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Or What You Will	By : JDDodger5 Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 4292 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter List
- 1-Or What You Will
- 1
NOTE: I am aware that there are many who believe that Watson had a wife prior to Mary Morstan and that the Sign of the Four occurred after Scandal in Bohemia. I personally care to disagree, and therefore Watson refers to Mary as his wife in this story.

***

I slept at Baker Street that night…

We stepped inside out of the night air, the scent of the burning street lamps lingering in the hallway as we climbed up the stairs. Upon entering the flat, Holmes made immediately for his room. As he had already explained the evening’s occurrences to me, I assumed that he was to turn in for the night. I thought to myself that it was likely for the best.

“I suppose I’ll just be going then, Holmes.”

“Nonsense, Watson”, he called from his bedroom. “I am merely removing my deceptive vicar’s garb. ‘And I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown’. Ha!”

I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face. How I had missed the excitement that came upon my friend as he closed in upon a case. How I had missed the excitement I felt in sharing his triumphs.

Holmes returned sans costume and settled himself into the arm-chair. “Twelfth Night: one of the bard’s greatest masterpieces and a personal favorite of mine. Do you know why, Watson?”

“I would imagine that it is because the ‘twelfth night’ happens to be your birthday.”

Holmes clapped his hands together and smiled. “Well done! However, that is hardly the only reason. Are you familiar with the work?”

“I am familiar, though I confess that I have not read it in quite some time.”

“I don’t doubt it; you’ve had a busy time of it! I should imagine between marrying and starting a new practice you would find yourself with little free reading time.” Holmes’ smile faltered briefly before he stood suddenly and retrieved the slipper containing his tobacco. He made quick work of filling and lighting his pipe before resettling into his arm-chair.

“The play, if you recall, is one based upon trickery, disguise and secrets; which of course I find most intriguing. Letters from mysterious persons, women passing themselves off as men, clowns passing for priests. And in the end, all is revealed. Mystery solved! If only it were so simple in actual practice.” Holmes gave me a knowing smile.

“Of course; because you so frequently struggle in ‘actual practice’.”

“It was always much easier when you were around.” Again, my friend’s smile flickered like the flame of a candle before rekindling. “I am glad you have joined me for this latest adventure. I have quite missed your assistance.”

I returned his smile. “I’ve missed assisting.” I had missed it. I had missed him.

There was a long pause in which neither of us spoke; yet our eyes never strayed from one another’s. His smile had faded and he looked on me with mild curiosity as though he were weighing his thoughts. I could feel a deep blush rising to my cheeks under his scrutiny, yet I could not look away.

“It is rather late, Watson. Perhaps you had better stay here tonight.”

I had been both hoping for and dreading this offer. Hoping for it because I thought it would never come and dreading it because I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to refuse it if it did. And here it was; and I couldn’t refuse. I nodded my agreement, unable to utter a single word.

Holmes nodded in return and rose from his arm-chair. There was an obvious hesitance in his movements, which seemed so aberrant in such a decisive man. He stopped within a stride or two from where I sat; seemingly unable to close the gap between the two of us. He was leaving the final decision up to me.

I rose from my chair; my heart pounding so hard within my breast that I feared possible collapse. Every nerve in my body seemed to scream for this moment and I could not deny it any longer. I ignored the quavering of my heart and strode forward resolutely. We stood with barely a hair’s breadth between us; our eyes focused upon on another.

I placed one hand on his neck and one upon his lower back and pulled him into an embrace. The sensation I felt as I pulled him into my arms must have been what it feels like to gasp for air after nearly drowning. For the first time in ages, I felt the weight lift from my chest and I could breathe. Holmes quickly wrapped his thin arms around my torso and rested his forehead against mine.

I don’t know how long we remained like this; holding each other and breathing each other in before our lips met in a tentative kiss. This simple act seemed to light a fire within the both of us; for it was soon not enough. Our hands seemed to rove over one another of their own accord as our lips sought any expanse of exposed skin they could lay claim to. As we continued, it occurred to me that we were standing in front of the open, street-side window; but I could not seem to care less. All I could care about was the man in my arms and things he was making me feel.

We clung to each other, our need becoming more and more apparent with every passing second. I wrapped both of my arms around Holmes’ waist and brought his narrow hips forward against mine. I thrilled at the gasp that this contact elicited in my friend.

