By Alia 2013

Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock Holmes & Doctor John Watson were created by the late and great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. They are not mine. No harm or disrespect intended.

Summary: Holmes is not an easy man to love.

Rating: NC-17

Author's Notes: This is story three in my ‘Baker Street after Dark’ series. This story is unbetaed and contains Australia spelling. If you find a mistake please feel free to point it out to me.. This story is also unbetaed and contains Australian spelling.

Comments: Are always welcome and can be sent to


Extracts from the private journal of Doctor John H Watson MD

Throughout the many years Holmes and I shared rooms at our now famous Baker Street address we investigated over two hundred cases. Many of our adventures I imparted to the public via my published manuscripts and the Strand magazine, but there were others that for various reasons, most of them too damning to reveal, that would never see the light of day.

One such case took place in the late summer of 1889, three months after Holmes and I had started on our own path to damnation.

Although I had not left his side for more than a few minutes during the last week there had been limited opportunity for intimacy. We had spent the previous several days in West Berkshire investigating the case of a missing debutant and only returned to Baker Street that afternoon. The debutant as it turned out had not been missing at all, but had absconded in preference of being parted from her dearest friend, another young woman of similar age and station. Neither it seemed could bear the thought of their pending presentation to society or the prospect of marriage and had decided to take matters into their own hands.

By all accounts it was a sad story. One that I am afraid was more common than the general public was willing to accept. Two hearts finding companionship in the arms of another of their own gender only to discover that their love will never be accepted are either forced to live in secrecy or flee the comforts of their homes. I felt sorry for the young women involved, indeed I understood them more than I could safely say. In the end Holmes and I could offer them no more than our word of honour that nothing about their imprudence would reach the press. With our services no longer required we left them in the care of their respective families, assuring them that they would find solace in the arms of those who had their best interests at heart. Sadly I suspected that they would find nothing remotely resembling kindness and would be both sent abroad within the week.

I would have had taken Holmes to bed upon our arrival home, buried myself deep within his warmth to rid us both of the cold reality of our lives. The presence of our landlady however, and a sizable pile of correspondence which had arrived in our absence that he insisted he attend to immediately forestalled my plans. Put off, I withdrew to the privacy of my room to write up my notes on the case and to consider my own sad story.


It was sometime later that I ventured downstairs in search of food. Holmes sat hunched over his microscope and did not look up when I entered. It was clear his mind was occupied and I knew I would face some challenge persuading him to join me for our evening meal. Mrs Hudson had laid the table with one of her fine meals and I stood for a moment surveying her culinary efforts.

It would have been very easy to sit down and partake of the food before me, especially after so long without the comforts of our home. Being Holmes's most intimate friend came with a certain amount of obligation though and I knew I would be very remiss not to at least try to get him to eat something.

Taking the necessary steps to cross the room I stood at his side. First examining the various items before me. The opened mail strewn across the desk, much of it clearly discarded as uninteresting and unworthy of his time, only one set aside for future reference, and finally at the man himself. Holmes was no beauty by any stretch of the imagination, he was too thin and his features were distinctly aquiline in nature, to me however he was the best of men and I loved him despite the fact that I knew I should not. We risked our reputations, livelihoods and freedom every day we continued together and yet I could not imagine my life any other way, nor did I wish too.

Moved, as I so often am by the depths of my feelings for him I reached out, one hand coming to rest on his hunched shoulder, squeezing it gently. For a moment or two there was no reaction and I found myself pleased that he no longer flinched when I touched him. It was foolishness I know, but there was a part of me that took great pride in the fact that I was perhaps the only individual permitted to take such liberties with the great detective -- liberties that while they remained limited, were precious to me nonetheless.

"You have something on your mind Watson." It was statement not a question. His focus firmly on whatever it was he was looking at under the microscope.

"I was hoping I would have the pleasure of your company for dinner," I told him, moving a little closer -- my body warming from our close proximity and my desire to share more than food with him. "Also," I added as I slid my hand from his shoulder to gently stroke the pale skin at his nape, "that you might consider an early night."

It took less than a moment for my words to subvert his concentration. The changes in him were subtle, but not so much that I neglected to see the slight stiffening of his posture and the unconscious twisting of his mouth. My hand fell away as his head lifted and he turned to regard me, fixing me with gaze as if I were no more than an insect collected for one his slides, before he inclined his head towards the table where we ate our meals.

I was forced to step back as Holmes then slipped off his stool and moved passed me to where Mrs Hudson has left the evenings reparse. It is obvious that he has accepted the first part of my invitation, but the rest of it, the request to share his bed later, was left unanswered.

