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The Letter	By : Spike119 Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 6633 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

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I awoke in a dank cell in the Bow Street station, lying uncomfortably on a cold stone bench. Inspector Lestrade straddled a chair beside me, smoking a cigarette, an amused smile curling his lips.

“You care to tell me what happened?” said he.

I sat up, rubbing my head. “It depends upon the charges.”

Lestrade chuckled quietly. “There’s no charges laid against you. That Fischer fellow is well-known to us. He’s always starting bar fights. So what did he say to you?”

“Nothing that should have warranted my reaction,” I admitted, taking the cigarette Lestrade now offered.

“So it had something to do with that letter,” Lestrade persisted.

I hung my head, blushing furiously. The detective laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

“Have I ever told you about my brother George?” he said quietly.

I looked at Lestrade dumbly, a worm of fear eating into my heart. This non-sequitur might lead anywhere; a police cell was not the place I wished to discuss my love for Sherlock Holmes.

The little professional divined my nervousness, and patted my shoulder kindly. “George was special – a little different, but a kind, gentle, soul. He sang in the church choir every Sunday, and was always helpful and cheerful, no matter what. Then he met Alan.” He paused significantly, tapping the ash from his cigarette before continuing. “Alan was another gentle soul, and their friendship was a beautiful thing. They went everywhere together, boating and fishing, helping the old folks of the parish – they even built a tree-house for the children of the neighbourhood. They had a very … close … relationship.”

I said nothing, staring down at the flagstones of the cell.

“I knew that there was more than friendship between them,” Lestrade continued, “but they were happy together, and so I let them be. I’m not a wise man, but it seems to me that if God is love, than love cannot be wrong. Jesus bade us do no harm and help where you can, and that’s exactly the way Alan and George lived, every day. And then, when …” he took a deep breath, stubbing out his cigarette on the cold stone wall. “After they were found out, the same folks they’d helped for years branded them ‘perverts’ and ‘deviants,’ with not a single voice raised in their defence. The villagers who had benefited from George and Alan’s kindness and generosity ganged together and burned down the tree-house, calling it the ‘fairy castle.’ I was shipped away to boarding-school, of course, without the chance even to say goodbye.” His voice broke slightly. “I don’t know what became of Alan, but George … George went home, took father’s gun, and then …”

I watched numbly as Lestrade wiped away a single tear.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” said he eventually. “Love shouldn’t be a crime.”

I nodded in silent agreement.

Lestrade patted his pockets theatrically. “I seem to have left my badge back at my desk,” he told me. “Therefore, I must caution you that anything you say will be promptly forgotten.”

I smiled despite myself. “What did Holmes tell you?” I asked.

“Nothing. As soon as you left, he threw me out without a word of explanation.”

“But then how did you –”

“Look,” said Lestrade, “I don’t know what this current spat is about, but you two have been together too long to let whatever it is tear you apart. Every couple has these rough patches.”

I looked at him sharply. “What in the devil do you mean by that?”

Lestrade arched an eyebrow. “I’d like you to consider,” said he sternly, “that I have known you both for well over a decade. I know that you and Holmes are lovers.”

This was really too much. I threw back my head and laughed bitterly. “If only we were! That letter …” I shook my head, looking at Lestrade intently, reasoning that I might as well tell all. “I swear to you,” I continued solemnly, “that I did not know of his true feelings for me until this morning, when I chanced upon the letter you saw me holding.”

Lestrade frowned slightly. “But I’ve watched you two together. Anyone can see that you’re very much in love.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t see it, and neither did Holmes. According to his letter, he believed that I would not return his love. That letter,” I continued with a deep sigh, “was his declaration of love for me, written just after we lost him in the Reichenbach falls. He ran away in order to escape his feelings for me,” I finished quietly.

“But he came back,” Lestrade pointed out.

I swallowed hard. “I know.”

“You mean to tell me that you had no clue how he felt?”

“Not a one.”

“I could see it every time he looked at you.” He paused thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, he only looked at you that way when you were looking somewhere else. Strange that he didn’t notice your absolute devotion – I don’t mean that in a bad way, you know. We’re all a little in awe of him, it’s hard not to be. But you …” he paused tactfully.

“I love him, yes.” The act of admitting it lifted a weight off my shoulders, and I laughed slightly. We fell into silence for a while, staring at the cell floor, each of us lost in our private thoughts.

