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Secret Admirer	By : pandapony Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 12154 -:- 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-Secret Admirer
- 1
Credits : Thank you once again to my fabulous beta, K_Haldane !!

Note : Written in response to a Valentine's Day challenge on the Holmesslash board, asking for "Holmes gets Valentine's Day goodies from a secret admirer, and of course he's frustrated at being unable to figure out who it is."

When I entered our sitting room on the morning of February 14, I could barely see through the thick cloud of fetid pipe smoke. I coughed and made my way to the window, which I promptly threw open.

Sherlock Holmes was sitting curled up in his armchair, staring into the fire. The room was in shambles. It was clear to me that he had spent the greater part of last night deep in contemplation over some clue.
“Have you a new case?” I inquired, setting myself down to breakfast. Holmes' portion remained untouched.
Holmes did not respond. He continued to stare into the fire.
“What is wrong, old fellow?”
“I am losing my abilities, Watson.”
“Surely not.”
Holmes finally looked at me then, eyes bright, but pinched with consternation. “I am afraid so. I have been tossing this clue about for hours and can make neither heads nor tails of the matter. It is confounding!” He was trembling in his agitation.
“Come have coffee with me, and tell me all about it.”
Holmes sighed as he followed my command. Once I was assured that he had a cup of hot coffee and a plate of eggs and sausages before him, I felt much better.
I smiled at my friend. “Now tell me, what has preoccupied you so?”
Holmes barked a short, bitter laugh. “It is a trifle, merely a trifle. And yet I cannot decipher it. I am quite vexed.”
“I see that,” said I. I watched happily as Holmes stuffed a morsel of sausage into his mouth, chewing absent-mindedly.
“Is it a case?” I inquired once more.
“No, a letter.”
“A letter?”
“And a gift.” Holmes reached his long fingers into his dressing robe, pulling something from the pocket of his waist coat. He handed over a crumpled letter.
“Read it, and then open the gift,” Holmes instructed me, pointing to a large gift basket on his desk. “Tell me what you can deduce.”
I did as I was told. As I opened the letter, I cleared my throat. “It is written on fine paper, dyed red. A novelty paper for Valentine's Day from a local stationers, I expect.”
“Good, Watson. Go on.”
“It was composed with a fountain pen sporting an old nub. It appears to be worn in one direction, suggesting the author is someone who writes frequently and who is right-handed.”
Holmes smiled beautifully. When he did so, his eyes lit up. Even his hair, mussed and unkempt from a night of pacing, seemed to shine brighter when he granted me one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Very good, Watson! I am glad to see my instructions have not entirely gone to waste. Pray, continue.”
I sighed, but did as I was told. “It is not signed, nor is there a return address. But it is addressed to you. It…” I blushed as I read the full extent of the letter. “It appears to be a love letter.”
“Quite so. What can you deduce about the author?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Well, that the person who holds you in such high regard is quite familiar with your cases, and has spent a great deal of time in your company.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “She has accurately described minutia about my person that I find surprising. She has noted the length of my fingers, the color of my eyes, even the small birth mark upon my neck.”
I eyed Holmes suspiciously. “Perhaps she is merely a keen observer such as yourself, Holmes,” I said carefully.
Holmes slammed down his coffee cup. “But there is more, Watson! Much more! Beyond describing her deep-felt affections and lengthy adoration for me, she had managed to purchase the most perfect collection of gifts, as if she has known me intimately, and recognizes my distinct tastes!”
With the speed of a pouncing cat, Holmes was out of his chair and over to his desk. He began haphazardly grabbing items from the carefully wrapped gift basket.
“Look, Watson, look! A pouch of my brand of tobacco, which can only be procured at my favorite tobacconist in Kensington!” He rifled through and lifted another item. “A finely-crafted glass beaker, to replace the one which I broke only three weeks ago! How did she know?”
Holmes was working himself into a frenzy. I watched with amusement, but also some concern, for I did not want him to over-exert himself in such a fragile mental state.
“A loofah!” he cried, holding aloft the item of insult. “I have needed a new one for weeks!” He pulled out a small silver-wrapped bag. “Dark chocolates! The only sweet I enjoy!”
On and on poor Holmes went, each delightful item causing him more concern. “And this takes the cake, Watson. What do you make of this?”
