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What you need and what you want...	By : varenoea Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 9520 -:- 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-What you need and what you want...
- 2-Second Chapter
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- 2
Before you read this:

Those of you who haven’t read “Study in Scarlet”, the very first story of the series (in which the two guys meet for the first time): don’t believe the movie makers. Watson is not a fat elderly gentleman with a bowler hat, nor did Doyle intend him to be that way. Watson, when introduced, is a skinny, tan military doctor (so he’s probably not older than 35!) who just comes back to England from a war, and to recover from Yellow Fever. We can argue about the question whether he has a moustache or not. But he’s definitely not elderly and fat. Please keep that in mind, or the following fic will be the absolute anti-aphrodisiac to you!

Whatever made me chose to share a flat with a man who was clearly not simply a bit strange but added a new level to the definition of the old word “weird”?

I have to say don’t mind “weird”. Everybody is weird to some degree. Some have it on the outside, some lock it away inside.

He was amiable, easy to get along with, he was a person I liked from the very first moment. Never intrusive, always busy with his own things, but never so busy that it felt like I lived alone. Living here with him was nice, apart from the obvious offences that happen when you share a bathroom with people.

I liked the fact that he was musical and analytic at the same time. He was definitely lost when it came to his actual life. His head was so far in the clouds that (if it hadn’t been for me) we would have run out of coals regularly, because he just wouldn’t notice when they were gone. But I didn’t mind that either. I rather liked it. (It gave me something to do.)

It was not until some time had passed, say, two months (and I had had the pleasure to see his wits in action), until I noticed that I felt more and more restless, apart from my usual character traits and the damage to my nerves that was slowly starting to smooth out again. I didn’t understand why. I assumed that it was the lack of a real occupation. Being a patient was something I did not have the patience for.

One evening Holmes sat in his easy chair, his legs up on the cushions, staring into the fire, and only an occasional blinking assured me that he was not dead and only sitting up with stiffness.

I came into the room, a book in my hand, without making a sound, and, without meaning to disturb him, took the other chair and stretched my feet towards the fire.

For a few minutes there was silence.

Holmes sighed and looked up.

I flashed him a brief smile over the book.

“Huh!” He winced. “You frightened me. I didn’t see you come in.”

I laughed. “I tried to be silent.”

He exhaled and sank back in the easy chair. “You can come in and bang on a pot to make sure you don’t frighten me next time, if you like”, he said, grinning. “That’s better for my nerves.”

“The one with the nerves is me.” I looked down on my book again.

“Yes. I know.” He seemed to chew his lower lip. “How are they, by the way? I mean, is there any noticeable change?”

I looked up again and put the book away. “A bit better. Takes some time.”

“Are you planning to stay here even when your recovering is over?” He looked at me, unreadably, grey eyes in a serious face looking me up and down.

I felt somewhat fishy under his gaze. “I don’t know. I would like to, at least for a time.”

Holmes grinned contentedly. He liked to hear this, I felt, but he was not the person to say it.

“Somehow I feel I ought to do something”, I murmured. His face showed interest, so I continued. “I feel somewhat hollow. Not doing anything in two months has been a bit too much for me. I feel useless.”

Holmes listened and seemed to think about it. His face was orange with the light from the flames.

He came to no conclusion and shrugged.

“You know, I’m restless”, I continued. I did not mean to bother him with it, but just a few sentences wouldn’t look intrusive. “I’m looking for something, and I don’t know what.”

“Maybe you need to get out more. Meet people.”

I nodded. That sounded more like it. “Maybe.”

And this ended the conversation on this issue for the evening.

The things I hated about being weird on the inside was that sometimes they can’t be hidden effectively on the outside. I hated to go to a bath and sit there in nothing but a towel between other men. That is, I liked it actually, but not when you could see signs on the outside of what was going on inside me. It was my business. It was in my head. I was not bothering anyone, so why couldn’t it stay where it belonged?!

Once I had asked Holmes to come along, but he had refused politely. He didn’t like being exposed, I had guessed.

Next time I was in a bath it struck me, and suddenly I knew what it was that was bothering me so much. Of course I was missing work, and of course I was feeling useless. But the urge came from somewhere else, something that regularly plagued me and this time had come back disguised as an urge to do something. It was what I secretly called “the itch”, and this time it was stronger than ever before. It made me want to shed all the energy pent up inside me, to DO something. But nothing doing. Just breathe deep, breathe in and out deeply, and it will eventually go away.

