Improprieties
by LavenderJade
Notes

Chapter Three: Holmes

Watson’s visit left me entirely unnerved.  For so long I worked to conceal that which I was sure would poison our friendship.  Watson had always been an entirely proper gentleman.  How could he be so accepting of what society saw as an almost unspeakable evil?  Something which I had never truly come to terms with in myself?  I suppose it was in my teens that I first realized that the fair sex did not hold the same attraction to me as it did for most of my schoolmates.  The need to hide my desires from myself helped form the persona I adopted.  As a youth, I immersed myself in my studies to the exclusion of all else, including – or perhaps especially – any hint at a social life.  The quest for knowledge, the rigors of the scientific mind, became my whole life, so that by the time I met Watson, I had truly driven all the offending thoughts from my brain.

But over the years of our association, something had changed.  I did not intend for him to become anything more than the payer of half the rent.  But my intentions were for naught.  He became first a companion when I simply needed assistance with a case.  I am not at all certain when I first thought of him as a friend.  I hadn’t had anyone I could consider a friend since my childhood.  Even then, I did not anticipate the danger.

I do remember vividly the night things changed.  Oddly enough, nothing special was happening at the time.  We were between cases.  Perhaps it was the fact that I had nothing specific to occupy my mind that allowed certain buried thoughts to come to the surface.  I dreamed that night, dreamed of things I had wanted to do but never done.  Dreamed of doing them with my dear Watson.  I woke in the early hours before dawn, my body deep in the throes of passion.  I had not felt such sensations in far too many years.  I regret that I was so weak that I indulged myself, bringing myself to completion, then lying there in my bed awake until it was time to rise.  My mind was racing during those quiet hours.  I knew that this could not be allowed to happen again, and that more than anything, Watson must have no idea.  For by this time, he was far more important to me than I had ever wanted any person to be.  Knowledge of my unclean thoughts would surely destroy that friendship.

And so for three years now, I had successfully hidden it from him.  When he announced his engagement to Mary, I was of two minds.  On the one hand, I was deeply saddened that he would be leaving our digs in Baker Street, depriving me of his constant companionship.  But on the other, I realized that the chances of my making an error revealing my sordid secret were drastically diminished.  It was this thought that I held on to as I stood by Watson’s side at the wedding, showing the world the face of a loyal friend who was deeply happy for his friend’s happiness.  There had been one brief moment when seeing him kissing his blushing bride, my secret pain had flared and made itself known.  I thought no one could have seen it.  But Mary had been facing me when she had been released from that kiss, and apparently the new Mrs. Watson not only saw, she observed.

It seems entirely strange to me that I have been undone by my own methods applied to an area I had never thought to apply them to, and by a woman, no less.  Watson is correct; his Mary is truly an exceptional woman.  Looking back on his words, it seems to me that she is encouraging him in this endeavour.  What did he say … ‘She finds the thought of … us … intriguing.’ And Watson himself indicated that he was considering the idea.  How very extraordinary!  My mind is constantly recalled to that embrace, something I had never dared hope to feel.  Emotions long buried assail my mind.  It is a good thing I have no active case at the moment, for I fear I would be of little use to anyone at this time.   For truly now I am lost.  Do they know they hold my very life in their hands?  I cannot pressure Watson; if he comes to this, he must do so of his own free will, with the understanding of his wife.  It occurs to me to wonder what role she plays in this?  She finds it intriguing – will he talk to her in their marriage bed about what we two do elsewhere?  From what he has told me, she is a most enthusiastic partner in their lovemaking, unlike most ladies of current society are supposed to behave.  Could she be so wanton as to want to join us?  If so, could I? 

And what if they decide no?  Could I go on, knowing that Watson knows of my desires and rejects me?  He assures me our friendship would remain regardless.  Would friendship be enough?  And now that the dam has been broken, could I stuff these unwanted emotions and desires back into their cage?

For now I can but wait and wonder.  Before he left, Watson invited me to join them this week-end to discuss the matter further.  Three days hence.  I am not sure my nerves can stand it.  My first thought is to reach for the cocaine, to lose myself in its embrace, let the days pass all but unnoticed.  But I can almost hear the reproach in Watson's voice, begging me not to.  I know he is correct, my body pays a high price for those few hours of oblivion.  For him, I will forego it for now.  When I return home, if they have rejected me, then I will give myself over to oblivion.  For now, the violin will have to be my solace.

For hours that night, I played.  Soft, romantic melodies, sweet seduction.  After a while I found my mind wandering where I had forbid it to go.  Images of my dear Watson filled my mind.  The feel of his skin beneath my fingers and lips was as silk.  His fingers hesitantly returned my caresses as we slowly unclothed each other.  The first touch of our lips was like an electric current running through my body, such sweet ecstasy.  Finally, I pulled away the last of his clothing, revealing his swollen manhood, hard and eager for my touch. 

It was too much for me to bear; I cast the violin aside and frantically tore at my trousers, freeing my own member.  As my mind pictured my hand on Watson's prick, in reality it grasped my own, and in short order I shuddered with release.  For a goodly while, I did not move, paralyzed by the power of what should have been a simple bodily function.  No, I realized, this genie would not be put back into the bottle now.  For good or ill, it was out.  Now all my hope lay in the hands of my dearest friend.

Chapter Four: Together