With This Pen ~ Earl Grey and Marzipan
by Jem's Bird

I still do not know how we restrained ourselves until we reached our room. With a single sweeping movement, Holmes pulled me through the door and shut it behind us, slamming me up against it as he threw himself upon me, devouring me in violent kisses, biting my neck and crushing himself into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I responded in kind, wrapping my legs around his and sending us both tumbling to the floor as my mouth took possession of his, my tongue thrusting between his lips as I drank deeply of him. I then set myself to raking my teeth across his alabaster throat, my hips straddling his as he writhed beneath me, groaning faintly as I ground my urgent hardness into his.

I pulled back from his mouth. “Holmes,” I said, “do you hear –”

He laid a finger upon my lips, his eyes sparkling mischievously. The sound of a small orchestra wafted through the windows from the courtyard below, mixed with the sounds of merrymaking.

“Is it a festival?” I asked.

“One of the guests paid the owner to allow a few musician friends a place to rehearse for the evening. The owner decided to turn it into a party to reward his staff.”

“And you wouldn’t know the identity of this mysterious guest, would you?”

“No idea,” he chuckled, “but it is rather fortuitous for us, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fortuitous? Well, I suppose it is nice to have the music, but I don’t see –”

 “It means,” said he, pulling me to him again, “that we need not worry about any noises we might make tonight.”

The party was still well underway when I awoke to find Holmes sitting up beside me in the bed, smoking a cigarette. The moon was far to the west now, and it shone golden-yellow into the bedroom window, blending with the flickering of the torchlight from the courtyard plaza reflected off the waving cocoanut trees. A spice-scented ocean breeze lingered with the rich aroma of a familiar tobacco, bringing with it the faint sound of the waves over the murmur of the crowd and the chatter of the insects. I rolled over and sat up next to my lover, kissing him on the cheek and receiving an enthusiastic embrace.

“It’s a Thursday night; shouldn’t they be in bed?” I laughed, as Holmes passed me his cigarette and lit another for himself. “What is it, two o’clock in the morning?”

“Only half past one. They certainly enjoy a party in this town,” he agreed softly. He was smiling absently, humming along quietly with the music, his fingers tapping to the beat.

I took a long drag off the cigarette. “These are Bradley’s hand-rolled specials,” I remarked. “You had these made for the occasion, didn’t you?”

“Your favourite blend?” he grinned. “I couldn’t resist, my boy.”

“You know,” I sighed, leaning back upon the pillows, “I’m surprised I didn’t catch what you were about when you measured me for the ring. ‘Body topography,’ indeed. And then that marriage contract – a fine piece of work, by the way. Does Mr. Cox know the implications?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised, but he has always been discreet and trustworthy when it comes to handling my family’s affairs.”

“The pen was magnificent, Holmes.”

He shot me a fleeting smile. “You deserve the best, my boy.”

“That’s why I married you,” I chuckled.

“My blushes, Watson!”

“I meant that now I can afford the best,” I teased.

“So you married me for my money, eh?”

“That would have required me to know that I was actually getting married,” I quipped, then regretted it as I saw the hurt on Holmes’ face. “You know I don’t regret it for an instant,” I said quickly. “After all, I could have walked away. You did leave me that option.”

He stared out at the window for a long time, the lines of his profile aglow in the golden moonlight slanting into our room. I do not think I can remember when he ever looked more beautiful than he did that night. “John,” he began, and then paused. “I’m sorry that I … I wish I were better to you. I lead you a merry chase across half a continent, keep you mystified for most of the way, and still you follow me.”

“I think I would follow you to the ends of the earth,” I said simply.

Holmes shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have to.”

I twisted the wedding band upon my finger, watching it gleam in the moonlight. “Yes, I should,” I told him gravely. “I made a vow, remember? ‘To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.’ I might not have come to Portugal to say those words, but believe me when I tell you that I meant every word. I’ve decided to take you the way you are, love you and keep loving you, for the rest of our lives, and, as Mrs. Browning would say, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”

There are moments when everything seems perfect, and then there are moments that are turned into a farce by the baser operations of our bodies. I am afraid that my traitorous stomach turned my declaration into the latter; it gave a low growl just as I spoke the last words.

