled pleasurably for a while, our hands and mouths wandering fondly over well-known territory. For all the excitement of the initial discovery of our shared passion, I have found over the years that there are even sweeter rewards to be found with the lover who knows exactly how and where to touch me and is the unequivocal master in pleasuring me.

Within minutes, Holmes had me groaning in ecstasy as his hands fluttered over my naked thighs. He bent to nuzzle my scrotum, a tongue flickering teasingly at the base of my prick. I ran my fingers through his soft hair as his lips played over my shaft, gasping aloud as his mouth enveloped me with one fluid motion. I moaned and arched my back as he sucked madly at my cock while squeezing my testicles gently in one hand, slipping his other hand lower and deeper, a fingertip tentatively stroking at my opening. He tickled my hole lightly as his throat opened, taking my shaft completely in to the base; his actions were enough to send me over the edge. I pulled my pillow over my head to muffle my groans of pleasure as he drank down my seed, licking me clean with a final squeeze to my ballsac. I almost gasped aloud in disappointment as his finger left my puckered entrance, and it was with pure desperation that I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him to me, grasping his burgeoning rod with both hands, savouring the sensation of his balls rubbing against mine, and no, certainly not wishing for his beautiful cock in my hole. I had learned, long ago, that there were some places Holmes refused to go, and so I forced away the urge to grasp at his shaft and impale myself upon him, instead reaching behind and pushing him up my body, manoeuvring him so that he straddled my chest, his gorgeous rod poised to enter another entrance.

Sherlock Holmes beamed down at me, watching as I ran my tongue slowly up the length of his prick from base to tip, tickling the hairs of his ballsac lightly. He threw his head back with a faint moan as I began sucking in earnest, torturing him with my tongue and fingers, playing him with the same practiced skill and love with which he plays his violin. When his explosion came, I took him deep into my mouth, massaging the pulsing rod with every muscle of my throat, only surrendering his spent cock after I had gleaned every drop of precious fluid from it.

He snuggled back down onto my chest, and I let out a satisfied sigh as I wrapped my arms around him.

“No, I meant that … when I was touching you …” he faltered, and I immediately understood. There could be only one carnal act that would still make Holmes blush at the very thought of it, and I blushed as I remembered how desperately I had wanted much more than a fingertip teasing my entrance.

“Yes, I did enjoy it; very much. But I also know that you don’t like it. I am grateful that you’re able to do what you did for me tonight.” I kissed his forehead. “You have given me so much, my dear friend; it would be petty of me to complain for a lack of one specific act.”

I sighed. “Holmes, we have discussed this. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you would not wish to do. Some men never feel comfortable with that form of physical expression.”

“A form of physical expression that I am forcing you to do without,” Holmes said, his voice low.

I grasped his chin and brought his lips to mine tenderly. “Darling,” I whispered, “I would not change our loving for the world.”

“You are a rare gem, Watson,” he yawned. “Some day I shall surprise you, you know.”

“You surprise me every day, Holmes.” I ruffled his hair fondly, but he was already drifting into sleep, his breaths falling even and deep. I kissed his forehead once more. “Goodnight, my love.”

I received a grunt in return, and then I, too, fell asleep, still holding my lover in my arms.

[1] In “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton,” Holmes, while masquerading as a plumber named Escott, becomes engaged to Milverton’s housemaid, Agatha.