Lestrade spoke first. “Can I ask you a personal question, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

“If you love him, and he loves you, why did you run away?”

I took a deep breath. “I was frightened,” I answered slowly, “for a variety of reasons.” Most of which I really don’t want to think about right now, I added to myself somewhat peevishly. “First and foremost,” I continued, “I know what people think when a man loves another man. But I do love him. And if he loves me …”

Lestrade nodded sympathetically. “You would do anything for him.”

“Even break the law,” I agreed ruefully.

“This law deserves breaking,” the detective said darkly. “Not that the letter of the law has stopped you two before,” he added. “Oh, don’t looked so shocked, Doctor. I know of at least two times when our illustrious friend has let a criminal go, but I’m not breathing a word of it to a soul but you. It might be wrong for a copper to say, but I believe in justice first and the law second, if you take my meaning.”

“There should be more coppers like you,” I said with feeling. We stared together at the floor in silence. I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of my shoe. “So if there aren’t any charges against me …” I trailed off cautiously.

Lestrade laughed softly. “Doctor John Watson is not even here. You’re a simple John Doe, and you can go as soon as you’re awake. I’m sure,” he finished, “that you have some things to discuss at home.”

Suddenly, a vision of Holmes’ worried eyes as he saw me with his letter sprang to my mind, and I leapt up from the bench. “How was he when you left?” I cried.

Lestrade jumped to his feet with a mild curse. “You’re right,” said he. “I’ll drive you to Baker Street myself.”

Very few people know that Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard started his professional life as a cabdriver; if ever I am moved to write about criminal cases other than those handled by Holmes, I shall definitely record the dramatic story of his first involvement with – and subsequent recruitment into – the London Metropolitan Police. He still prefers to drive himself in the police growlers, and that day he navigated the four-wheeler through the thickest of rush-hour traffic without a single pause, bringing me to the door of 221B with unbelievable speed. I jumped out and turned to shake the detective’s hand.

“You’re a good man, Gabriel Lestrade,” said I solemnly.

“A word of brotherly advice, if you’ll take it,” he answered. “I don’t need to tell you how masterful he can be. Don’t let him be your master in this. For both your sakes.”

I nodded wisely. “Thank you.” I turned and fairly ran up the stairs, only pausing at the door, my heart suddenly at my throat.

I was about to declare my love to Sherlock Holmes.

My hand stole to the armband at my shoulder. I had been widowed for eleven months; I had yet another month of formal bereavement for Mary.

I’m about to engage in a sexual act with another man, I thought ruefully, and I’m worried about whether or not the mourning period is over? With a sigh, I pulled my wedding ring out from my watch-pocket and held it tightly in my palm.

You belonged to him long before you ever belonged to me, John, Mary had said once, a long time ago. He needs you. Go to him. Granted, that had been for a case of fraud in Brighton, and yet …

And yet, I wondered just how much Mary understood. Not once had she complained of my absences, no matter how frequent and at what short notice. And when I did return …

I blushed as I remembered how I would return to Mary after a case with Holmes, so full of the excitement of the chase and the danger that my ardour knew no bounds. The night I returned to her after we had apprehended Taylor the poisoner, I fairly broke the bedsprings and nearly called out Holmes’ name.

I gasped with the memory.

I had, indeed, almost called out for Holmes at the supreme moment of intimacy with my wife.

I had put the thing out of my mind, attributing it to lack of sleep and food combined with an overabundance of firearms and explosives. That night, I had been sorely tempted to kill the blackguard, but Holmes had commanded me not shoot, and I had reluctantly obeyed, allowing Bradstreet to cuff him and lead him away. Later, I had come to my wife’s bed filled with visions of a filthy face cowering at the wrong end of my pistol, a face which had recently mocked us as he threw oil of vitriol at my friend, barely missing that chiselled jaw and those brilliant eyes. I told Mary the story of our adrenalin-churning race across the rooftops even as I began caressing her, entered her while remembering how I had knocked the man down, and spent myself as I imagined pulling the trigger, sending Taylor to his grave rather than leaving him in police custody. In seeing myself kill a man for Holmes, I had found his name upon my lips as I died the little death.

Mary must have known. We had both known; I had just refused to admit it.