Using his extra height; Holmes pressed his mouth against mine in a searing; blood-boiling kiss. His hands ran through my hair, down the side of my face, along my shoulders, arms, back, anywhere they could find purchase. He broke the kiss suddenly and whispered harshly into my ear.

“I think we ought to retire to the bedroom.” He looked over my shoulder towards the window. I released my arms from around his waist and took one of his hands in mine as we exited the parlour.

Upon entering Holmes’ bedroom, we made quick work of divesting one another of any article of clothing. Even in my fondest recollections, nothing could truly compare to the actual sight of Holmes nude and wanting. He reached out a hand and brushed over the scar on my left shoulder from my time in Afghanistan. He pressed his lips to the scar and whispered against my marred skin.

“I have missed every part of you. Every freckle, every muscles, every scar. And I intend to revisit every single one.”

We lay down on the bed together and began exploring each other’s bodies with our eyes, hands and mouths. He kissed every scar on my body; including the wound on my upper thigh where he seemed to lavish the most attention. His lips trailed slowly from my upper thigh to my erection. I gasped as he brought me into his mouth; his cheeks hollowing as he pulled his lips up my length. The swirl of his tongue over my aching flesh made me shudder and writhe; my fists clenching and unclenching in the bed sheets.

Holmes continued his ministrations for what seemed like forever. He repeatedly brought me to the edge of climax only to stop a moment before I could find my release. After the fourth or fifth repeat of this cycle, Holmes pulled away from my member, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with an almost feral hunger. He was quivering with need. I sat up and guided him to lie on his back. He sprawled wantonly across the sheets, his eyes pleading with me to take him.

I retrieved the vial of oil that I knew would be in the bedside drawer and poured some of its contents into my hand before running my fingers down his lean torso, along his jutting hip bone, along his engorged length, and finally down between his legs. Holmes’ back arched off of the bed as his eyelids fluttered beautifully. I could feel him striving to relax around my fingers as I prepared him. Though I had desired to take him fully from the moment we had embraced, I would not cause pain to my dearest friend. My lover.

I continued to press gently into Holmes, seeking out the sensitive gland inside of him that I knew from experience made him writhe in pleasure. He moaned quietly and muttered in French under his breath as I worked my fingers inside of him. As I felt the tension in him ease, I withdrew my hand slowly and placed a gentle kiss against his temple before inquiring if he was ready. He nodded in response and pulled me into quick, breathy kiss.

I rolled over onto my back and Holmes’ long, graceful fingers soon began to massage my engorged flesh with a liberal amount of the oil from his drawer. I wrapped my hand around his and thrust up into his fist. After a minute, Holmes released my member and replaced the oil on his dresser before moving to straddle me. He placed one hand upon my chest while the other guided me into his tight entrance.

We gasped simultaneously as he lowered himself onto me; sheathing my entire length inside of him. We waited, unmoving, as we both readjusted to this sensation we had once known so well. After a few moments, both of Holmes’ hands found placement on the headboard and he began circling his hips slowly; almost effeminately. I rocked my hips up, matching his slow, steady rhythm.

I placed a hand on either of his hips and pulled him down against me as I thrust into him. Holmes’ head lolled back as he held in a cry that would most certainly have awoken Mrs. Hudson. His head dropped forward onto his chest and his beautiful, gray eyes met mine. I tried to convey to him with my eyes all the things that I could not find words for. Things like how handsome he looked; how truly amazing he felt; how contented I felt just being near him. How much I had missed him.

It wasn’t long before we were writhing against one another feverishly, seeking out our arousal’s completion. I took him in my hand in time with my thrusts, and brought my free hand to his flushed cheek; needing to touch his gorgeous face. He soon tensed around me and cried out my name quietly. The shuddering of his body soon brought me to my climax and I pulled him to my chest as I released inside of him.

When all was said and done we lay together, panting in each other’s arms in Holmes’ bed. His head rested on my chest, and one long, wiry leg wrapped around my own. My hand brushed through his short black hair; my fingers catching slightly at his hairline where there still remained some of the now dried fake blood he had employed earlier that evening in his ruse. It seemed like forever since we had found ourselves like this. It had been quite some time; and not unintentionally so.

“Is this why you haven’t been around in so long?”

