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I need your help...	By : fadingsummer Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 4131 -:- 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-I need your help...
- 1
Welcome to my Victorian world and the most important part of it: OBSESSING OVER SHERLOCK HOLMES AND WATSON. God I needed some relief from the constant tingling in my stomach whenever I saw them, read about them, drew them, or talked about them.

Warning: Fluff. But it's because I've watched clips of them, walking arm in arm, and read hundreds of the sweetest slash hints in slash history.

***

I need your help...

It was in the days following the first weeks of my marriage that I, once again, ran into Sherlock Holmes. While on the streets for some groceries and spices my wife needed for dinner, because she loves cooking herself, I thought to myself it would be good to get some more exercise and took a stroll around town. The markets and shops were busy. It was, of course, only a few days before Easter and the whole city seemed to be on a mission for ingredients for a wonderful supper and breakfast. At home, we had already taken care of most of the shopping, so there was no need for me to join the crowds, luckily. Still, being in town and watching the people running around was enjoyable to me.

Soon, and without me noticing it at all, I had reached a more quiet part of London. When I looked around I found it to be our old neighbourhood. I stared at my boots, standing on the same old dirt road they had been on before, almost every day, and thought that they had somehow led me back there because they were so used to this usual route. I checked my pocket watch and knew Mary wouldn't mind me being in town a bit longer. She would encourage my occasional walks because she was happy with anything I did for my health's sake. And she would never be opposed to me visiting an old friend. I looked up to the windows and remembered how we had stood there, watching the people rush by or trying to think over a case, so many times. I went over the interior in my head and wondered whether it would still be the same now. And would Mrs Hudson still be around? And would Holmes be able to afford the lodgings on his own? Maybe he would be a rich man by now, since I had heard he had spent considerable time on the continent, solving important cases for people just as important. His name had been in the papers many times. My curiosity grew every second and I had knocked on the door almost without any thought. All that was left in the back of my mind was the question why I had waited so long to stop by.

As I had hoped and expected, Mrs Hudson opened the door and greeted me warmly. 'This house had not been quite the same without you, doctor,' she said to me.

'How is he?'

'Quiet. He's made a lot of money I heard, but I believe there has not been another case of his interest since last month. Whenever I serve him dinner, he's lying on the sofa with that violin of his.' She shrugged. 'Well, he seems fine. He had not tried to find himself a new housemate, so my guess is he quite enjoys life on his own. But please, come upstairs, doctor. I was just making tea.'

'You're too kind,' I smiled and followed her.

I found Holmes on the sofa, indeed with his violin right next to him, where he had probably put it as soon as he found out he had a visitor. 'My dear Watson,' he exclaimed, with a big smile on his face, and jumped up from the sofa to greet me with a firm handshake. 'You look as though Mary is taking good care of you.'

'She does.'

'Glad to hear, glad to hear.'

'Tell me, what's been keeping you busy lately?'

On that question, Holmes sighed. 'It's been incredibly boring lately, Watson. I do not know why those Scotland yard-types are still patrolling the streets when there is absolutely no work to do. Sometimes they knock my door for a curious bloodstain or a robbery, but it is never a serious crime or a difficult case. Frankly,' he gestured around the room, 'I have been sitting around lately, desperately waiting for some distraction.'

I laughed at his words. 'I fear you have solved every single crime in Britain, Holmes. Being too good might prove a curse to you!'

He smiled and shook his head. 'One can never be too good.'

‘Why, if there is anyone, it would be you.’

He was still for a moment. ‘Perhaps.’

He then got up, walking around excitedly, in no particular direction, seemingly for no goal at all, arranging books and putting away some bottles with a curious liquid in them, until he walked into the kitchen to help Mrs Hudson serve tea. All the while, I made myself comfortable on the couch, which he had just left. It was the best seat in the room, and Holmes had had plenty of time to enjoy it, so now I would claim it for a while.

When he returned with Mrs Hudson, carrying cups of tea, he laughed at my decision. ‘I agree, my dear doctor, I’ve spent enough time on that thing.’