You belonged to him long before you ever belonged to me.

I detached the ring from my watch-chain and kissed it, and then removed the black band from my arm, wrapping the ring in it before putting them both in my jacket pocket. I took a deep breath and laid my hand on the doorknob, pausing as another insecurity rose its ugly head.

He had run away because he had been afraid of his love for me. Could it not follow, then, that his return indicated that his love had cooled somewhat, if not completely? That letter had been written over three years ago. What guarantee did I have that it reflected Holmes’ current feelings?

Then I remembered the look in his eyes when he saw the letter. Underneath the fear, underneath the guilt, there had been –

There had been hope.

I forced myself to cross the threshold, locking the door behind me.

The room was completely dark; the shades were drawn and the lamps unlit. The fire had been laid but not yet lit, it being rather warm for late October, and so only the thin slivers of sunlight from behind the shades illuminated the room.

Holmes sat in the cane-back chair, which he had drawn up to his desk. I did not announce myself, nor did he acknowledge my presence, though he could not have but heard my step upon the stair. At first, I thought to approach him quietly and (my lips quivered at the idea) give him a tender, courting kiss before telling him my heart had belonged to him for longer than I cared to remember.

Then I saw the hated morocco case upon his desk, lying open in a stripe of sunlight, the syringe out and ready, its dose carefully measured and dripping slightly from the gleaming needle. Holmes was slowly tying the tourniquet around his arm. I sighed with relief; I was not too late.

Do not let him be your master in this, for both your sakes.

Suddenly, I knew what I must do.

I swept forward and snatched the syringe from the desk, dashing it to the floor and crushing it under my heel. I grabbed the morocco case and threw it into the grate. Then, before he could react, I grabbed Holmes by the shoulders and kissed him roughly, pushing him back down into the chair even as he tried to spring to his feet, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, brooking no refusal. As soon as he melted into my embrace, I pulled away, pressing a single finger against his lips.

“Rule number one,” I growled, tapping his mouth with my finger at every word. “No … more … cocaine. Swear it, Holmes.”

“Watson, I –”

I stopped his words with another fierce kiss, this one almost cruel in its intensity. He moaned into my mouth as I forced him to open to me, crushing his sinewy body to mine with such ferocity that I felt my ribs creak. I pulled back again, once again putting my finger to his mouth. “You know that I am not often crude,” said I in my sternest voice, “but I shall tell you right now that I should rather submit to you using your prick to inject your seed up my arse thrice daily than ever again suffer you to use a needle to inject that poison into your veins.”

“My dear Wa –”

“No more cocaine, Holmes. Swear it.”

He took a deep breath. “No more cocaine. I swear it.” His grey eyes glittered in the meagre light, and my heart flushed with pride as I realized that for once, he was under my spell, rather than the other way round.

I kissed him again, this time more gently, but still my embrace was aflame with a passion that would have frightened me had I been upon the receiving end. Certainly Holmes trembled in my arms as I pressed him to me, my mouth urgently invading his, my hands taking possession of his shoulders and chest. Once more, I pulled back from him, placing two fingers upon his lips. “Rule number two: no more deception.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow, the spell momentarily broken. “Now, honestly, Watson, I –”

“If we are to be lovers,” I interrupted, trusting upon the impact of the word to silence him, “then it is precisely honesty that I require from you. I cannot share my bed – or my body – with a man I cannot trust. That means no more pretending to have exotic diseases in order to get me worked up enough to entrap your suspects, no more pretending to be in London investigating a blackmailing case when you’re really camping out on the moor less than a furlong away, and no more pretending to be dead for three years because you can’t see how much I love you.”

Holmes’ jaw dropped. “You love –”

I drew his mouth to mine, and this time my kiss was as tender and sweet as the first one had been violent. I caressed his lips with mine, this time inviting his tongue into my mouth, opening for him, allowing him to lead this embrace. With a sigh I relaxed into his kiss, savouring the taste of him and the feel of his strong, muscular arms encircling me. Eventually we pulled apart, and Holmes leaned his forehead against mine.

“All right,” said he with a sigh, “no more deception. But I’m going to have to give you some serious coaching in deceiving others.”

I laughed, suddenly unable to believe the conversation I was having. “Perhaps it will stand me in good stead at the card table,” I said. “I can start winning back some of my money from Lestrade.”