Holmes touched my cheek. “Watson, when was the last time you ate?” he asked kindly.

I thought a moment. “About seven hours ago,” I admitted.

“Tsk, tsk, Doctor,” Holmes chided me. “And you a medical man. Weren’t you lecturing me just last week upon the importance of keeping a regular diet?”

“Do you think there might be a restaurant still open?”

“Several, to be sure,” Holmes murmured, “but I took the liberty of alerting the staff to the eventuality that we might need refreshment sometime late this evening.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The staff are certainly accommodating,” I said, an edge of suspicion creeping into my voice.

“The owner one of Mycroft’s friends,” Holmes offered sheepishly.

“Your brother is paying for this, isn’t he?”

Holmes looked down at the bed-sheets. “He wished to give us a wedding present we would enjoy,” he said quietly.

I smiled despite myself. “Your brother is a generous man.”

“He can afford to be generous.”

My stomach roiled again, and Holmes leaned over and kissed me, then leapt gracefully up from the bed and strode into the sitting-room. I heard him calling out something in Portuguese, and a cheerful voice answering him in a brief conversation.

Holmes came back into the bedroom, and lit the bedside lamp before pulling his clothes out of the drawer. “I’m glad you got out to explore the city,” said he cheerfully, getting dressed, “I didn’t know how I was going to unpack before the ceremony otherwise.”

I slapped my forehead. “I completely forgot! Your present!” I got up and began rummaging in the parcels I had brought back to the hotel.

“You might want to get dressed first,” Holmes said, laughingly patting my bottom. “The service here is wonderfully quick.” He buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his waistcoat. “I’ll be in the sitting room; don’t dawdle,” he finished, sweeping out of the room.

I had barely finished dressing when a knock at the door announced the arrival of our repast. It was much too early for breakfast and much too late for supper; the chef thus sent us a tantalizing combination of sweet and savoury offerings, and Holmes and I fell to our meal as soon as it was laid out for us, at the table by the balcony. We ate in silence a while, watching the throng of merrymaking staff in the courtyard. The orchestra still played on, though the music had grown softer, and we could hear the singing of the insects in the bushes over the murmur of laughter and conversation as we enjoyed our meal.

I was not surprised to see champagne in an ice bucket beside the table. I was, however, surprised to see a pot of tea, and I smiled as a familiar aroma reached my nostrils. “Earl Grey?” I chuckled. “At two in the morning?”

“I might even bring myself to have a sip or two, but you will forgive me if I concentrate upon the champagne.”

“It’s all yours,” I said. “Never could abide the stuff.”

“But you will have just one glass with me, won’t you, Watson? There, I didn’t think you would refuse me that,” he continued cheerily, as I nodded. He stood up to open the champagne, twisting at the wire holding the cork in place. “By the bye, you have not partaken of that small dish to your left.”

Indeed, I had missed the unobtrusive covered dish amongst all the tempting platters. I lifted the lid to find a quarter-pound of high-quality marzipan, arranged in an eye-catching pyramid of various shapes. “Holmes …”

“I thought you would be pleased. You know, Watson, I find it strange that such a hopeless romantic as yourself does not like champagne.”

“I hardly think that you should call me hopeless,” said I, smiling as I watched Holmes fiddle with the bottle. “And you have recently proved yourself to be capable of suspiciously romantic behaviour for a man who claims to have no need for such emotional displays.”

“What can I say, Watson? You have corrupted me.” The cork finally popped out and onto the balcony, and I suppressed a wave of laughter at the gush of white froth spilling out over his hand. “For shame, my boy,” he scolded me teasingly, divining the reason behind my merriment. “Such puerile thoughts. And you a married man.”

“As are you,” I answered as he poured our glasses full. “And who better than a married man to know the pleasures of the marriage bed?”

“To the pleasures of the marriage bed, then,” he rejoined, as our glasses clinked together. His manner was casual and off-hand as we drank, but I who knew him well could see that he was deeply affected by all that had passed between us this night.

I put my glass aside and reached for his hand. “William,” I began. “I want you to know that tonight –”

He squeezed my hand affectionately, but waved aside my words with an impatient gesture. “Honestly, Watson, simply because I have descended into romanticism, it does not follow that I shall lower myself to becoming maudlin.”

