Prelude to a Partnership

by Miss Roylott

  "What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. The question is, what can you make people believe that you have done?" Then he shrugged off his cynicism. "Never mind. I would not have missed the investigation for anything. There has been no better case within my recollection. Simple as it was, there were several most instructive points about it."

  "Simple!"

  Holmes smiled, then happily expounded upon the case, telling me how he reasoned backwards from the clues at hand. Most people, he observed, could reason forward from cause to effect, but few could reason from effect to cause like he could. He evidently enjoyed going over the case point by point again, filling in the gaps where he had not taken me completely into his confidence before.

  I realised with pleasure that despite his denials in my bedroom, Holmes did already trust me in some things; I merely had to coax him to trust me in some more.

  Scarcely had the maid removed the remains of my late lunch, when Gregson and Lestrade arrived together, shaking hands with us and remarking upon the unfortunate death of Jefferson Hope. "Good that you were with us, Doctor, to spot his heart trouble," Lestrade pointed out.

  I dismissed it. "No doubt Hope would have informed you of it all the same, so that he could tell you his statement."

  "Ah, but we might have thought it a ploy and not sent for a doctor in time to confirm it."

  They sat down with us and quickly asked to examine the manuscript, along with the original parcel and introductory note that had come with it. Once they had inspected these items for clues, in a manner that attempted to imitate Holmes while being superior to him, they embarked upon reading the manuscript. We four alternated reading it out loud, and afterward the two official detectives argued about the merits of trying to identify and arrest this accomplice of Jefferson Hope. How much had he aided in the murders? Would his capture bring forth a trial that would glorify both their names before the public and the Yard?

  Holmes assured them that with Hope's death, the accomplice would cunningly disappear, and any pursuit of him would not be worth the trouble, since Hope's mission of vengeance was clearly finished.

  So Lestrade cleared his throat and nudged Gregson to bring up a new topic.

  The latter hesitated with what seemed like dread and then humbly asked Holmes just how he had solved the murders of Drebber and Stangerson. Holmes immediately began a detailed lecture on all the points that he had discussed already with me, so I excused myself to my room.

  I can still hear Holmes's muffled voice from the other room, with little response from the other men; clearly his favourite subject is his method of detection. Hopefully, he will come to a conclusion at last, so that Gregson and Lestrade can leave. I imagine that the Yard detectives view Holmes's discourse as an inevitable bitter pill needing to be swallowed, in order to learn how to get good enough to trump Holmes someday.

  When I heard them rise to go, I came out and shook their hands heartily, wishing them good luck in future investigations. They thanked me and took their leave of us. I was so pleased at being alone at last that I hurriedly closed the curtains and embraced Holmes. He laughed and kissed me awhile, sinking down with me onto our sofa. "So you've made your decision, then? You've definitely set your cap for me?"

  I nodded. It cheered me that he actually appeared flattered that I wanted him as a lover, not just an occasional convenience. I am stubborn that way.

  He cautioned that I should go lock the door if I wished to continue our pleasures.

  Instead I behaved myself and returned to my armchair by the fire, leaving him lying upon the sofa. "You could have cut back the length of your speech, you know."

  He smiled. "I am sorry. I did not know that it was so urgent for you to have a hold of me. Perhaps I'll abbreviate my lectures in future, no doubt to the detriment of Gregson's and Lestrade's education."

  "Holmes, I know your profession is important, and no doubt they'll become better detectives if they know where they went wrong. —Even they must see that, for they sit through your speeches when they'd much rather wipe the superior smirk off your face. But you do go on, Holmes, more than necessary."

  He raised an eyebrow at my honest opinion and finally looked sheepish. "Well, perhaps so," he said with a shrug. "It is my opportunity to have them acknowledge the true worth of my methods; I remember in the beginning that it took a great deal of work for me to even earn their attention, much less their patronage as my clients."

  "Well you have that now, don't you? In fact, your merits should be publicly recognised. You should publish an account of the case. If you won't, I will for you."