Holmes gave a wry chuckle. “Dear me, I wonder what he thought this morning! I wasn’t exactly my usual charming self when I showed him out.”

“So he said.”

For the second time, Holmes’ expression registered shock. “You spoke to him after you left here?”

“I thought you would have deduced that I had,” I said with a smile.

“My dear fellow, beyond the fact that you went to the Criterion Bar, allowed someone whom you disliked to buy you an ale, became involved in a fistfight with a left-handed man of about your own height before being knocked unconscious with a table-leg, then taken to the Bow Street cells where you came to, smoked a cigarette, and were subsequently driven home at great speed in a four-wheeler, I can tell nothing. And although the Turkish special you enjoyed while in custody is Lestrade’s brand, it seems to be rather popular among many policemen these days, particularly their drivers. So what did you tell the good inspector?”

“The truth,” said I.

Every muscle in Holmes’ body tensed. “Watson, are you mad?”

“Actually, he was under the impression that we’ve been romantically involved for several years,” I told him, kissing him gently.

“And he isn’t disgusted or outraged?”

“Apparently not,” I said. “He …” I paused. “He was … sympathetic. I’d rather not say more.”

Holmes gave me a pointed look. “This ‘no more deception’ agreement, does it run both ways?” he asked sharply.

“Holmes, that’s unworthy of you. It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Is he –?”

“No, he isn’t,” I laughed. “Why do you want to know, in any case? It seems to me you’re already spoken for.”

Holmes grinned impishly. “Possessive, aren’t we?”

I ruffled his hair. “Your letter mentioned something about giving yourself to me totally, completely, within and without, as I recall.”

I had never seen Holmes blush before, and it was positively rewarding to see my friend’s ears grow a brilliant shade of violet, while his cheeks flushed rapidly, his eyes downcast charmingly. “I wrote that letter thinking you would never see it,” he said quietly.

“I only regret that I didn’t get to read all of it,” I said fervently, lifting his chin and bringing his mouth to mine. “But as for right now –” This kiss strayed beyond all boundaries of propriety, and together we half-rose from the chair before tumbling onto the bearskin hearth-rug, hastily removing our remaining garments. Soon we lay naked together, side by side, our limbs entwined, our mouths and hands roaming freely, exploring this new and delectable territory with growing excitement, whispering soft reassurances and fervent endearments.

Soon his hands found my manhood, and I gripped his member in return. His long, thin, fingers, so adept at manipulating his violin and his scientific apparatus, caressed my hardness with a skill that sent waves of electric pleasure up my spine. I, for my part, only had the feeble ability I had developed in years of lonely nights, but I pulled at his cock as if my very life depended upon it. Our mouths pressed together frantically now, our tongues meeting in a frantic dance as we stroked each other to completion, spending ourselves almost in unison, the spurting seed joining upon our flesh as we rubbed together in the climactic moment. Holmes groaned into my mouth, his entire body trembling as he clasped me to him, and we lay thus on the hearthrug, our bodies pressed against each other, the fluid of our combined love cooling between us.

Holmes laughed softly and ruffled my hair. “Good old Watson,” said he, with a kiss to the tip of my nose.

I caressed his chest, running my hands over his smooth skin. “I think that at this point, you might find yourself able to address me in a slightly more intimate fashion,” I told him, nuzzling into his arms.

He rolled upon his back, pulling me slightly on top of him, caressing my shoulders as I made myself comfortable upon his breast. “Very well, my darling John,” he whispered, and I shivered and burrowed into him more as he hugged me close, kissing me upon the forehead. “I’ve longed to call you that for years,” he said quietly.

“And I have longed to hear such words of affection from you,” I responded, “but I thought that you had no use for something as pedestrian as love.”

Sherlock Holmes gave a sharp, barking laugh. “Yes, I did act the part well, didn’t I? No one had any idea that I was capable of love, least of all you,” he finished in a sad voice.

“‘He never spoke of the softer emotions, save with a jibe and a snigger,’” I quoted myself ruefully. “Holmes, I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“I’m the one who should apologize for being so convincing,” said he, “and I thought you wanted us to address each other by our Christian names.”

I propped myself up on an elbow, looking down at my friend quizzically. Holmes reached up and touched my cheek, chuckling slightly.

