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“Mrs. Hudson!” I entreated softly, yet she continued on in her tirade and I feared there would be no end in sight. “Mrs. Hudson, please!” I meant to shout, alas it fell rather short and into the realms of sqwacking instead. Though it was my resulting violent coughs that finally silenced the woman. They were also what brought Watson bounding down the stairs from his room.
“What the devil is going on?” he inquired rushing to my side.
“Mr. Holmes has strained himself,” Mrs. Hudson offered, looking down at me in that disapproving way of hers. Watson’s lips thinned and he left in search of the water carafe. In the interim I glared at Mrs. Hudson trying my best to fight the urge to give in to the burning, itchiness of my throat.
“Holmes...” Watson sighed upon returning. I took the proffered water and sipped carefully as per his direction. “What have I told you?”
“I wouldn’t have... strained myself if Mrs. Hudson... had not upset me...so.”
“Upset you!” scoffed she. “If only you were there, doctor. Huh! The things I put up with!”
“Well, what has he done?” Watson asked whilst palpitating my throat.
“Well! He begins by snapping his fingers at me to get my attention--”
“I only did so because you didn’t hear me the first five times I called. I am to speak softly; doctor’s orders if I remember correctly.” The infuriatingly formidable woman payed my comment no heed and continued on.
“‘Mrs. Hudson,’ he says ‘where the hell is my wig?,’ he says! Indeed, he did say that.
‘Well, which one?’ I ask.
‘The russet one.’
Well, I tell him I’ve thrown it away.
‘Thrown it away!?’ he hisses.
‘Yes, for it had begun to smell something awful.’”
That was the point! It is, of course, quite essential that when taking on a disguise one takes on the life of the character one is playing. It isn’t enough to simply look the part, as I had told the woman then perhaps in too strong a manner.
“He became quite terse with me and, I tell you Dr. Watson, I found that I had had enough! I tidy his room--”
“And rearrange everything!”
“--I take his rudeness in stride. I--”
“Yes, yes of course, Mrs. Hudson,” Watson gentled. “You are much tried, as we all are.” This made me snort. “Why don’t you go back down stairs, and I will bring down the supper tray when we have finished.”
She looked doubtful but mercifully left all the same. Watson closed the door behind her and I steeled myself. Surprisingly, once the man had turned around and took the seat opposite me, I was not met with annoyance or a lecture but concern.
“You are alright, are you not, Holmes?” I knew what he meant. I found that my hand had unconsciously risen to my neck, where I knew there were still ten perfectly shaped finger marks. I was still furious that Alcock had gotten away.
I was about to respond when the sitting room door was almost wrenched from it’s hinges and an unknown man was suddenly filling it’s frame with his girth.
“Which of you gentlemen is, Holmes?” asked he, very deceptive in his genteel tone.
It pains me to say that his untimely appearance had startled me into coughs and so left me unable to respond. It is not embarrassment that pains me but the result of my inaction. Watson stood almost immediately. His hands firm at his sides, one still holding his napkin.
“I am.”
“Right! You meddlesome cur!” the man snarled and of a sudden he was brandishing a broken chair leg, of all things. This must have stunned Watson as well, as he was slow to raise his arm. I saw him wince in pain at the strong impact. Watson quickly recovered and brought his cupped hand crashing against the side of the man’s head. He reeled, undoubtedly his ears ringing.
At this point I had come back to myself and went for the poker in the grate. When I had my weapon Watson had wrapped his napkin around the man’s wrist and twisted, rending the offending implement from his grasp. Unfortunately, this left Watson’s sides open and I was too late to stop the fist that landed a blow at his ribs. I laid the man flat with a carefully placed blow and immediately ran for a constable.
When I returned with help, I saw that Watson was no longer in the room. I assured the PC that I would be down to the station tomorrow to give a proper report. He relented and, with the help of two other constables, dragged the blackguard from my home.