I cannot say that I was surprised by his reaction; disappointed perhaps; it was his way after all to portray himself as a machine, completely unaffected by the needs and emotions that plague the rest of us. It was all for show, though why he still thought I, of all people needed to be constantly reminded that Sherlock Holmes imagined himself different to every other man who walked the planet was beyond me.

Joining him at the table we ate in silence for a few minutes. After a week without Mrs Hudson excellent cooking I felt much like a man staved. Even Holmes appeared to have developed an appetite during our time away. The sight of him clearly enjoying the meal pleased me and I smiled at him across the table. Content in his company. It is only after our initial hunger was satisfied that I paused to ask him about the letter I had seen set to one side of his desk.

"Do we have a case?." I remarked around a mouthful of Mrs Hudson's fine roast beef.

"An inquiry, for which I have already sent a reply," he replied, sneering as he returned to his meal.

Evidently whatever had been contained in the post had not piqued his interest. If anything the mention of it appeared to have annoyed him. From experience I knew I would have to be prepared for one of his moods if something new did not present soon to occupy his mind. Of course with Holmes it was best not to pre-empt anything until it occurred. Also, I had plans of my own and I held hopes that for the time being at least his attention would focus a little closer to home.

"It's just as well," I informed him, "I think after the last few days a short break is in order. I'm afraid this last one has left me feeling somewhat depleted."

"It was hardly taxing Watson, the local constabulary could have found our client's daughter just as easily."

"Well I for one am relieved he thought to contact you and not the police. They would have a great deal more to worrying about than what would be reported in the newspapers if he had."

"Women are rarely prosecuted," he announced. Clearly unconcerned with the gravity of what our recent case had revealed, or to my surprise, the young women involved.

"I highly doubt that matters to their parents."

Holmes did not answer. The distinctive sounds of silverware striking china as he abandoned his supper heralded the end of our conversation and our meal together.

Pushing away from the table he stood. "I am going to take a bath,” he informed me, turning away.

I did not see him again until quiet late that evening. Weather it was some pressing matter that I was not privy to or by design he managed to avoid me. I presumed the latter, but allowed him his privacy until I could wait no longer.


Entering Holmes's small room I held my candle aloft to the man on the bed. As I suspected he was not asleep, but lay on his back, one arm behind his head and the other at his side, the covers folded neatly across his chest. There had been a time when I would have imagined that finding him awake meant he had been waiting for me, that he would reach for me and welcome me into his bed, but I knew that was not the case.

To say that Holmes hated what we did together was too simple an explanation for something that was far more complicated and did not begin to explain the intricate workings of his mind. While I doubted I would ever fully understand him, I did know that each time we were together he found his release and I assumed a level of satisfaction. However, I could not venture to say that he actually enjoyed it. He had told me once that love addled the brain and dulled the senses. Later, after we had consummated the tension between us he also told me that as he was not a woman or a youth paid to feign affection he would not tolerate being treated as either. With this information in mind I am sure he believed he had given me ample reason for why he continued to refuse my attempts to express my deep affection for him during our love making. In fact, I am convinced he would be appalled to know that after so many months I still thought of our nights together in such terms.

Certainly he was not an easy man to love. The fact that he refused to acknowledge that he returned my feelings made every step I took toward him an act of desperation.

Closing the door and securing it against unwanted disturbance I moved further into the room. Meeting his gaze in the semi darkness he did not remark on my arrival or inquire to my reasons for intruding upon his privacy.

Placing the candle behind the fire grate I turned and drew closer, releasing the belt of my dressing gown for easier movement. Our eyes met again and I saw the weighing of information and the overall acceptance of my presence without a word being spoken between us.

Holmes shifted to one side of the narrow mattress as I sat down, making room for me as one hand came to rest on his chest just above his heart and the other reached up to stroke the sharp and loved contours of his face.

"I have missed you," I told him. Knowing even as I did that there would be no declaration of longing to equal my own and his arms would not lift to embrace me or pull me to his breast.

It did not matter. All that mattered was that we were home again, safe from the prying eyes of all that would condemn us.

Absently thumbing the corner of his mouth I leaned in to kiss him. Gently at first, but more forcefully as the moments passed and my desire for him grew, my hands travelling of their own accord through his hair and across his lean chest. His lips were soft and cool beneath my own. They were also decidedly unyielding I realised as I sought entrance to the familiar warmth of his mouth. Adding a little pressure was no more satisfactory and I groaned my frustration. Damning him silently as I closed my eyes and rested briefly against his chest. I would not to be put off again. A bed mate, even one as difficult as Holmes, who remained indifferent despite my best efforts was not something I would abide.