  Holmes laughed and shook his head. "You may do what you like, Doctor. You should be wary, however, lest Gregson and Lestrade want to take back their fees when they read such an account in print."

  "Oh I can flatter them a bit, or something."

  Holmes remained sceptical, but he enjoyed watching me make a list of documents and notes that I should need to refer to, in writing up the case. He tossed me over the manuscript, which had apparently not been confiscated as official police property.

  When we perused the evening papers over our supper, Holmes found a paragraph in the Echo referring to the conclusion of the Brixton Mystery. It commented upon Jefferson Hope's death and alluded to the Mormon history, then gave credit for the unravelling of the mystery to Lestrade and Gregson, who both would be receiving a testimonial. Scant mention was made of Holmes as an amateur detective hoping to someday attain the same degree of skill as the professionals.

  Holmes laughed it off, but I thought he deserved better and repeated my intention to write up the case. "I have all the facts in my journal, and the public shall know them."

  He eyed me keenly then and murmured, "I should like to know the facts in your journal. Fascinating facts, I'm sure. Have you… written of us?"

  I averted my eyes and said nothing. His implied question was, would I write of our bedroom activities tonight? I do not know. Maybe. It shall never see the light of day in publication, whatever happens.

  After our dishes were cleared, Holmes locked the sitting-room door and we embraced. For a while he indulged me passionately upon the sofa, though we were careful of the servants hearing us; we must wait until they have gone to bed before we can start in earnest. I so enjoy taking away his breath with my kisses.

  In time I let him go and stretched my legs, pacing about the room with increasing impatience.

  Holmes still lay where I left him, gazing into the fire with a kind of drowsy apathy, and I began to recognise the vacant look in his eyes.

  "Holmes!" I said sharply.

  He snapped out of it and focused his eyes again. "I am fine. Hand me my pipe and tobacco please." I did so, and stood watching him fixedly.

  "If you are tense, go write awhile. It will soothe you."

  "Will you go wait for me, please?" I did not want to find him comatose by the time I returned.

  "Of course." He rose from the sofa and picked up his violin and bow. "I shall pass my time with an occupation, since it concerns you so much." He gave me a kiss, and then retired to his room.

  It is safe now; the servants will be in bed at present, and Mrs. Hudson will not hear us downstairs. I have changed for the night and found my salve; I do not believe I have forgotten anything. He stopped playing his violin awhile ago, so I hope he is still waiting for me and has not succumbed to that vacancy again.

  Chapter 10

  An Intimate Night

  Though I knew he had left it unlocked, I lingered briefly at his closed door, savouring the moment before I turned his knob and felt it yield to me. When I opened the door, he was sitting expectantly on the edge of his bed, and he put out his pipe and knocked out the ashes when he saw me.

  I came inside and shut his door, locking it; he had already drawn the curtains on his window. As he awaited me, I untied my dressing-gown and advanced slowly towards him, hanging up my gown on the near bedpost. Then I joined him on his bed and we embraced.

>   He kissed me, and I pushed him down onto his back, poising myself over his lank body. It had been so long.

  He tried to free his mouth from mine for a moment. "How do you want me?"

  I silenced him with more kisses. Then I started untying the sash of his gown, and we began undressing one another. He unbuttoned my shirt and dragged it off my shoulder, making me wince and halt abruptly.

  "Watson?" He looked concerned.

  I tried to dismiss my pain. "It's my wound. I forgot it. I haven't had someone since before Maiwand."

  "Here." Turning me over gently, he lay me flat beneath him and then leaned close, kissing and massaging my scar so attentively. He eased the rest of the shirt off my shoulder, then traced his lissom hands down my naked chest. Years in Afghanistan had darkened my skin in places, which were only beginning to fade.

  I watched his eyes. "I have changed much?"

  "No more than I."

  It was a lie; these five years have worn me far more roughly than he.