I was at Watson’s bedroom door in an instant. I could hear his hisses just beyond. He beckoned me in at my knock and I was met with the sight of my Watson sans shirt and bandaging his side. His left forearm already bore bruises. I flinched at the sight.
“You fool, Watson.” I took a seat at the end of his bed. “Why did you do it?”
“The man was clearly a threat.”
“I can handle myself, Watson.”
“I know.” He averted his eyes.
“How can you live with this urge? Such kindness? You had him believe you were me because you knew he would become violent. So, I say again: you are a fool.” I could quickly feel my ire receding.
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t call it kindness.”
“Of course you wouldn’t because you are a loyal, modest, duty-driven, and self-depreciating, man.”
“Indeed? You believe I did it out of the kindness of my heart?”
“I fear Watson that everything that you do is based out of your heart and the kindness therein. And it worries me sick.”
“Well, if you must know, the man had very large hands, Holmes, and you have a very fine neck. Very attractive to such hands, as we have recently seen! I couldn’t allow a repeat of that day.” There was something in that, in his tone. Something that made my heart beat mad with treacherous hope and desire. And against my better judgment, I perused the matter.
“You have large hands as well, Watson.”
He paused and looked at me quizzically. “Are you in this way implying that I wish to choke you?”
“We both know the thought has crossed your mind many a time before! No...I am implying that you think I have a very fine, attractive neck.”
To my surprise Watson laughed. I was highly put out by this as one would imagine. Subtle seduction was my aim after all.
“Oh, Holmes you are a delight, and I love you so.”
He pulled me into a kiss before I had time to digest his words. I have longed for this. And so has he. He pulled me to him and ravished my mouth and neck with his lips and tongue. I ached in my trousers and I could feel a twin reaction in him against me. He bit my ear to get my attention.
“I would show you just how unkind I can be,” he breathed. This pronouncement thrilled me and I shuddered in response.
“Is that a promise?” I smiled.
“Mmm,” he affirmed and we were lost to each others lips once more. So, engaged was I that I attempted to roll Watson on top of me so that he may enact some of these vague actions. He grunted and I sat back slightly.
“Oh Watson. I fear that you have rather placed yourself in a false position, for you are not exactly in a state to play out your promise.”
“I can do plenty,” he growled. “But let’s perish the thought of a moment. I want to keep you guessing.”
I smirked, undoing his trousers. “I never guess.”
“And yet you will never truly know the magnitude of pleasure I can inflict on you until it is too late. Holmes you don’t have to. Your throat...”
“I want to, Watson. After such kindness... I, as you well know, am not so kind. This is for me perhaps more than it’s for you, Watson.”
Then, as I revealed his splendid prick, I decided to do a little inflicting of my own. It is true that I have never performed this particular act of love, but I was eager to know what it felt like to feel the wet plumpness of his head against the sensitive skin of my lips, to feel the contours of it, to feel it’s width stretch my mouth, to feel the weight on my tongue. Oh, but the act was such a feast to all the senses and I found myself drunk upon him. God! but it threw me into a frenzy. And he too was affected by my mouth upon him, if the moans above me and the hand gripping my cheek were any indication. This only made me moan and try my best to convey my own pleasure. I sucked at him feverishly, fondled his scrotum, and tickled his perineum. Letting the feeling of every pulse of his cock create a like one in my own.
“God, Holmes. You will take me down your throat, I know it! Mmn, soon.” Indeed, soon thereafter I was rewarded with the fruits of his loins. I hadn’t yet swallowed it all down, before he removed me from between his legs and was on top of me, kissing me, and palming my erection through my trousers relentlessly. I couldn’t hold back even if I wished to.
In the aftermath we lay together on his rumpled bedspread and could do nothing but breathe, and love, and dream. God, Watson has turned me into a helpless romantic! Yet, I cannot refrain from grinning and remembering that there was a time when I would have been bothered by that. Very bothered indeed.