The Curious Case of Dr. Watson
by Lyrical Soul

Chapter Thirteen

After a few moments of silence, with only the clap of the horses' hooves on the ground, I chance a look at Holmes, who is pressed into the corner of the cab, arms folded across his chest. He hasn't spoken a word, save to give directions to the driver, and I fear my ignorance of Penelope's plans may have destroyed my chance at fulfilling my long-time dream of Holmes and I. That I was so blind to her scheme is simply another failure on my part to use his methods, and surely he has grown weary of my slowness.

A few more moments of silence pass, and I can take it no longer. "Holmes..." I pause hesitantly, then plunge on. "I know I have disappointed you again…"

He turns to me, and gives me a searching look. "Whatever do you mean, Watson?"

"You are uncommonly silent, leaving me to assume that the intimate details of my dealings with Mrs. Langstrom, coupled with the knowledge that I have once again failed to use your methods of analysis and deduction, have disappointed you."

"Ha!" A small smile plays about his lips. "Is that what you're thinking? You should refrain from doing so, Doctor, as it seems to have addled your mind." He moves as quickly as I've ever seen, and in an instant, his mouth is pressed to mine.

I gasp at his boldness, and he takes advantage, sliding his tongue in my mouth, kissing me roughly. Before I can overcome my shock and respond properly, he pulls away and moves back to the corner of the cab.

"That is my train of thought, Watson," he says, glancing out of the window. "If you do not wish to find yourself ravished in this cab, in full view of the throng on this road, I suggest you sit quietly until we reach our destination."

My face is warm, and I feel a definite stirring in my trousers. "I see. Ah… might I ask where we are going?" I gesture to the road. "This most certainly isn't the way to Baker Street."

He turns to me, and the sensual haze in his eyes is unmistakable. "There are things I wish to experience with you, Watson. Things that will require privacy. And thicker walls than the ones at our lodgings."

I swallow hard at the implication of his words. "I see."

"Since your reputation precedes you, and such intimacies would take upwards of three hours, I should assume that during that time, we would be overcome by the... spirit of the game. I do not think Mrs. Hudson would be likely to mistake my shouting your name in a passionate manner for anything other than exactly that."

"Indeed." I warmly at him, showing my great affection for him. "Your words are rather arousing, Holmes. Are we far from our destination?"

"In terms of time and miles, no," he says. "But already, it seems like an eternity. You have stirred feelings in me I thought long dead, Watson. I swear to you that I cannot quell the notion of…" He sighs heavily, and presses his lips together. "No more words, Watson. Please."

I am silent for the remainder of the journey.

***

The cab stops in an alley in a rather seedy part of town. Watson and I alight from the cab, and I hand the driver a few coins. "This way, my friend." I take his arm and set off through a maze of hidden passages and doors until we come to a heavily scratched wooden door. I take out my keys, and unlock the door. Ushering Watson in ahead of me, I look around outside before closing the door and locking it behind me.

Watson is standing in the middle of the room, hat in hand, looking at the fancy furnishings with trepidation.

"It was not my intention to impose on you," I say, taking off my hat and coat, and tossing them aside, "but I took the liberty of having Michael bring 'round a change of clothing and a few personal items for you."

He nods in acknowledgment, but remains silent.

"And I also had Mrs. Hudson make a picnic for us. Nothing elaborate – merely some cold meats, bread, cheese, and a few of her mince tarts you're so fond of. There's a bottle of port, and…" I trail off at his uncommon bout of silence. He is standing in the middle of the room, staring as though he's seen something distasteful. I clear my throat, feeling nervous for the first time since this affair started. "Watson… are you… is something amiss?"

He turns his solemn blue gaze to me. "What is this place, Holmes? It is too well appointed to merely be one of your occasional bolt-holes. It is like an oasis in the desert, with its Turkey rugs, elegant furnishings, fine cigars, and… overall cleanliness."

Though I am pleased at his astute observations, I frown. "I do not understand."

"I've been to a few of your hiding places over the years, and none of them are such as this. Is this your… den of iniquity, Holmes? A place where you bring your lovers?"

"My…?" I laugh loudly at that. "I have had no lover in the longest time, Watson. And this place is well-appointed because there are times that, though my disguise might be rough and crude, I prefer to sleep in a bed without mites and rats nipping at my person. I have never brought another person here. Other than young Michael, you are the only one who knows of its existence."