“‘Sherlock’ just isn’t going to work, is it?” said he.

“You don’t have a middle name, do you?” I asked doubtfully.

“Actually, Sherlock is my middle name. My proper Christian name is William.”

“William Sherlock Holmes.” I smiled despite myself. “And why –”

“Atmosphere, my boy, atmosphere. Whom would you trust in a life-threatening situation: stolid and conservative William, or dangerous and dashing Sherlock? As you yourself have so often observed, a name can speak volumes.” He pulled me gently back to his chest, and I snuggled into his arms with a satisfied sigh.

“I’ve known you for almost a quarter of my life,” I said, “and only now I find out what your real name is. Are there any other dark secrets you care to confess?”

“Well,” said he with a laugh, “I think you might be able to deduce why Victor Trevor left for India.”

“India,” I sighed. Something in my look must have caught his attention, for he touched my shoulder with a questioning frown, concern clouding his features.

“John,” he said, “is there something you wish to tell me?”

I took a deep breath. “Earlier, you deduced that I had been bought an ale by someone I disliked.”

“Yes, it was quite evident from the –”

I stopped him with a kiss, then placed a finger on his lips. “Not now, William.”

He blushed once more, hugging me to his breast. “So this man you disliked …” he sighed, ruffling my hair.

“He was an old school-fellow from Ballarat.”

“And he was …”

“A vicious gossip who gave me news of an old … friend.”

“A former lover.”

“My first – and the only male.”

“Besides me,” Holmes whispered, lifting my lips to his. This time, his tongue overpowered mine, and I melted into his kiss, groaning in pleasure.

“Besides you,” I echoed some time later. “Although I’m not sure I really would consider him a lover. We were just boys, and I wasn’t the only one whose company he enjoyed.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice, but a thread of dull anger, accompanied by a sting of guilt, wormed its way into my heart.

Holmes touched my cheek, running a single finger along my jaw. “He hurt you?”

“Badly enough that I never wanted to love anyone ever again,” I answered, bringing his hand to my lips. “It wasn’t until I met Mary –” I stopped and sighed. Suddenly, another ghost of the past entered this intimate setting.

Holmes kissed my forehead. “She was a good and intelligent woman, and a credit to her sex. She brought you a well-deserved happiness that ended far too soon, and I do not begrudge her a moment of the love she shared with you.”

I found I could not speak for my grief, and my companion stroked my hair softly while I allowed myself time to regain my composure. I nestled into his chest once more, listening to his heartbeat a while.

“Do you want to tell me about your school friend?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he added quickly.

“No, it’s all right,” I reassured him, raising myself onto my elbow. Holmes put one arm behind his head, the other resting upon my shoulder, gently caressing me as I began. “His name was Worthington. David Worthington. He was in the fifth form when I was in third, the year before my family moved back to England. He … he helped me translate some Catallus one night, and … well, you know what it’s like at school,” I said weakly.

“Actually, I don’t. I had tutors right up until I went to University.”

“The adolescent male is awash with raging hormones,” I explained. “Couple that with the natural curiosity of youth, and any public school in this country is a natural testing ground for all sorts of sexual experimentation.”

“Exact and clinical, Doctor. But experiments don’t break your heart.”

I nodded. “I made the mistake of falling in love. For his part, he just enjoyed the act, but I wanted more of the romance, rather than the sex. He kept pushing further, too,” I said, blushing. “He wanted to try … well, what we used to call ‘all the way.’”

“He wanted to insert –”

“Yes,” I answered quickly, blushing.

“And you didn’t want to go that far.”

“I wasn’t sure if I did. If he had just told me that he loved me, I think I would have tried it readily. But he didn’t love me, not any more than he loved anyone else,” I finished darkly.

“So you found him with someone else.”

“The night that I finally decided I wanted to try … what he’d been asking for, I went to his bedroom, thinking I’d surprise him. I found him … I found him doing it to Preston Phillips of the second form.”

Holmes squeezed my shoulder, and I stared off into the empty fire, where the morocco case still lay in the grate. I pulled my gaze away.

“I dove straight into my books and didn’t come out except for rugby games and holidays. I only spoke to him once after that, just after he had been expelled. The very next term, he’d gotten caught with another boy behind the stables. I don’t know why, but I just had to see him.”