Having to renegotiate the terms of our relationship each time we came together was disheartening to say the least.

I pulled away, swallowing over the lump that formed in my throat as I sat back to look at him. Even in the dim light I could see that his face was flushed and his pupils had dilated in response to my attention. The evidence, as he was fond of telling me, spoke for itself and could not be denied. Of course for Holmes denial suited his purposes and so far he would not be swayed from what he believed was his best course of action against the unpredictable nature of love.

"You are a contradiction," I informed him, the strong beat of his heart belying anything he could say to the contrary.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean, Doctor?"

As I have alluded to throughout my written manuscripts Holmes was quite possibly the infuriating man I have ever known -- even then when we both knew it is only a matter of time before he submitted to me in the most base of ways he was smug and defiant. Determined it appeared to keep up his ridicules charade.

I withdraw my hand from his chest, my patience failing me. "For pity sake Holmes, I am in need of you. I thought that much would have been obvious even to you."

He did not answer, but it was not necessary, we both knew I could take what I needed and he would not lift a figure to stop me. It was not what wanted though nor would it ever be. I took a cleansing breath, endeavouring to steady myself and maintain some semblance of calm.

"It is not just your body I seek." I added, standing and stepping away from where he lay, staring up at me. "I need comfort and reassurance. Is it too much to want you to hold me and to have you return my kisses?"

For all his great knowledge, Holmes was completely inept when it came to dealing with the emotions of those around him. He appeared genuinely confused by my reaction and I found myself torn between trying to explain myself further and simply taking what I came for.

Reaching into the pocket of my dressing gown I retrieved the tin of grease I had procured recently to ease our coupling and held it out to him.

"Take off your underwear and undo your night shirt," I told him, "I want to see you."

He did not respond immediately. Despite Holmes remaining true to his word and allowing whatever I wished he very rarely assisted in any way. I had on occasions wondered if in fact he preferred that I forego the pleasantries altogether and just got on with it so to speak. Or if by limiting his participation somehow afforded him the illusion he wished. Certainly I did understand his need for it, but I had learnt that I could wait for as long as he deemed necessary.

Thankfully it was not long as it turned out before I noted him reach first for the fastening on his shirt, releasing each one in turn and then sitting up to push the covers out of the way. I took a half step back as Holmes swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and stood. His hair was in complete disarray and his night shirt opened as I had requested, exposing his throat and almost hairless chest. I wanted to reach out and stroke the pale skin, but between one heart beat and the next I watched as he raised the hem of his night shirt to gather at his waist and then pulled his underwear down and off.

Leaving the discarded clothing at his feet I was treated to a rare sight of his sex, surrounded by a nest of dark curls and hanging heavily between his legs as he continued to hold his night shirt around his waist. Standing before me he appeared much like the Renaissance statures I have seen at the Albert Museum, only that night he was displayed for my viewing pleasure alone.

I experienced a familiar swell of yearning as I let my eyes drink their fill of him, realising as I did that my previous assessment of his physical beauty required some adjustment. He was beautiful, proud and supremely intelligent. A God in his own right. I felt almost giddy from the emotions that welled inside me. Between the case and the ache that hounded me incessantly, living day to day with a man who refused me his heart was too much. Especially when everything I ever wanted was within easy reach.

Closing the distance between us I guided Holmes back down to sit on the side of the bed and then fell to my knees in front of him. Parting his thighs I buried my face between them. The faint odour of soap beneath male musk and the lingering hint of something else, something that was distinctly him invaded my senses.

I was all too seldom in the position to pay homage to him in that particular = way and I found myself exhilarated by the task ahead. Despite his objections regarding sex, namely my frequent use of sentiment, he was not difficult to rouse when the right methods were applied and I worshiped him with my mouth and hands until his prick filled and laid thick against my tongue. I would have dearly love to finish him then and there, to watch as he found his release and swallow his issue, but my own need was great and my position less than comfortable. At length I realised his breathing had become uneven, coming out in ragged bursts as he tried to keep himself under control. I glanced up to find him watching me through lowered lashes. His pale eyes piercing the darkness. For the briefest of moments we shared the intimate knowledge of lovers. The giving and receiving of pleasure as seen through the windows to each other’s souls until it clearly became too much for him and his eyes closed -- shutting me out.

Using my teeth to tease mercilessly at Holmes's length I gave the crown one final passing of my tongue and released him. Rocking back on my heels I reached once again for the grease. Setting the small tin on the bed beside him I placed an open kiss to the inside of his closest knee and climbed somewhat unsteadily to my feet.