I was not irked by his speech, as I could tell that it was mostly bluster to cover his discomfort. Instead, I poured myself a cup of tea. “I do not think you could be capable of becoming maudlin,” I replied gently. “But neither do I consider you the brain without a heart you so love to present to the world.”

Holmes snorted in amusement. “That I love to present! I have made my opinion of your little fictions in the Strand quite clear, Doctor,” said he, his eyes twinkling in the flickering torchlight. “In any case, shall we see what is in the parcel you’ve hidden in your jacket pocket?”

“You could have at least waited for me to tell you,” I sighed wearily, pulling it out and pushing it across the table.

“At least I did not attempt to deduce your purchase,” he said a little sheepishly. “I can tell little beyond the fact that you spent some time at the tobacconist’s where you purchased this item, debating whether or not to buy this or whatever it was you had seen at the bookstore –”

“Holmes!”

“Oh, very well,” he grumbled petulantly, pulling the paper off the box with a dramatic flourish. I flushed with pleasure as I watched his eyes widen at the contents of the parcel; in this, at least, he had not anticipated me.

He lifted the pipe from the folds of tissue paper and held it up to inspect it. “Watson, it’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Perfect balance, amber mouthpiece, silver bands, mother-of-pearl inlay –this must have cost a fortune.”

“It’s all right, old fellow,” said I heartily. “After all, I just married into a fortune.”

“I should hardly call a decrepit title and a crumbling manor house a fortune,” he muttered. “In any case, Mycroft is heir to the former and I have sworn never to return to the latter.” His eyes glittered darkly a moment before he shook free of his poisonous reverie. He laid aside the pipe and took both my hands. “John, you have given me so much,” he began quietly, “and I have given you so little –”

“Holmes,” I interrupted gently, “look around. You have given me all of this,” I indicated the room around us, “and much more. Earl Grey, marzipan, Bradley’s best blend, the pen – all my favourite indulgences. Good heavens, man, you just arranged a complete wedding ceremony for me.”

“For us,” he corrected me.

“For us,” I agreed, squeezing his hands. “Holmes, you found a way to give me the stability and security I needed, and then, in order to prove the sincerity of your intentions, you stage-managed a romantic scene to rival any one of those yellow-backed romances you claim to hate.”

Holmes looked down at our joined hands, a mysterious smile fluttering just at the corner of his mouth. “So did you enjoy it?” he asked, his piercing gaze flickering momentarily up to mine before retreating back to the table.

“Did I enjoy it! Holmes, do you really need to ask? It was absolutely marvellous. Add the traditional first dance and a few flower-girls, and it would be the perfect wedding,” I added with a chuckle, my fingers caressing his.

The band finished the number it had been playing to a smattering of applause, and then started into a slow waltz.

Holmes stood up, still holding both my hands, his manner suddenly grave. “I neglected to arrange for flower-girls,” said he, “but I should be honoured if you would give me this dance.”

I must confess that my first reaction was one of shock. I had been to boarding-school and had always enjoyed a discreet tumble with one or two of the fellows, but I wasn’t the type that would dance with a man …

My fingers brushed against the band of gold upon my companion’s left ring-finger, and I knew in an instant exactly what type of man I was.

I was a married man on my wedding night, and I was going to dance with the man I loved. I laughed as pulled myself up out of my seat and into Holmes’ arms.

Much later, we lay in each others’ arms, talking quietly as the orchestra played its last number and went home. Eventually the sounds of merrymaking faded as the party dispersed, and soon there was only the singing of the insects as we exchanged reminisces and casually speculated upon the future. The moon set and the torches were extinguished, and we lay together in the dark, our talk growing more desultory as the hours wore on and we used our lips more and our voices less.

I held him in my arms for a long while, and as the sun rose upon the new morning, my love finally slept upon my breast, worn out from the exertions of his schemes. It would be my responsibility, as it had always been, to get him home in one piece once he collapsed. I kissed his forehead and watched the glow from the East touch the tips of the hills across the harbour, smiling to myself as I thought of how the man in my arms had led me here, and idly wondering where he might lead me next.

Wherever it was, I knew it would be well worth the trip.

 
31 December 1899