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Inspector Lestrade crouched as he made his way
slowly through the attic of the inn. He peered into each of the room's
ventilation grates as he shuffled through the attic, hoping to identify the
suite in which his quarry, Mr. Louis Smith, was hiding.
Louis Smith had
killed his wife's lover a week prior, and was now threatening his wife. After
days of fruitless searching, Lestrade finally sought the assistance of Sherlock
Holmes, who tracked the murderer to this windswept corner of Devon.
Lestrade
had gambled that evening that Smith would be staying at the region's only inn.
The weather outside was blustery and the sky was dark. It would be hard for
Smith to make his move in such inclement circumstances.
Most of the rooms
were empty this time of the year, but the Inspector crouched and peered into
each grate systematically, hoping to catch a glimpse of the murderer and arrest
him before Sherlock Holmes beat him to it in the morning.
Even as he
thought of the man, he heard Holmes' voice below. Crouching low over the grate,
Lestrade was able to spy into the bathroom adjoining the room Sherlock Holmes
and Dr. John Watson had reserved for the night.
Both men were in the
bathroom, talking to each other as the room filled with steam from the hot bath.
Lestrade was about to leave them and move to the next room, when he heard his
name.
“Lestrade made a terrible blunder this evening, leaving only one
constable posted at Julia Smith's house,” Holmes said. His smug voice and cocky
posture infuriated Lestrade.
“But Holmes, surely Smith won't make any
attempts in this darkness and rain,” Watson said. Watson tugged at his tie and
pulled it off, along with his collar and cuffs. “Lestrade is being
practical.”
“Hah!” Holmes shook his head. “Lestrade still thinks that
Smith is staying in this inn. I'll wager the fool is looking for Smith's room as
we speak.”
Lestrade's rage flared. He wanted to shout down to them and
defend his reasoning, but he realized he would be caught spying if he did so.
Watson continued to undress, seemingly undisturbed by Holmes' presence
in the bathroom. Watson quickly removed his waistcoat, shirt, and socks, and was
unfastening his trousers as he spoke again.
“Lestrade didn't say anything
about Smith staying here.”
“No,” Holmes said. He leaned against the
closed door of the bathroom. “He wants to surprise us, you see.”
Watson
chuckled at that, and then removed his trousers and undergarments. Lestrade was
shocked at Watson's unabashed nudity in front of Holmes, but Watson did not
linger naked for long. He quickly slipped into the hot water of the tub, sighing
dramatically.
“Oh, its lovely Holmes, just what my bones
needed.”
Holmes gave him a brief smile. “Good.”
Lestrade was
still fuming inside, wondering how Holmes could have known of his plan, and
where Smith was if indeed Holmes was correct, when suddenly, Holmes himself
started to undress.
Lestrade watched, too shocked to be ashamed at his
invasion of their privacy. Holmes continued to prattle on about the case.
Lestrade was torn between not wanting to see any more of what was happening in
that bathroom, and wanting to find out what clues he had missed in the hunt for
Smith, and whether he could still save face in front of his rival
detective.
If Smith wasn't staying at the inn, then he would be coming by
the manor later to visit his estranged wife. Lestrade's charge was still in
danger. And one constable at the manor would not be enough.
Lestrade
stood slowly. He planned on leaving the attic, when he heard the sound of
splashing and looked down to see Holmes climb into the tub with
Watson.
He stared.
It couldn't be.
It was obscene! Two
grown men, sharing a tub together?
Holmes and Watson continued to chatter
away like they were smoking pipes around their dining room table. Neither seemed
at all surprised by the situation, or, for that matter, aroused. This was not
the scene of two lovers coupling. It was as if they were just friends, sharing a
bath together.
Lestrade crouched again, suddenly
fascinated.
Holmes and Watson's dialogue quieted down as they both sank
deeper into the hot water, closing their eyes. Their legs mingled together in
the water casually, with familiarity. It was as if they had sat this way
together in cramped tubs for years. They seemed to know how to make their lanky
bodies fit. Watson leaned back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes,
and Holmes dipped deeper into the water and plunged his head under. He began to
wash his hair, all the while berating Lestrade and Scotland Yard for its
stupidity.
Lestrade thought that maybe there was nothing unseemly in this
strange shared bath. The two men had been roommates for years, after all – maybe
they developed a habit of sharing baths to save on water? Perhaps it was
harmless. Indeed, it seemed innocent, the two of them laughing and talking about
the case, apparently heedless of the fact that they were both stark naked under
the water.
Lestrade almost succeeded in convincing himself there was
nothing queer, until Holmes cleared his throat. “Do you want me to wash your
back, John?”
In all his years of knowing Holmes and Dr. Watson, Lestrade
had never once heard Holmes refer to Watson by his Christian name. Now, with
sleepy grace, Watson shifted in the tub, settling between Holmes' spread legs to
lean back against his friend.