There have been times I would have sworn that my friend was a mind reader, though hardly more than in that moment. The slightest change in posture; the smallest twinge or tick and he could deduce the thoughts running through the mind of almost any man. I suppose that the intimacy of our relationship made me an exceptionally easy read.

“Yes.”

Since the beginning of my marriage I had essentially severed ties with this man that I now held to my heart when I had discovered that my nuptials had not put an end to my longing for him. I had waited; hoping that this need would have dissipated in time. As I had walked down Baker Street the previous evening, I thought that perhaps it had been long enough; that my path taking me down this familiar street was a sign that I could renew my friendship without my desires running away with me.

By the end of the night prior, I had realized how wrong I was. Despite the extravagant attire and formidable stature of our noble client; I had found myself unable to keep my eyes from roving over what should have been the much less eye-catching form of my dear friend. The way he lounged in his chair; his fingers steepled as he thought over the details he was being given. His long legs; his pale skin in the lamplight; the excitement that flashed in his eyes as the thrill of the case came upon him. When he bade me return the next day and I felt my stomach fill with butterflies at the thought of seeing him again; at the thought of knowing he desired my return; I knew I was lost.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.” Holmes raised his head from my chest and caught my eye. One thin, pale hand came to rest upon my chest as he leaned onto his other arm. “If this is what has been keeping you away…”

I sighed and shook my head. “Perhaps you could resist this, but not me. You’ve always been so much stronger than I. You’ve never…needed this like I do.

“I love Mary; I love my wife. I don’t want to hurt her. But there are things that you make me feel and these feelings are singular to you; things that no woman could ever make me feel. Things that I can’t resist when I’m around you. Even if you and I never shared a bed again; I would find myself longing for you, wanting to be around you and in turn denying her. I can’t do that.”

Holmes remained staring off somewhere in the side of the room; refusing to make eye contact with me as he spoke though my eyes remained trained on his face. He was withdrawing into his analytical mind; avoiding the possibility of an extended moment of emotional introspection. I knew this avoidance of his well.

“It’s not uncommon. I’ve investigated crimes in the White Chapel district and the number of times I’ve seen men with wedding bands and the obvious trappings of married life calling upon the young street men is incalculable. Many of these men clearly have consistent intimacy with their spouses and yet they still seek out these other pleasures.”

“How could you possibly know that these men are bedding their wives on a regular basis?”

Holmes looked back towards me. “Must you really ask?” He cocked his head slightly and raised a questioning eyebrow. Apparently his keen observations were keener than even I had imagined. He continued to describe his conclusions.

“These men manage, despite a lack of attraction, to please their wives.”

“I can’t imagine there is a complete lack of attraction if they are able to perform.”

“My dear Watson, I assure you that were it necessary, with the proper thought and motivation, even I could manage to rise to such an occasion. This in spite of the fact that the thought of relations with a woman are abhorrent to me.”

I found myself displeased by the implications of what Holmes was saying. “And what do you think would be the ‘necessary motivation’ for these men?”

“I would think that would be obvious: a desire to avoid suspicion of their deviancy. An understandable desire of course,” again Holmes looked away from me, “society is hardly tolerant of such leanings.”

“So it is your belief that I am not in the least attracted to my wife and that my marriage arose out of a desire to…fit in?”

Holmes removed his hand from my chest and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

I sat up and crossed by arms over my bare chest; a feeling of indignation rising within me. “You didn’t have to. How often have you come to a profound conclusion about a case on which you are working based solely upon a similar incident from another crime? Do not try to pretend that you have not come to a similar conclusion about me.”

“You’re right! I have!” I found myself taken aback as Holmes sat up suddenly, his hands gesturing emphatically. “You are just like those men who sate themselves in White Chapel.” A deep, mirthless chuckle sounded in his throat. “And I am your prostitute. You just don’t have to pay for me.”

Images of Mary’s concerned glances when I would become distracted by thoughts of my former lover came suddenly to my mind. That sad, knowing look she had in those moments; another mind reader, that one. Thoughts of how difficult it was to stay away; to completely give up my life on Baker Street. To start anew when all I had wanted was to stay.

“Believe me, Holmes. I pay for you.”

“And yet I receive no such payment.”

“Nonsense!” I turned Holmes’ face towards me; making him look me in the eye. “You speak as though you get absolutely nothing out of this. When in fact it would seem to be exactly the sort of thing you would look for. Intimacy that denies all emotional ties; sex without the pesky risk of having to sustain an emotional relationship. For such emotions would certainly only be a detriment to the great Sherlock Holmes!”