He held out a set of cuff links. They were beautiful, silver, with small monograms elegantly etched into them.
I peered down into his shaking palm, eyeing the jewelry. “They are very handsome, are they not?”
“Of course they are handsome! They are exactly to my liking!” He cried, running his free hand through his hair in distress. He looked close to tears.
“Then I do not understand then you appear so upset,” said I.
Holmes stared at me as though I were an imbecile. He thrust the cufflinks closer under my nose.
“Look closely, my dear fellow. What is engraved upon the cufflinks?”
I sighed, but humored him. I picked up one of the items and stared at it. “S. D. H,” said I.
Holmes snatched the cufflinks from me and pocketed them quickly. He stared at me expectantly.
I finally had no option but to shrug. “I see no cause for alarm, Holmes.”
Holmes kneeled beside my chair, his hand on my arm. “Watson. Think. How could she know that my middle initial is “D”? I have told less than half a dozen people in my entire life that my middle name is David. How would she have deduced this?”
I turned from his frantic gaze and drank my coffee instead.
Holmes let go of me and resumed his pacing.
“The facts are these,” said he. “Someone professes to love me, and to have loved me for a long time and in secret. This person has frequent contact with me, as they are able to observe small details about my appearance, and is aware of my habits and hobbies. This person aims to please me by purchasing not only finely-crafted gifts, but those items which I need and yet have not spoken of to anyone. And this person knows intimate details of my history, to be able to deduce my middle initial.”
I nodded in agreement. I cut into my egg and swallowed a bite.
“It seems perfectly logical to eliminate extraneous individuals and narrow down the possibilities. After all, there are only so many people who have such insight into the private details of my life.”
“Perhaps you should not worry yourself so, Holmes,” said I. “It is, after all, Valentine's Day. It is simply a sweet gesture from a secret admirer. Is it really worth working yourself into such a frenzied state?”
Holmes ran his hands through his hair anxiously. “I must know! I abhor secrets! I must know who it is that loves me!”
The corner of my mouth turned upwards. “I had no idea you were such a romantic, Holmes.”
He shot me a withering glare. “Come along, Doctor, you know very well I am not.”
“True. I know you very well.”
“Indeed.”
I bit into more of my egg to stifle my laughter. It was jolly good fun this, being on the knowing side of a conundrum.
“But who IS she?” Holmes whispered, pacing. He lit a cigarette. Now he was talking to himself as I finished my meal. “Her handwriting is strong. Masculine. But it is also clearly masked. She has attempted to fool me by altering her script, which suggests that I would have been able to determine her identity by penmanship alone. Or else her handwriting is simply horrific.”
“Mrs. Hudson has deplorable handwriting,” I commented casually.
Holmes paused his pacing to glare at me. “I will not honor that comment with a response.”
“She knows you intimately Holmes,” I said, unsuccessfully stopping my laughter.
Holmes watched me laugh at him for a moment, frowning. And then he shook his head.
“This may be amusing to you, Doctor, you who has had knowledge of women on three continents. But I am afraid I have lived a life bereft of admirers. I must discover this person's identity.”
“Why? What are your intentions, Holmes? Do you plan to propose?”
“Absolutely not! I merely wish to meet the lady in question.”
“And for what purpose?”
Holmes sat on the arm of the settee and smoked, scowling. “I am not sure.”
I smiled at my friend. “Holmes, you once told me that emotions get in the way of sound reasoning. I believe you have succumbed to this yourself. Surely you are missing a very obvious clue, simply because you are in such an excited emotional state of mind?”
Holmes stared at me, distraught. “Of course I am, Watson! I said so at the start! My abilities have been erased from my mind. The mere idea of someone loving me has thrown me into such emotional turmoil, excitement, and fear, that I cannot take my observations to their logical conclusions. I am at a loss.” He stared down at his feet, smoking sadly.
“Poor Holmes. Perhaps you should question your initial assumptions.”
Holmes snubbed out his cigarette and grabbed a hold of the letter once more. He studied it carefully. He used his lens to analyze the paper edges. I read the newspaper, trying my hardest not to smile.
Suddenly, the paper fell out of his hands. He looked up in shock.
“My God.”
“What is it, Holmes?”
“It is not a woman at all, is it?”
I said nothing.
“A man loves me, Watson!” Holmes sat beside me on the couch with a huff. “Well, of all things…” He shook his head in disbelief.