As we drank our tea he told me every detail about his business overseas, but since they concerned many scandals of Europe’s high class, I fear it is impossible to repeat them on paper. To me, the details were not that important. It suffices to say that Holmes’ immense deducing skills were still very much present. His stories never failed to captivate me in all their mystery and somehow simple conclusions. It must have been a good three hours later, when he was showing me a folder containing several letters concerning one of his cases and explaining the details to me, that I realized how late it had become.

‘My, I have kept Mary waiting for too long,’ I said, putting away my pocket watch. ‘I’m afraid this fascinating file will have to wait until next time.’

The look in his eyes when he heard my words was clearly disappointed. ‘Watson, I have been talking too long. There is something I forgot to say.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I need your help. It’s a medical problem, I suppose.’

‘Well, I’d be happy to help you. Are you in pain of any sort?’

‘I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.’

‘Where is this pain of yours situated in your body?’

‘Well, everywhere.’

‘And when do you feel it?’

‘Almost all the time, my dear doctor.’

‘But that is a grave situation, Holmes. Why did you not contact me, or any other doctor, earlier?’

Holmes was silent for a moment. ‘I do not know, Watson.’

‘Well, tell me about this pain. When did it start? How does it feel? Does it sting? Does it itch, or burn, perhaps?’

Holmes stared at seemingly nothing. ‘I think it started about a month ago. I believe it may be connected to my lack of exercise and sunshine, but you might be able to give me a treatment of any kind. It doesn’t sting, itch or burn. It’s just a very annoying pain. I also feel tired most of the time, even after a good night’s sleep.’

‘Does it hurt when you move?’

‘Yes. My back hurts, my legs hurt. And I believe it all started in my feet.’

I thought about this information for a moment. Surely it was just a muscle ache. It could have been caused by this lack of work Holmes was talking about. ‘Have you been under stress the last month, Holmes?’ I asked just to be sure.

‘I do not know.’

‘But you do not feel rested when you wake up. Do you sleep well most of the time?’

Holmes looked at his feet. ‘Not exactly. I find it hard to concentrate, hard to sleep, hard to calm my nerves.’

‘Then I believe you are suffering from uptight nerves. Your muscles tire because you are under constant stress.’

‘And why would I be under constant stress, my old friend?’ Holmes protested. ‘There is nothing to do all day!’

‘Maybe that is the reason. The causes are unknown to me. But since you are not ill, that seems to be the only solution I can possibly think of.’

He seemed to think this over in his mind, in his quick, mysterious way. ‘If you say so, then it must be the case,’ he concluded. ‘I have no extensive knowledge of medical things. I trust you in this.’ He then turned his eyes to me. ‘What do you suggest I do about it?’

I knew there was no way Holmes would become active again the coming days, in the absence of an interesting crime. So unless something would turn up, he would stay here, probably depressed in his own strange way, maybe using narcotics to ease his pain, making matters worse. And I knew there were painkillers available for his ailment. And I knew I should make a schedule for him to make him get out more. But I looked at him, and I wanted to do nothing else than what I did then.

Probably much to his surprise, I lifted his legs unto my lap and began untying his shoelaces. I put his shoes on the carpet, then put his socks inside. His feet weren’t very big, almost like women’s feet, and just as skinny as the rest of his body. When I touched them, he twitched, as though he wanted to pull them back.

‘Does it tickle?’ Holmes just nodded.

‘I’ll be more considerate.’ He just stared at my hands, softly massaging his feet, carefully giving every single small muscle some attention. Then he threw his head back and closed his eyes. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly, quietly giving in to the way I was touching him. I looked at him and thought he had never been more vulnerable. Well, maybe that time when he had been attacked by two men, one strangling him… But he had never been more vulnerable in my hands.

After a few minutes, I was done with his feet. He opened his eyes and stared at me. ‘You don’t think you could do the same to my back, do you?’ he said in a small voice.

I smiled. ‘Did it help?’