Holmes took up a sponge and began slowly
washing Watson's back. Their knees popped out of the water together. Watson'
hands rubbed Holmes' knees casually.
“I almost feel bad for Lestrade,”
Watson said. He yawned. “He is trying so hard to outsmart you this
time.”
Holmes snorted. “He should concentrate on the case, and not me.”
Once again, Lestrade tried to believe that this was all just a friendly
exchange. Neither of the men took any physical action other than those
pertaining to grooming. Granted, Watson was nestled between Holmes' legs,
putting his body in direct contact with Holmes' groin. And granted, Holmes was
taking his time washing Watson's back, caressing him softly and
slowly.
And then all of Lestrade's desperate efforts to portray the scene
as innocent fled as Holmes tilted his head slightly and kissed the back of
Watson's neck.
“Oh, that's nice,” Watson said. He leaned back and Holmes
wrapped his arms around Watson's chest, kissing his shoulder
slowly.
“This rain must be aggravating your wound today,” Holmes said
quietly, kissing the fierce, white scar tissue of Watson's shoulder.
If
Watson was aggravated, he didn't show it. He leaned back further into Holmes'
ministrations. “Nothing a hot bath and your touch can't cure.”
Holmes
smiled. Lestrade was astonished to see something in that smile he had never
before witnessed in Holmes' face. There was a softness that radiated pure
happiness. Those gray eyes, so sharp and calculating, so cold when they turned
to everyone else, were now wide and bright and joyful, and they looked upon the
doctor with what Lestrade could only describe as absolute
devotion.
Watson shifted once more, turning to face Holmes. He reached
his arms around Holmes and the two began to kiss. It was a slow, lazy kiss, as
if they had all the time in the world, as if there was nothing wrong with two
men behaving this way. Holmes licked at Watson's lips, and then put his hands on
the back of Watson's head and pushed him further into his own mouth. Their kiss
grew in intensity. They clutched each other in the water, kissing deeply and
quietly.
Lestrade looked away. His mind raced. All these years. He had
never known. He, a police inspector, and he had been consulting with criminals
the entire time.
Lestrade knew that it was his duty, to his profession
and his country, to see these men punished for their crime. The Criminal Law
Amendment Act had not been passed on a whim.
But as he hunched in the
darkness of the attic, Lestrade realized that he could never act upon the law.
For it would take his greatest resource away from him.
Sherlock Holmes
had made Lestrade's career. This was not just flattery. Lestrade knew it to be
true, and he couldn't even count the number of times that Holmes had handed the
solution to some mystery to him, without taking any credit for
himself.
Where would Lestrade be if Holmes was in prison?
Even
now, in hushed tones in the bathroom, Lestrade heard Holmes' voice, describing
his plan to get Lestrade out of trouble once more.
“Shouldn't we be
worried… about Mrs. Smith?” Watson's voice had gone husky. His eyes were closed
as he leaned forward into Holmes' soft kisses.
Holmes smiled softly. “I
already sent her a telegram this afternoon. She's staying in town for the night,
with her sister. She should be quite safe, for the moment at
least.”
Watson laughed and wrapped his arms around Holmes tighter. “You
thought of everything, haven't you?”
The two of them kissed again, and
then Holmes ran his hands through Watson's damp hair, smiling
serenely.
“I'd be lost without you,” Watson said quietly.
Lestrade
stood slowly, his legs complaining after being cramped in a crouched position
for so long. He made his way down the rest of the attic, searching for Mr.
Smith, but knowing already that he was not going to find him.
After all,
Sherlock Holmes was almost never wrong.
And as Lestrade climbed down the
narrow ladder and re-emerged in the hotel hallway, he made his decision. He
would leave the two lovers alone.
There was nothing in Holmes or in
Watson that had ever led Lestrade to believe them to be depraved. Not before
this revelation, and not even now. They did not have the demeanor of men who
frequented whore houses, let alone the countenance of molesters.
And
Lestrade realized that, if for the last ten years, they had managed to fool him,
they could probably continue for the rest of their lives and fool everyone else
as well.
Besides. He would be lost without Holmes as
well.
“Sir?”
Constable Williams stood beside Lestrade and nodded.
“Did you find anything of interest, sir?” the constable asked.
Lestrade
smiled to himself. “No. Nothing at all.” For some reason, Holmes' insults to
Lestrade's intellect suddenly made Lestrade laugh.
Williams looked
puzzled. “Sir?”
Lestrade laughed once more, shaking his head. “Mr. Smith
is not in the inn, Williams.”
Lestrade made his way towards his own
rooms, but stopped suddenly. “Oh, and Williams? Double the guard on the manor at
once, will you?”
“Double the guard?” Williams asked skeptically.
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.” Lestrade withdrew with a smile.
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