  I ran my fingers along his scarred arm and he nuzzled my shoulder again. He asked me curiously about my wound, the battle, and the later fever that wore me so thin and haggard. I answered him absently, pushing off the bottoms of his pyjamas and tangling his slim legs with mine.

  He has not changed much; he did age a little, but the overall shape and strength of his figure are much like I remember. Still, the dark of the closet had been so complete that I discovered much by simply being able to see him now. He in turn explored me as though I were full of secrets to uncover, like some mysterious clue from his case, or like a child's new and fascinating toy.

  Seeing one another certainly helped us to avoid bruising each other, but Holmes kept turning us about in his desire to reach inaccessible parts of me. "Don't wear me out," I warned breathlessly. "We haven't begun yet."

  So he broke off wrestling with me and lay back on his bed, watching me with his grey eyes and waiting.

  I smiled and dug into the pockets of my dressing-gown. At his query, I replied that I had brought my salve for the sake of comfort and my other precautions for the sake of health.

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You have had many since me?"

  "No, just the one. He had very many partners, though, so we took care. I believe I did not catch anything, but symptoms can occasionally be so mild so as to go unnoticed."

  So I instructed him with the salve and the protective sheathes, to allow us to indulge freely. Again he seemed surprised at my new skill and deliberateness in lovemaking, so different from our rough-and-tumble crudeness before, when I had lacked for experience, but not lust. I had not realised that it would seem such a drastic change to him. He appeared chagrined at finding himself out his depth.

  "I never made a special study of it," he excused awkwardly.

  "Of course not." I sucked his long fingers one by one to relax him.

  In this subject at least, Holmes was the apprentice instead of the master; the lack of guile in his grey eyes reminded me that he was in fact years younger than I, and I truly felt it in his deference to my experience. Pressing my advantage, I was able to surprise, tease, and seduce him as if he were an ordinary man with feelings; the incisive and cold-blooded reasoner had faded from view, and was supplanted by a human being at last.

  I hungered to have him in a million different ways. As I coated him inside and out with my fingers, Holmes caught his breath and grew ever more passionate for me. He parted his legs with wonderful flexibility and I started to penetrate him, but he tensed up considerably and I had to withdraw; it was too much too soon.

  After some experimentation, I found a method he liked much better. He clawed at me and moaned "John" like a madman until he came, spilling into the sheath inside me; I could feel his spasms of ecstasy and recall how I had felt when Murray first rode me like this.

  He was still biting his lip as I bent to kiss him; I eased myself off and discarded his sheath for him. He did not say anything when I lay down close between his legs, and I was tempted, but I did not try penetrating him again just yet. I anchored myself at his thigh and thrust against him while he held onto me.

  Then I discarded my sheath carelessly to the floor and rolled over. We lay there resting, disinclined to clean up after ourselves at the moment.

  Holmes turned to me, running a hand through my hair. "Tell me, about him. About you."

  I shifted and met his eyes.

  He leaned near, laying his head against my shoulder, while his fingers fondly traced my wound once more.

  So I started from the beginning. "The first man that ever awakened my passion was a 'Varsity team-mate of mine whose touch I craved madly, but he did not realise the nature of my passion and reciprocated only my friendship. Still I hung about him and fantasised about him night after night alone. After a while, I thought perhaps that it was best to stick to my private sin, and thereby not risk either rejection or being caught.

  "When I took my Bachelor's degree and began working at Bart's, I tried to court women and save money for a private practice, just as my family expected me to, but I kept hungering for many of the young medical students surrounding me, especially one who expressed his admiration and awe of me after I put off a practice[20] by signing up to obtain a doctorate instead. I was so frustrated and lonely, I thought I'd go mad! That was when I came to your university and found you. I wonder that you enjoyed it at all, I was so desperate and awkward."

  He smiled and closed his eyes, nuzzling my cheek. "It was all right."

