A DOGGED MEMORY
by elfin
Part Eight - Baker Street
"When my parents ascertained how difficult two children were going to
be to bring up, I was sent away."
We were seated next to the burning fire in Henry's room.
Our ward was sleeping under the sedative Mortimer had administered and,
although his wounds were deep, he was strong and would in time make a full
recovery.
Holmes was leaning forward in his chair, a glass of brandy and a cigarette
balanced elegantly in one trembling hand. Absently, he played my fingers
in his other, alternatively holding and stroking them.
My left arm hung in a sling, a shot of morphine having freed me from the
blazing pain. Holmes had needed me close and I had pulled my chair
up next to his.
I hadn't mentioned what I'd seen through the window of Merripit House,
but somehow he'd known. "Let me explain," he'd begged me, and I'd nodded.
"A boarding school is no place for a boy of a shy disposition. I
was too thin, too nervous, too different. And I attracted the wrong
kind of attention. I never knew the name of the boy who made every
moment of my life into a living hell." He looked away into the fire.
"Not until your first report from Baskerville Hall did I have a name."
I squeezed his fingers. "Jack Stapleton."
"Jonathan Baskerville."
"I'm so sorry, Holmes." It seemed utterly inadequate.
"He'd remained obsessed with me, following my career until once again
our paths crossed." And crossed they had. "He knew more now.
He craved power over people. He had that power over Beryl Stapleton,
he had it over the Baskerville family and he wanted it over me."
It was the closest he'd ever come, I believe, to baring his soul to anyone.
I was humbled, honoured, and at the same time I don't think I've ever loved
him more than at the moment.
Before I could find the words with which to express myself, Henry stirred
upon the bed.
Holmes lifted my hand and touched my fingers to his lips. "Go to
him," he told me quietly, "I shall retire to bed."
Immediately, I was worried by his words. "Holmes...."
But he smiled gently. "Do not concern yourself. By this time
tomorrow we will be safely home in Baker Street, and I shall give you your
Christmas gift."
I nodded and with one long look he rose from his chair.
I barely slept that night. I remained seated at Henry's bedside,
hushing him when memories of his ordeal encroached upon his sleep.
Despite his obvious discomfort, I could not bring myself to move to the bed.
Holmes, who for so long had had my loyalty and devotion, had laid claim
to something else within me, something that now belonged to him and him
alone.
I imagined that I had made some silent vow to him, betrothed myself to
him by some means, and the idea did not frighten me at all. Indeed,
I was invigorated by it. Whatever the rest of society thought of men
who loved men, I knew my feelings to be genuine and good.
~~~
They say that all men must find their own peace on this earth.
The morning after our return to Baker Street, I found my peace, and my
own slice of heaven.
I woke in a strange bed. Holmes' slim form was pressed up against
me, spooned to my back. One of his arms was tucked between us, the
other raised above his head, his hand on my hair.
His fingers were playing in the loose dark curls upon my head, small,
soothing strokes that at once lulled and excited me.
The previous evening we'd dined at Marcini's with thoughts toward the
theatre and Holmes' box for Les Huguenots. But such looks passed between
us at dinner, as the conversation faded, and a rare tension built between
us, so that when the bill was paid, we headed back to Baker Street without
a word of consent required.
Mrs Hudson had been so kind as to light the fires in our rooms, and it
was good to come home to that warmth and comfort when outside it was threatening
snow. But better than the heat of the flames was the heat of our bodies
as we pressed together behind the locked door of his bedroom.
Opening my eyes, I felt Holmes' lips touch my bare shoulder, followed
in a moment by the nip of his teeth and another, swift, kiss.
"Good morning, Holmes," I murmured, happy beyond belief.
He chuckled deeply, "You may, under these circumstances I'm sure, call
me Sherlock."
"Sherlock." The name did feel good on my lips.
He drew his arm from between us and wrapped it around my waist, bringing
us closer. I felt his early-morning erection press against my rear,
sliding to rest along the indent of my cheeks.
As erotic as the sensation was, it brought to mind niggling worries and
concerns regarding what we were doing, the relationship we had entered into
with such fervour.
"This is risky for us, isn't it, dangerous even?" I asked him pointlessly.
For he nodded. But before I could continue, I felt him move, push himself
up on one elbow behind me, and rest his chin on my shoulder.
"There are more pertinent questions, John. For one, how much more
risky is it for us to lie here in each other's arms than it is for us to
break into the house of a suspected blackmailer to recover the vital evidence?
How much more dangerous is it than running over a moor in the dead of night
in pursuit of a murderous hound? But more than anything, I must ask,
do you believe this to be worth it?"
Turning in his embrace, I faced him. His grey eyes were warm, the
beloved features smiling for me alone.
"You are worth all the dangers this world could throw at us," I told him.
"For you I willingly risk my career and my life."