"Ah." He still does not move, and his expression is still one of skepticism. "How would you define 'the longest time', Holmes?"

Though hardly an insult, I cannot help but take it as such. I feel my spine stiffen, and reflexively, my voice takes on its best haughty tone. "Given the fact that I've recently learned more of your intimate dealings than I wanted, Watson, you are hardly in a position to ask that question." I turn away from him, and busy myself with opening the port. This, I think bitterly, is why I do not entangle myself with the softer emotions.

Watson's strong hand clasps my shoulder. "I meant no offence, Holmes," he says softly. "I am rather surprised that you…" He sighs, and places his arms about my waist. "I am jealous."

I set the bottle aside and lean back against him. "You have no cause to be, old fellow. If you should but use my methods, the answer you seek would be apparent."

He is quiet for a moment, then he laughs. "That long, indeed?"

"Yes."

"What do you propose to do about it, then?" His tone is playful and teasing.

I turn to face him. He is rather handsome, and it is my sincere wish to feel that glorious moustache in various places on my person. Leaning in, I kiss him again.

Like the finest cognac, are Watson's lips. To be savoured slowly, a bit at a time, drinking in my fill as I please. I deepen the kiss, and pull him closer to me, delighting that I can make him groan so.

Seemingly of their own volition, my hands burrow under the ends of his waistcoat, tugging at his shirt. I release him from our kiss, and move against him in a frenzy of need and want. "I need this off, Watson. I want to touch you." I am amazed at how such a simple act as kissing could ignite such raging passions in me.

He takes my hands in his and presses them to his mouth, calming me. "I need you to do so also, Holmes, but not just yet. You will have to pace yourself. Slow down."

"Watson…" I moan again, and clasp my hand on the back of his neck. "I cannot."

"You must," he says firmly.

I look at him, taking in the solemn gaze. "You're having second thoughts?"

"Not at all," he laughs.

"You haven't… this is… an unprecedented, ah, occurrence for you?" I hesitate to ask, but it is pertinent if we are to go any further. And while not necessarily new to me, it has been quite some time since I've indulged in the rougher passions.

"I have indulged a few times in my younger days," he says shyly, "but not in the past five years or so. But I have thought of it often. Especially since we began sharing rooms. I never thought those dreams could become reality…though having them was a remarkably splendid diversion at times."

"Ah." I smile at the thought of Watson taking matters to hand whilst thinking of me.

"But," he continues, "as much as I should welcome your passion, I have seen your, ah, assets, Holmes. It would be best for us to proceed with caution."

My face goes warm at the flattery, and at the fact that my seeming lover of the fair sex flat-mate has been giving surreptitious glances to my intimate parts without me being none the wiser. Analysis and deduction, indeed. "My blushes, Watson!"

"Indeed," he responds, pulling away from me. "And I am hungry. If one is going to indulge in such vigorous activities, one must have sustenance."

"Then let us do so, my dear fellow," I say. "But first…" I yank him forward, and kiss him.

He responds beautifully, his mouth warm and firm against mine. The hot slide of his tongue, and the more brazen press of his hardening flesh against me creates a yearning deep inside me, and I clutch at him, mindlessly seeking to bare his skin to my eyes, to touch him, to lie with him on the soft comfort of the bed and… I break away from the kiss and rest my head on his shoulder. "Food, Watson."

He blinks, and moves his hands away from me. "What?"

"You were speaking of eating."

"So I was." His hands are back at my waist, tugging at the fastenings of my trousers.

I still his hands. "Mince tarts, Watson."

He evades my grip and slips a hand inside my drawers, making me gasp with desire. "Yes," he says silkily. "You are warm here." His hand tightens around me. "And enticingly firm."

"Watson." I free myself from his grasp – gingerly, of course, and take a step back. "You spoke of eating."

"I am now mindless with need, Sherlock Holmes. Even as untrained as you are in the ways of passions, you must know what that means."

"I do. But I am in complete agreement with your earlier thoughts that we must proceed with caution. And I could do with a bit of food myself. I haven't eaten since yesterday."

He frowns, and as I'd hoped, the caring doctor in him comes to the forefront. "Holmes…"

"An easy remedy would be for us to take advantage of the lovely repast Mrs. Hudson packed for us."

"Mince tarts?"

"As I said."

"Wonderful." He gives me a quick kiss that leaves me breathless and once again, shaking with need.

When I open my eyes again, he is seated at the table, unpacking our goods.

 
Chapter Fourteen