Why was it itching so much right now? What was wrong with me?

I came home, confused, and unpacked my bag in the living room, gnashing my teeth and trying to think of something to get rid of the itch.

Somebody knocked on the doorframe politely. It was Holmes, of course. “Been to the bath?”

I nodded. “Yes. Now I’m tired.”

“Good night”, he said, although it was only two in the afternoon, and turned around back to his room.

Only when he had closed the door behind himself, I noticed that I was still staring at the place where his backside had been.

No. Oh no. I pinched my eyes shut. This couldn’t be. It had to stop. I couldn’t start with itching for the man I shared a flat with! It would be impossible to keep it secret in the long run. So it had to stop as soon as possible.

There had been dinner, it was dark outside and the sounds of London around the house were loud.

“You know, I think you’re right, Holmes”, I said, going away from the table and dropping myself into an easy chair. “I should go out more. I think I need some confusion. What I need most of all is my work.”
“Is something the matter?” said he, as if he hadn’t heard me. “You have been avoiding looking at me all day.”

My mouth was open, but what was I to say?

“Did I offend you?”

“No, no, you didn’t.” I shook my head and smiled at him, suddenly it was very easy. His face was disturbed.

“Then what?”

“Nothing, really. I didn’t think anything while I did it! I’m sorry.”
He got up and sat in the opposite chair. “No need to be.”

I sighed and looked into the fire. “You know, I really need my work.”
For a second it was silent. Then: “Do you.”

“Yes.” I watched the embers. “I need to have something to do. My nerves are getting better when I work, I know it. But this… sitting around all day… is… unnerving! It drives me insane.”

“Hmm. Watson?”

I looked up.

Holmes’ face slowly broke into a broad smile. “You don’t need work. You don’t need anything to do. Let me tell you what you need?”

I was very thrilled. “Yes?”

“You need, as you doctors call it, some sexual intercourse. You need a decent screwing, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Suddenly we both laughed.

“Yes, probably”, I said. “But you know, I’ve still got too much dignity for going to a whore.”

“No, you wouldn’t have much fun there, would you.”

I didn’t know what to think of the tone in his voice. “No”, I agreed and looked at the fire again.

“Because”, Holmes pointed out and got up, “that is not what you’re interested in. You’re interested in going to a bath and sitting around in a towel.”

I looked up sharply. “Are you insinuating something?!”

Holmes was still grinning, broader than ever. “I have eyes, you know. And I know you have some too, and where you have them. And where you had them this afternoon.”

My face was a disgusted grimace when he sat down on the armrest of my chair. “You’re being revolting.”

“What, me?! Is that why you stare me up and down so often?”

“Look, I got along well with you, but if you keep insulting me like this, I’m looking for another place to stay.” I was just about to get up, before his hands clamped on my shoulders and kept me down. I flashed at him angrily. Sometimes his skinny frame made me forget that he was quite strong. I should have remembered that he liked boxing.

His grey eyes, suddenly soft, were locked into mine. “I want you to stay. I really do.”

“Stop this!”

“You don’t need work. You don’t need anything. All you need is to be satisfied. Thoroughly, and deeply, and until you shout. Someone to take your cock into his mouth and treat you really well.” His voice was a whisper now, and his face much closer to mine. His lips nearly touched my ear. “Is it me? Is it just that you don’t fancy me?”

My breath was coming out ragged. My heart was beating so hard that it felt as if my chest might burst any minute. I could not move, for the love of God I could not move.

His lip brushed my ear, softly and warm. “John, you know… you are not an easy flatmate.”

I turned my head towards him, bit by bit. So frightened. His lips brushed my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, and finally my own top lip. He pulled his head back and looked expectantly.

“You’re right”, it finally ripped out of me, “I need just what you say. Just…” I lifted my head, and he lowered his. Out mouths met, so fast that our lips were squeezed together, and he pulled me up on my feet as my hand groped around his chest, his waist, and down, down to where I oh God had always wanted to touch them….

(And this is where I leave, until the next chapter... stay tuned!) ;)
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What you need and what you want...