He smiled at me, his parted lips drawing my attention. "I doubt
either sacrifice will be needed if we are careful," he reassured me.
I glanced up and noted that his eyes were on my mouth as mine had been on
his. Leaning in, I kissed him.
"I love you," I murmured, lips still touching his.
"And I you, John, although it will take time before I'm used to this.
You of all people know how I lack the proper emotional maturity for a man
of my considerable years."
He was teasing me, in his own inimitable way. I couldn't resist
teasing back, using my fingers on his chest and my teeth on his neck.
Laughing gently, he wrapped one leg over my thigh as I pushed a knee between
his. Our erections were brought together in an erotic duel and I delighted
in his little moan of pleasure.
"Ah, John," his hands stroked over my head and shoulders, down my back.
He was more confident than he'd been the first time. Never, he'd admitted,
had he known a man or a woman in such intimate a fashion. I hadn't
imagined that he had, the thought had seemed too incredible somehow.
But he'd been taken advantage of many times in his younger life that it was
up to me to convince him that love and consent made all the difference.
"You bring me alive, John," he whispered as I sucked on the pink nubs
of his nipples. I raised my head, flicking the tip of my tongue over
the curve of his lips, indulging in the taste of him.
We rubbed our lengths against one another with feline grace. The
sheer pleasure of being so close to him enough to push me toward my own climax
but I needed to take him with me when I fell.
Holmes' orgasm last night had not been his first, but it had been the
first time someone else had driven him to that particular edge. It
had left him defenceless and vulnerable, endearing him to me all the more,
if that were possible.
I knew that for a time it would be like a drug to him. It would
be my pleasure and my honour to give him all that he needed until he was
as sated as I.
He drove his tongue into my mouth, one hand on my back, one venturing
nervously down to the swell of my cheeks, although not yet brave enough
to touch me there so blatantly.
Reaching between us, I wrapped my fingers around our phalluses, ensuring
my palm touched us both. He groaned, deep in his throat, and brought
his fingers to touch my hand as if to prevent me from carrying out my intentions.
But as I began to pump us both thoroughly, his fingers simply rested against
mine, not stopping me, not assisting me.
I watched him steadily, the emotions that turned his expression, his eyes
when they opened to meet him. He is so beautiful.
His orgasm shook him as it had the night before. His fingers tensed
against mine, his palm flat on my back. My own seed mixed with his
as I shuddered against him.
It wiped us out, and as I collapsed on to my back I tugged at him to move
with me.
He wrapped himself around me, his head on my shoulder, our stomachs sticky
with semen and sweat.
I think that he had, for a long time, thought those fluids things to be
ashamed of. It would take time before he accepted without needing
the reassurance of my post-coital embrace.
~~~
"Finished, Watson?"
I start, unaware that he's been standing behind me.
"Almost."
"We shall deliver Sir Henry's copy to him in person I think."
I smile across at him as he drops into his chair by the fire. Henry
is in London taking a break from the loneliness of the moor. He is
unsure now whether he will remain at the Hall. Holmes and I have promised
to introduce him to London life.
As for Holmes and I, society already believes us inseparable and we have
done nothing to change that opinion. I have my marriage behind me,
ended as it did in such sad circumstances. My return to Baker Street
was natural, for it had once been my home and I was loathe to stay in the
house that Mary and I had shared and that held so many memories for me.
Holmes and I share rooms, and that was all. I'd proven myself to
enjoy the company and love of women, and he was well known for his criticism
of affairs of the heart.
We love directly under the noses of those who would damage us, and they
do not see. They do not want to see.
He lights a cigarette and regards me through the plume of smoke he exhales.
My attention is drawn to his lips as he parts them to inhale. He notices
my regard, of course, and as he flicks the ash into his abandoned glass the
tip of his tongue peeks out.
"Am I as bad for your concentration as you are for mine?" he quizzed me,
amused.
"Definitely." I hope no one sees these smiles that pass between
us. They're positively obscene.
~~~
A few weeks ago, Merripit House was sold to a young man whose family made
their money in farming. He himself had apparently been educated in
Oxford, pushed by his parents to do something else with his life. To
that end he'd travelled much of the world, had made certain discoveries by
which he'd amassed his own small fortune and was now happy to settle for a
time on Dartmoor.
Tonight we dine with Henry and his new friend. It is their first
night in London, and Henry is excited for us to meet this man, and for him
to make our acquaintance.
"We should soon be making a move," Holmes states from the hall behind
me.
I turn as he steps into the lounge. We aren't dining at any of our
usual haunts tonight, but somewhere suggested to us by a close and trusted
friend. Therefore, he's dressed different to the norm, in a black suit
with a black silk shirt and a dash of gold at his wrists. I raise my
eyebrows and he smiles mischievously.
"I think we might be late," I inform him casually.
And I lay my pen down....
fin
elfin
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