Holmes looked positively ruined. Legs splayed open invitingly, his shoulders slumped forward, head bowed, his prick rising and falling with each uneven breath he took. His head came up as I took an uneasy step away from the bed. I did not seek his gaze or wonder at what he was thinking, though I could feel his eyes on me as I divested myself of my dressing gown and pyjama pants. The top I unbuttoned and left to hang open. I was fully erect by then, painfully so and I reached between my legs to pull on my bullocks, revelling briefly in my fullness and the thought of taking him after what felt like a lifetime of only being able to observe and not touch him. If he had any feelings whatsoever about what he saw he did not share them with me. It was his own state he is concerned with, not mine. His devastation was palpable. For Holmes to be brought to that point so quickly and so efficiently was tantamount to failure. His mind may have been continually working to guard him against the softer emotions, but it was his body that betrayed him every time and I knew it was that he hated most about what we did together.

At one time I would have been horrified to see him so defeated. Putting aside better judgement I would have tried to make him understand that the law and what was generally thought of men like us had no place in our home, that I loved him and there was nothing unnatural about how he responded to me. Regrettably I knew by then that any such attempt would be a waste of breath.

Letting go of the mistakes I have made since Holmes and I first altered the terms of our relationship has not been easy. I am not sure I would ever be able to completely accept that this was all he would give me. All I did know was that I would not abandon him, or the life I knew we could have together.

Stepping away from the tangle of clothing at my feet I retrieved the tin from the bed. Applying a liberal amount of its content to my length I then knelt next to where Holmes was still sitting quietly.

"Lay back," I urged, making room for him as he settled himself. Adding once he had, "pull your knees up to your chest and spread your legs."

I touched myself as I waited for him to comply, using lazy strokes to spread the grease I had taken from the tin, marvelling at strong muscled thighs as they were drawn up and then back. He was very quiet. His head turned away, his gaze fixed somewhere at a point on the wall over his shoulder, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his whole body trembling as he struggled to hold the position.

Taking the weight of his legs from him I lowered one to my knees and guided other around my waist. I was rewarded with an audible sigh as he stretched beneath me, both his free hands closing around the brass bed head. ‘So he can avoid touching me, I remember thinking at the time.’ The stray thought was not the first of its kind, nor would it be the last. I bit off the retorts that came to mind though. That he still behaved as if our nights together were a chore that must be endured and not the act of love I knew it to be saddened me beyond clear thought. I had decided some time ago that I would not give up on him or our right to happiness. No matter the lengths he took to deny us. The reality of our lives was certainly different to what I envisioned when our affair began, but as I had no intention of ending it my only recourse was to live it the best I could, or as well as Holmes would allow.

Without further delay I lifted his leg from my knee, bending and angling it away from his body. Taking myself in hand once again I sought the entrance to his body, wiping the excess grease from my fingers across the hidden opening and then pushed forward. There was no resistance as I claimed him, just the glorious tightness that came with breaching willing flesh. He was willing, that much was never been in doubt. His body closed around me like a silken glove and I sighed at the intensity of it. An answering moan assuring me of my companion’s wellbeing.

The sheer joy of being joined with him was almost too much and I struggled against the need to move. I would not risk his comfort however and looked back at the man whose body had become a sheath to my own.

An expression of immense concentration showed on Holmes’s shadowed features and in spite of the effort I allowed myself the singular pleasure of simply looking at him. It was a mistake of course. The sight and sensation of having him bared and spread out beneath reminded me of a time not so long ago when I thought never to see such a thing. His nightshirt had remained pushed up and out of the way, exposing the flat planes of his torso. He appeared almost translucent except for the smattering of dark curls on his chest and lower down where our bodies were joined. As I should have realised the reality of my darkest fantasy was too much for my tenuous control. The ache between legs was overwhelming. Rising to my knees I leaned further forward, forcing myself impossible deep and engendering yet another moan from Holmes. Long fingers closed over my bared shoulder, squeezing to the point of discomfort, then over several beats of my heart, relaxed.

It was the only reassurance I needed. Pulling back and then driving forward again I set a rhythm that I knew would satisfy us both.

Holmes was magnificent. Languid and open as we moved together.

As I neared my end I reached for him. Pulling at his flesh and stripping him of the last of his control until he cried out and spent himself. Following him into the abyss I collapsed against his still heaving chest. Resting there until my body cooled and my breathing returned to something resembling normal I felt a ghost of his arm around my shoulders and a press of dry lips against my cheek. It was not the lovers embrace I imagined when we with first become intimate, but it was I realised, enough.

The End


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