Holmes looked stricken as I continued.

“And for once your use of parallel circumstances has failed you. I did not marry to avoid being outcast. A desire to avoid persecution had nothing to do with my decision.”

I saw the familiar light of realization dawn in my friend’s eyes but it was not accompanied by his usual excitement and pleasure at reaching his conclusion. There was no triumph in this solution. I waited for him to spout his conclusion, but he seemed at a loss for words. And for the first time in our relationship, I explained the finale of a mystery to him.

“The love I have for you is deeper than any I could have for a woman. While I strongly believe that you share these feelings, it is immaterial as you would never admit to them. I may not love Mary as I do you; but I do love her. And she loves me in return. That is why I left. That is why I married. I could not continue to ignore the love that she was so willing to give.”

Holmes nodded his understanding as he stared down at his lap. After a moment his shoulders shook with the repression of yet another mirthless laugh. “It’s funny that we were discussing Twelfth Night earlier. There was always something about it that I never understood until just now. In the end of the play, Orsino demonstrates the most sudden shift in affection from Olivia to Viola when not minutes before he had described Olivia’s footfalls as heaven on earth.”

He looked at me, his gray eyes as lifeless as when he would come down after one if his cocaine highs. “It was true that Orsino cared for Viola; but he still clung to the hope that Olivia would be his. But in the end he took to wife the woman who had sworn she would never ‘love another like to him’. I understand now.” He looked down at his lap and nodded again.

“If I recall correctly, at the conclusion of the play, Orsino and Olivia were able to remain friends.”

Holmes nodded solemnly. “But if I recall correctly, you said not five minutes ago that that would never be possible between us; that you would never be able to suppress your desires.”

“I think it is safe to say that a great deal has changed within the last five minutes.” I took a moment to clarify my thoughts before proceeding. “You now know why it is that I left. I admit that I had often imagined that I would confess my reason to you and you would, in return, reciprocate the love I’ve held for you since early in our friendship. But that is not to be, is it?”

“I can’t.” He caught my eye fleetingly and then stared back down at his lap. “I can’t.” It was strange, the mix of emotions that filled me in that moment. There was a sinking feeling deep in my chest that nearly brought me to tears. And yet it felt almost like a sigh of relief; a long sought conclusion.

“It wasn’t until Orsino discovered that Olivia was married and could never return his affections that he could befriend her. It wasn’t until she had denied his hope once and for all that they could move forward in friendship. As you have just now. Perhaps there is something to that.”

“I see you have adopted my use of parallel circumstances to achieve a conclusion. Though admittedly it is faulty reasoning to do so based upon a work of fiction.”

I chuckled softly. “I think we might be alright in this instance. Shakespeare was a rather intelligent fellow.” Holmes laughed softly in response and nodded.

“Does this mean that I’ll be getting my Boswell back?” He looked up slowly not quite meeting my eyes; an obvious hesitance in his glance.

“It will take some time, but I imagine that you will. I will need your promise that this-“I gestured between the two of us, “will never happen again. I cannot have you rekindling any sort of hope within me. Tonight must be the last time. Can you agree to that?”

Holmes finally reestablished eye contact with me. “If it means regaining my dearest friend; you have my word.” It was done; oath sworn.

“I’ll stay here tonight and help you resolve your current case. After that I will take some time to allow both myself and Mary to adjust to the thought of my return to working with you.” I made sure to look him in the eye before continuing. “But I will return.”

“And I will look forward to it.” He paused for a moment. “Would you prefer that I retire to the guest room for tonight?” Holmes remained seated on the bed, his face betraying no emotion.

“No. Just for tonight, no.” I lay back on the bed and pulled Holmes down into my arms. His head resettled on my chest, over my heart. It wasn’t long until the steadiness of his breathing told me that he was asleep. I soon followed, falling into a gentle, cathartic sleep.

After the conclusion of “A Scandal in Bohemia” as I came to call it, I waited almost a month to rejoin my friend in his adventures on Baker Street. There has proven to be difficult times between us; some close calls as it were, but my friend has been true to his word and our partnership has sustained thus far unmarred. We shall see how our story plays out. For as Shakespeare said, “What’s to come is still unsure.”
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Or What You Will