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My moods are, on the whole, predictable. When I have no cases, as I often did not at that time, I have possibly four to five days before the violin grates on my nerves and my personal chemical endeavors begin to bore me, and my stagnant mind will start to collapse in upon itself.
Indeed, I was anticipating the seven-percent solution that awaited me should my hemoglobin test fail once more, yet when it had not, I thought perhaps I had another day or so. It was then that I'd heard footsteps approaching: Stamford's and another's.
John Watson, he turned out to be. I'd felt the wave of melancholy ebb at the wealth of information presented to me. The doctor had kept back the tide for a considerable amount of time--nearly eight months until that week.
My usual distraction was gone.
Watson had been away in the country for several days. The first few were fine, of course. I had my chemical corner, and my violin, and even a client. Yet, my mood turned sour all the same and quite suddenly, too. I was smoking a pipe on the settee and staring at the empty chair beside me when, quite apropos of nothing, my will gave out and I could do nothing but bury my face in the cushions.
Mrs. Hudson had entered a few times with a loaded tray of food, if the delicacy of her step were any indication. Then returned later to take the untouched dishes away. There was nothing to engage me. Just small, unimportant deductions continuously and inadvertently made; details of human life washing over me from the open bay window, and flaying my motionless body with it's tedium. That was my existence.
"How long has he been like this?" his voice floated to me.
The reply was quietly made and hardly of any interest. I remained silent.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'll see what I can do." The door closed and I could feel his eyes upon me. It was comforting but hardly enough.
He took a tentative step towards me, then another. He was nervous. This was the first "mood" of mine that he had witnessed. Soon he was at my side, and with a grunt he stooped and took the pipe from my listless fingers. I heard him return it to the rack on the mantle.
"Holmes? Are you in any pain?" At this I found the energy to snort. Though the cushions it must have sounded like a groan, for he was instantly at my side with a cry of, "You are in pain!"
Oh, yes, indeed, Doctor! Pain of a sort. Why must everyon--
Then he placed a firm hand on my back.
It was as though his hands literally possessed healing qualities. My body suddenly had the energy to bow my spine. I gasped.
"Is your back hurting you?"
That most definitely did NOT hurt! It was like nothing I had experienced prior. His thumb began rubbing in tiny circles at the tip of my shoulder blade. I moaned. I knew his motive was to soothe, but my body misinterpreted it as trying to arouse. I could not think, and where this would have alarmed me before, then it was most welcome.
"Holmes, I am going to attempt to locate the source. If you cannot do so with words you must give me some sign of when I am close."
He then moved his hand to my lower back. I frowned, frustrated at the loss. Though the kneading in that area was pleasurable, it was not where I wanted it most.
"Higher!" I managed. He moved on to my ribs. "High--AH!" His fingers brushed there again and continued on to stroke gingerly all around the bone. I turned my head to the side and away from him to better take in gasping breaths.
"Yes, Watson!" The stroking stopped. He couldn't have possibly mistaken my tone. He rose. "No...." There was the snap of the key in the door then the clink of the decanter of spirits.
"Watson. I don't... please, come back."
"Forgive me, Holmes." His voice was huskier and right in my ear. "I have surmised that your right scapula is paining you. If you will permit...." Before he had finished his sentence he had my dressing gown off with no aid from me.
"Now if you will kindly sit up on your elbows, so I can remove your waistcoat and shirt." I did so, and the garments were removed with sightly trembling fingers. "If the pain becomes too much--"
I fixed him with a look that I am afraid might have been quite...hungry.
"You and I both know that it is not pain which I am experiencing, Watson." At first he simply stared back, and my erection was becoming quite impatient. Then his face changed and the heat of his gaze pierced my chest.
"Lie down, then," he growled.
I did so immediately, and was rewarded with his purposeful hands upon me once more. He curled his fingers around my shoulders and dug his thumbs into the flesh along the blades almost to the point of pain.
"GOD! Yes!" My hips began to press and swirl into the settee as Watson massaged around the perimeters.
"Oh, Holmes! What an enticing figure you prove to be in the throws of passion. I wish I had some oil on hand." The only warning I was given was a puff of warm air, before I felt the swipe of his tongue on my skin. "We'll just have to make due."
He was avid in his exploration, applying himself wholeheartedly as though there was nothing he'd rather be doing, and...no one he'd rather be with. His hands were so warm and sure, and his lips and tongue even more so. Before that day I would have protested to the ends of the earth, that a well built sitting-room fire and the slightly elevated temperature of another body could in no way melt human flesh. Oh, but did mine that day!
My eyes rolled back into my head at my dear Watson's ministrations and, referring to the immobility one would expect from a melted individual, I was contrarily made to be quite energetic, and...vocal.
"Fuck! Yes, that. Again!" He touched me with the ridge of his teeth. "John!" He chuckled at my desperation then scraped me with the bottom row of his teeth. "Please!" I continued on with a litany of entreaties, as I repositioned my arm and shoulder so that my shoulder blade lifted from my ribcage.
"Alright. Since you asked me so sweetly." He nipped me at the base of my scapula.
"Oh, yes. Harder! Bite it!" He obliged then wrapped his lips around the tip of me and sucked, his tongue circling.
I was utterly undone. I gave the settee one more wild thrust. "Watson! Oh, Wah...wah...wah...ahh."
I stood up slowly and walked gingerly on shaky, ejaculate-slick legs to my bedroom door. Pausing at the threshold and displaying the love bites that undoubtedly littered my back, I looked over my shoulder at my Watson. I smiled, and began to undo the flies of my trousers.
"Perhaps next time I shall take my trousers off first." When he remained as he was, I sighed impatiently. "Love, do wipe that look off your face and come here!"
How sprightly he became after that!