I hid my face behind my paper as I spoke. “Are you not offended?”
“Offended? How could I be? This gentleman bought me dark chocolate, Watson!” He looked at me as though I were the one in the wrong.
My heart beat faster in my rib cage, but I still remained hidden behind my paper. “Do you not find it unseemly, that a gentleman has such inverted desires?”
Holmes snorted and lit himself another cigarette. “Watson, surely as a doctor you see the folly in using law to dictate the behaviors of the human heart? A man is in love with me. He has taken great risk exposing himself thus. I can find no revulsion in my heart, only flattery and astonishment. I must find out who he is!”
Suddenly my nerves, which had been rallying along quite splendidly, gave out entirely. I buried myself behind my paper, terrified of giving away the game now that I was so close to Holmes discovering it for himself.
But it had been a game, always. I had reveled in my fantasies, but never taken the brave next step, to engage in such illicit proclivities. Now that I was on the cusp of discovery, I felt myself go pale with fright. What if this changed our relationship forever? What if Holmes was disgusted when he discovered the identity of his secret admirer?
“Watson, are you well? You have gone quite pale.”
“I am fine, Holmes.”
“No, you are distressed.” Holmes reached out and brazenly touched my forehead with the palm of his hand. “You have no fever. But you are most definitely awash of all color.”
“It is nothing, I assure you.”
Holmes narrowed his eyes at me. “Why have you…” He froze. His eyes grew wide. I watched his body straighten, tense.
I hid myself behind my paper.
Holmes finally reached out and snatched the paper from my hand.
“Hallo! I was reading that!” I cried. I moved to fetch it from where he had tossed in on the floor, but he suddenly stood and pressed me back against the sofa, his hands pinning my shoulders.
“Holmes, please let me go.” I could not look him in the eye.
“Look at me.”
“Holmes…”
“Watson, look me in the eye.”
I did so, and inhaled sharply at the sight of him. His eyes had gone dark and liquid, and shimmered as though he were about to cry. He stared at me, his own face going pale.
“My dear, dear Watson, I am terribly sorry. Please forgive me.”
“For what?” I asked hoarsely. All the moisture had fled my throat.
“Forgive me for being so dense.”
We stared at each other for one long, excruciating moment, and I truly believed that Holmes was as close to tears as I had ever seen him.
And then he rallied, as I had hoped he would. He sat next to me, reaching out to grab my limp hand.
“Thank you for all of the lovely gifts.” He said it quietly, almost a whisper.
I looked to the floor. “You are welcome.”
The corner of Holmes' mouth lifted. “You might have told me in a less dramatic fashion, Watson.”
I had to smile at that. This was coming from a man who enjoyed fooling me by dressing in outrageous costumes just to see my dramatic response. “I suppose I wanted to be on the right end of a surprise, for once.”
Holmes laughed. “Well, you had me going for a good while, my dear fellow. I hope this example further illustrates the folly in how one assumption can blur an entire line of reasoning. My initial inference that my admirer was female nearly blocked the solution from sight.”
I spoke very carefully. “It is only logical, if you are revolted by such an inverted attraction.”
Holmes squeezed my hand tighter. “Did I not say before? I feel no revulsion. Only flattery and astonishment.”
I had no words for response.
Holmes reached into his pocket and pulled out his new cuff links. They had cost me half a month's wages and so I was pleased that he enjoyed them, although now they seemed too personal, too affectionate.
“Will you assist me, my friend?” He asked with a small smile.
My hands were trembling now as well. We must have looked a sight, both of us nervously fiddling about with the cuffs of his sleeves. I removed his old plain plated-silver cuffs and replaced them with the ones I had purchased for him.
Holmes admired his wrists for a moment, and then dropped his hands down into his lap. He yawned.
“I have gotten no sleep at all.”
“Perhaps you should finish your breakfast, and then take a nap.”
“I am far too excited to sleep now, dear fellow.”
“Indeed?”
“As I told you, it is not every day that someone professes to love me.” He reached out and gently laid his palm against my chest. “I do believe I have never had the experience. I am quite breathless with the idea.”
My heart leapt about in my chest like an overwrought caged animal. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.
“I am unsure how to repay you for your generosity,” Holmes said quietly.
I finally smiled. “I have an idea.”
I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
THE END.
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Secret Admirer