I paused, remembering the pale ghost that had greeted me in his father’s parlour. They had not insisted upon a chaperone, because that, of course, would to be to admit their son’s heinous crime, but the door had been left open, and a scowling maidservant with a face like a lemon had stayed well within sight, folding and re-folding the same tablecloth in the hallway with a grim woman whom I could only assume was the distressed Mrs. Worthington.

I remembered Worthington’s tear-rimmed eyes and unhealthy pallor. I was the only friend who had visited, and I could tell that he would have greeted any of his conquests with the same subdued mixture of gratitude and contrition.

Unbidden, my gaze returned to the vile morocco case in the grate. Holmes may never betray me with another man, I thought, but what about his promise to me?

“No, dearest, I shall not betray you for the cocaine bottle,” he said softly, caressing my arm.

“You read me so well,” I murmured. “How is it you did not deduce how much I love you?”

Sherlock Holmes shook his head with a rueful smile. “Do you really need to ask that, old fellow? How often have I told you that emotions cloud the faculties of observation and deduction? My feelings for you made it quite impossible for me to know for sure how you might feel for me. Any glimmer of affection I saw, I immediately attributed to my own hopes and desires. I did, however,” he finished, with a twinkle in his eye, “manage to deduce that you were – quite reasonably – furious with me for leaving you.”

I smiled down at him. I who knew him so well could see the regret in his eyes. Now that we had nothing to hide, I could see that he had been hurt by our separation even more than I had. I leaned over him and kissed his lips.

“I am no longer angry with you, my darling,” I whispered. “I understand why you ran away.”

“And I understand why you ran this morning.”

“I’m glad you came back to me,” I told him.

“As I am glad you came back.”

We kissed for a long time, our lips caressing and reassuring each other.

“So tell me about your final conversation with Worthington,” Holmes said in a low voice, softly stroking my chest.

“There isn’t much to tell. It was awkward and short and I went home and masturbated into a handkerchief before crying myself to sleep. I was fourteen and I was sure I was a pervert.” I laughed bitterly. “Of course, next year, I discovered girls and found that they could be quite a bit of fun … you do know that I am still attracted to women,” I added awkwardly. “I mean, I shan’t stray, but …”

“But the fair sex will always be your department, old friend,” Holmes chuckled lowly. “So what happened to Worthington?”

“Apparently, he went on to London University. He must have been there the same time as I was, but the medical school is rather –”

“John,” he interrupted gently, “you’re stalling. What happened to Worthington? Was he caught again?”

I nodded, closing my eyes. “He … well according to the blackguard who got me with the table leg, he was caught with another student. This time, he hung himself.”

I sank down into my lover’s arms and we lay thus for a long time.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did my mentioning India upset you?”

“His … the man he was caught with was sent to India.”

“Ah.” He stroked my hair thoughtfully.

“So you were caught with Victor Trevor?” I asked after a long while.

“Just after his father’s funeral. We would have been more cautious, but he didn’t want to sleep alone that night. The chambermaid found us still in bed together the next morning. The whole thing was hushed up, for my family’s sake and his. Victor was sent to India, and my father disowned me. I had to drop out of Cambridge, though I was able to get a fair scholarship to Oxford, so –”

“Your father disowned you?”

“Sherringford Holmes,” said my friend in a low voice, “is a cruel man without a shred of human kindness. How do you think I was so readily able to imitate a brain without a heart?”

“But what of your mother?”

Holmes stiffened in my arms. “She died giving birth to me,” he said slowly. “So the old sinner hated me long before he found out about my proclivities. My scandal only confirmed his stated belief that I should never have been born.”

I gaped at my companion in shock. “To judge a child for the circumstances of his birth –”

“To my father,” he interrupted bitterly, “one’s birth is everything. After all, that is what the so-called nobility is all about.”

“Holmes, are you –”

He waved a long thin hand in an impatient gesture. “The Right Honourable the Marquess of Cheltenham has made it clear that I am not to claim his paternity in public, not that I’d want to. Oh, don’t look like that, old fellow,” he chuckled at my expression. “There’s no money, just a crumbling manor house with three or four barely habitable rooms, a disgracefully ugly coat of arms, and a few acres of bog that no one in their right mind would ever buy. Mycroft’s little joke is that he’ll split his inheritance with me when the old man dies,” he finished with a bitter laugh.