‘Oh, immensely. I do not recall I have ever been more relaxed in my life.’

‘Well, I think I could treat your back and neck as well. But where do you suggest I should do that? On the floor? Maybe you should come by my practice…’

‘On the bed, of course.’

‘Well, alright. I could spare a few minutes. It’ll only be until half past four before Mary will want to start cooking.’

‘Thank you, Watson. You have no idea how much better that made me feel.’

‘Well, I’m glad it worked for you.’ Holmes got up and went to his bedroom, then seemed to change his mind and went into my old bedroom. As I observed him, I indeed noticed the difficulty of his movements. I cast my eyes down as I realized the certain cause of his tense muscles, and thought of Mary. I then followed him quickly, eager to ease some of his pain, if only for a few hours.

‘I need to take off my upper clothing, won’t I?’

‘It would prove helpful, yes.’

‘Will you do it for me?’

I felt my heart race as I unbuttoned his shirt, trying to keep my eyes on my hands and not the stare directed at me. I did not know why I obliged to his request. Patients should always have the privacy of undressing themselves. This was different. Holmes was no patient of mine. And I wasn’t even treating him as one. He dropped on my old bed, which was looking strangely lonely without my other belongings in the room. I sat on my knees on the bed, his waist locked between them. I looked at him for a moment as I would look at a normal patient. His back looked normal. His shoulders seemed hardened. Luckily the lower back wasn’t the problem, then. That would have proved to be much more difficult to cure. I must admit I am no professional in what I was about to do to Holmes. But I had enough elementary knowledge to calm his nerves without hurting him.

‘Are you cold?’

‘Not at all.’ I put my hands on his shoulders, softly pushing with my thumbs. He shuddered and sighed.

‘Are my hands cold?’

‘Not at all.’

I felt how tense he really was; a normal result of hanging on a couch all day long with a burden and a longing perpetually on his poor mind. Determined to make him feel better, I worked my way down from his shoulders; where I remained quite a long time; to his spine, and then back up to his neck. I repeated this several times. I knew he needed it, for it didn’t seem to lose any effect. He shivered, his eyes closed, and sometimes even got goose bumps all over his arms. He twitched, he sighed, he mumbled things I did not understand. His skin was clean and smooth. I leaned over a little. It smelt like soap. As he felt me breathe on him, he shuddered so much he unintentionally curved his back and clenched his fists. After approximately ten minutes, as my hands left him, he was lying perfectly still, breathing peacefully, almost as though he was about to fall in a deep sleep. The thought of leaving him and going home almost seemed a brutal intrusion in the sudden intimacy of the moments we had just shared, so I remained where I was, watching him. Unable to contain myself, I reached out to his dark hair and stroked it. He smiled slightly and muttered my name. I leaned over, laying my lips on his ear as softly as I could.

‘Stop, you’re spoiling me,’ he whispered. ‘I do not deserve this, do I?’

‘I’ll spoil you as much as I want.’

‘Go back to your wife, John. It’s already four.’ I was surprised to see he was right. He had probably deduced it from the sounds on the streets, or the colour of the light falling into my old room.

‘I’ll just stay here a little longer,’ he said as he stretched his limbs. 'I believe I’m standing right on the edge of a late- afternoon nap.’

‘It would be good for you.’

He then turned around so he was lying on his back, facing me. ‘When will you be back?’ he asked, and I believed I saw the familiar sense of unrest returning to his eyes. ‘I do not think this treatment will work forever.’

‘How does next Saturday sound, my dear Holmes?’

He smiled, clearly relieved. ‘It sounds remarkably well.’

‘Fine then. I will see you around. Do not hesitate to contact me if matters get worse.’

‘I promise,’ he said, then reached out to me and put his arms around my neck, pulled me close and kissed my lips. I kissed him back. I then got up, put on my hat and coat in the hallway and left 221b Baker Street, leaving Sherlock Holmes in my bed, who was probably fast asleep already, my head somewhere high above.

Tuesday the 12th of January 2010

4.08 PM
- 1
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I need your help...