  I kissed him and remembered how long ago it was. "After that day, you served as my fantasy for a while and I managed to last another two years. I entered Netley and then the Army in hopes that either I'd be disciplined into overcoming my weakness or else that some soldier would make me his own.

  "There I met Murray, my orderly. At first I felt guilty to take advantage of my position, but he was eager and bold, pouncing on me without a trace of innocence. He'd been with many men, and he taught me… everything."

  Holmes nodded, pursing his lips. "Perhaps," he suggested, "we will explore more of what he taught you."

  I thought about that, and also about how different Holmes was from Murray. "The last I saw of him was at the battle of Maiwand. Then I woke up at the hospital and was told that he had been commended for his bravery in rescuing me, and afterward was transferred to another regiment. He was no doubt chasing some other man already, though I had occasional letters from him asking if I was well. I answered him until I fell ill and was lost to months of delirium and fever. I suppose it was my punishment for my unbridled wickedness with him." I sighed. "When I returned to London, I made inquiries with friends still in the Army, but could never learn Murray's whereabouts. So I have been alone, polluted only by myself until now."

  "Suffering," he said, and sucked gently on my fingers.

  I took his hand in mine and kissed it, exhaling morbidly. "I wonder what my punishment shall be for this?"

  He raised his head and smiled with that cool confidence of his. "Do not wonder about such things, Watson. Just enjoy it while we are here." Then he chuckled. "Perhaps I can even steer you from further dangers. If not for me, you might have resorted to some rent-boys off the street, or have got into the clutches of some blackmailer by now."

  "So you are my safety net, then." I suppose that he did not know I had once mistaken him for such a scoundrel, when his net of safety had appeared to be a web of peril. It did not matter anymore, and I lay there with him, listening to his quiet breathing until we fell asleep together.

  He woke me in the early hours before dawn, and we cleaned up our mess. I tied on my dressing-gown and he threw the rest of my clothes to me. I hurried back to my bedroom while he put on his own gown and discreetly unlocked the sitting-room door.

  I suppose he is still in his bed now. I think I left my salve in his room, but no matter; I will be there again.

  As we breakfasted this morning, I learned what Holmes had meant on the night he said he wo
uld not be able to "recover" quickly from sex with me. He attempted to be his usual aloof self, and he seemed to succeed whenever we were not alone, but then his discipline would lapse the moment that the servant departed. I would catch Holmes gazing at me in a fond, wistful way that could not be attributed to a merely innocent, friendly interest.

  I smiled at him and asked whether he needed me to close the curtains on the windows.

  He cleared his throat and stubbornly returned his attention to his food. But his grey eyes found their way back to me soon enough, and I did rise and close the curtains then.

  Holmes blushed and appeared chagrined by his weakness, his humanity. He shook his head and whispered, "You do not know, Watson, how long it took me to return to the laboratory, after our time in the closet."

  He looked so serious, and I was too ecstatic from last night's pleasures to keep from teasing him naughtily. I started to ask Holmes if he had ever got back his handcuffs from Scotland Yard, but was interrupted by a knock on our door.

  "A Mr. Cooper to see you gentlemen," our landlady informed us.

  It surprised me that anyone besides Gregson and Lestrade would call upon us both, and neither I nor Holmes recognised the name given.

  We thought it must be a client, and Holmes, believing he was not recovered enough yet, claimed that we were too busy to receive Mr. Cooper; the fellow might try back another day, or else take his business elsewhere. Holmes's response surprised me, especially since he had said before that work must always come first for him, but perhaps he was feeling secure due to his recent success. I myself did want to be alone with Holmes, but I also realised that a case would probably forestall Holmes's next depression—although I hoped to do that myself with more nights spent in his bed.

  Mrs. Hudson began to withdraw to send our visitor away, but the visitor, who had probably been eavesdropping behind her, pushed impatiently past her.

  "You must see me, sirs!" the impetuous young man pled with us from our doorway. "I mean, please receive me, after you have finished your breakfast of course. I shall not take up too much of your time."