“So after Victor Trevor …” I began slowly.

“I decided that I’d had enough. For well over a decade, my entire sexual life has consisted of my hand and my fantasies of you.”

“Your fantasies of –” I blushed furiously, and Holmes held me tightly.

“My dearest John,” he whispered, kissing my brow, “you have no idea how long I have suffered in silence, foolishly believing that I would lose you if I told you how I felt. I have loved you since almost the moment I saw you.”

“I rather thought you were swept up in the haemoglobin test you were running when we met,” I chuckled, lifting my mouth to his for another kiss. I could feel my arousal starting again as we caressed each other tenderly. “For the record,” I murmured, kissing his cheek, “you could have had me for the asking any time.”

“All these years wasted,” he sighed.

“Not wasted, my love,” I replied quickly. “After all, if I hadn’t been convinced of your unemotional demeanour, I would not have been able to create such a believable account of it. So now, no one will suspect that Sherlock Holmes could be in love.”

Holmes frowned slightly. “Except for Inspector Lestrade.”

“Well, he knows us better than the general public. And he’s more … open to the possibility of such a relationship.”

Holmes fixed me with a look. “He must have a relative who is an invert,” he said slowly.

I nodded; there was no use denying it.

“It was a simple deduction,” Holmes murmured, almost to himself. “If not one himself, then it was the only other possibility.” We held each other in silence, Holmes frowning up at the ceiling, absentmindedly stroking my shoulder. “I don’t think I need to tell you that we will have to exercise the utmost caution,” he continued, “particularly as we are continually in the public eye and surrounded by the police, most of whom would not be as understanding as our friend.” He kissed my forehead, giving a deep sigh of tristesse. “We will be playing a dangerous game, old friend.”

I was suddenly conscious of our nakedness, and I shivered slightly, drawing him closer to me. “I’m well used to danger, Holmes,” I said bravely. “Last night –”

“Last night,” Holmes interrupted sharply, “we risked our lives and our safety for the good of the community. Tonight,” he continued, laying a finger on my lips, “we are about to risk our status in that community, as well as our reputations, even our freedom, for the sake of forbidden pleasure. Are you absolutely certain you wish to do this?”

For answer, I took his finger in my mouth, then, releasing it slowly, ran my tongue up its length, fixing my eyes upon his with as much smouldering passion as I could muster. I wished to leave no doubt in my mind as to my desire.

“John,” he said reproachfully, “I am quite serious. This is –”

I stopped him with a fierce kiss, rolling atop him and grinding my hips into his. “I am also quite serious,” I told him. “This is not about forbidden pleasure. This is about love, a force which even you admit holds no reason or predictability. And as for being absolutely certain in my intent,” I hissed, “perhaps I should ask you the same question. You wrote of giving yourself to me totally and completely, within and without. Well, I’m here to tell you that I accept your offer. Now, are you still willing?”

I had never before seen my companion at a loss for words. His grey eyes gleamed strangely in the dim room as he bit his lip and nodded, looking suddenly vulnerable. I gently grasped his chin in my hand and brought his mouth up to mine, kissing him once more before rising to my feet. He looked up at me quizzically, raising himself up on one elbow. I smiled, realizing that, after years of devoted submission, I was finally in charge.

Fortunately, I had had an excellent teacher. “Come, Holmes,” I said, spinning upon my heel and heading to the door. “Bring our clothes.”

“John?” he called softly.

I turned on the threshold. “Yes, my love?” I smiled at the sound of the endearment. I could not believe this was happening; I half-fancied I might wake any moment, but pushed the fear away.

Holmes bowed his head slightly, fluttering his long, dark lashes in an almost coquettish manner. “May I fetch something from my room?”

We both knew that he did not need to ask permission, but his very act of posing the question left me breathless, as he left no doubt between us that he found this reversal in our respective rôles as arousing as I did. My smile widened as I considered the possibilities, and my member stiffened noticeably.

“It’s a good thing,” said Sherlock Holmes with a chuckle, “that Mrs. Hudson is on holiday. You would shock the life out of her, walking around like that.”

“Just fetch what you need,” I answered with a jesting growl, “and then bring that gorgeous arse of yours upstairs in short order.”
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The Letter