Fic: Soldier's Heart Part 9 of 15
Jan. 6th, 2011 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piploverTitle: Soldier's Heart Part 9
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 09 and Canon
Rating: This chapter NC-17 for sexual situations
Wordcount: 85,307
Parings: Holmes/Watson
Summary: After Holmes returns from his three years' absence, not everything is as it should be.
Warnings: Deals with the physical and mental aspects of PTSD
Beta and Brit-picker: Beta'ed by the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jenlee1 and Brit-picked by the wonderful nodbear
Author's notes: Thanks always forenkiduts ' help, encouragement, and brainstorming .
The next day passed much as the first, as did the second. Their mornings started around nine, when they would head down together for a hearty breakfast, followed by more rambles around the estate and countryside. Lunch, as long as the weather held, was eaten outside, followed by a nap for Holmes and a few hours of peaceful reading for Watson. Then dinner and another few hours in the library.
Though Watson found his sleep undisturbed, he knew that Holmes could not say the same by the dark circles which continued to underline his weary eyes. He did not comment, however, even when on the third day, which dawned brilliantly sunny and warm, Holmes looked more wearied and beaten than he had previously. He resolved to confront his friend on the matter if a better rest was not achieved that night, and determinedly set about enjoying the day.
A stable, small in comparison to many Watson had seen, housed three fine horses, and it was decided that a ride would be a welcome distraction from Holmes’ depression, which seemed to be growing rather than diminishing with his lack of sleep.
They set out shortly after their morning meal, the horses patient and sturdy as they ambled along paths which led out to the countryside. Neither man spoke for nearly an hour, until they came to a small pond ringed by weeping willows and reeds.
“It’s lovely,” Watson observed as he dismounted, grimacing only slightly as his bad leg twinged. Surprised as he was to admit it, Mrs. Everman’s poultice had worked wonders. “Is this still your land?”
“Yes,” Holmes answered, eying the pond with a nervous flutter in his chest.
He had not meant to bring the doctor here, or at least, he admitted to himself, he had not intended to bring him here after their conversation on the train. The implications were…suggestive, and he was not certain at all that either man was prepared to face those suggestions.
As it was, however, the path they had wandered had been one of his favorites from childhood, and it had been instinct to lead his horse down its well worn trail, content to enjoy the sunshine and the company.
Watson, eying his companion closely, could for once follow Holmes’ thoughts easily enough, as his own had reached the same conclusion as soon as the pond came into view. He doubted that his friend had consciously brought him here, but the results were the same, and he thought it time to test the waters a bit, so to speak.
“Do you think it’s warm enough for a dip?” he asked lightly, determinedly turning his gaze back to the water. The pond was not overlarge, and looked free from scum and vegetation. “According to Norton, the weather’s actually been warmer than usual, and a bit of a dunk might do us good.”
He could feel Holmes’ eyes on his back, and, gathering his courage, turned to meet his gaze. He was unsurprised to see the conflicting emotions warring within his friend; longing battled with caution and suspicion, and fear could be seen behind it all.
“I’ll race you, if you think you stand a chance of winning,” he challenged, forcing his face into a smirk when Holmes narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly insulted and the emotions once more hidden behind a carefully erected wall of wounded dignity.
Without a word, Holmes dismounted and removed his waistcoat. It had been too hot for jackets, so neither man had too many layers to remove before they were both in their small clothes, eying each other warily.
“Go!” Holmes suddenly shouted, and took off for the pond as though fleeing for his life.
Watson, prepared for such a move, was right beside him, and the two barely paused before jumping feet first into the frigid water.
“Oh, good Lord!” Watson yelped when he broke the surface, sputtering with the cold.
“Yes, not quite what I had expected,” Holmes agreed, already making his way back to the edge of the pond.
He had not gone far, however, before he was seized from behind and half thrown, half carried, back into the now murky water, both men gasping and laughing as they wrestled.
Flesh made slippery by water slid along his hands as Holmes attempted to grapple Watson into a better position, and the doctor was having no more success in trying to best him. They tumbled and splashed and wrestled until out of breath, and only when their teeth were chattering did they escape to the embankment, climbing out to lay along the sun warmed grass as they breathed heavily.
Holmes turned, mouth open to ask about the success of the race, when he stopped, staring openly at Watson’s thoroughly tousled figure.
His small-clothes, a two-piece cotton affair that buttoned down the front and ended at his knees, clung to the doctor’s muscular form, the white fabric hiding nothing of his build. His nipples, a dark brown against the nearly see-through material, were constricted into narrow points by the cold, and the different muscles of his stomach, outlined by the clinging fabric, could just be made out if he stared hard enough.
And Holmes was staring very hard at Watson’s stomach, because he knew that if he were to look lower, he would see his friend’s member as clear as if there were no barrier to his flesh.
“Holmes,” Watson whispered, and the sound of his name brought him back to himself, looking up in horrified shock at his own actions, an apology already forming.
The words died on his lips as he realized that the other man was staring just as intently at him, (cheeks flushed despite the cold, eyes dilated in arousal, tongue wetting lips in nervous habit) eyes taking in all of Holmes’ form greedily, as though afraid he would miss something.
A tension seemed to form around the two of them, a band which stretched between their bodies and constricted, leaving them both breathless and aching to move. It was Watson who did so, propping himself up on his right elbow and leaning towards Holmes, until he was looking down at him with an intent, searching gaze.
Slowly, he moved his left hand until he was cupping Holmes’ cheek, the soft stubble scratching his palm as he closed the distance between them, lips touching for just a moment before pulling back slightly to gauge his friend’s reaction.
Holmes stared up at him, wide eyed with pupils impossibly black, and licked his lips. Taking that as a positive sign, Watson descended once more, pressing their lips together until Holmes opened his mouth slightly, the tip of his tongue tracing Watson’s lips and allowing him access.
The two of them lay there for an eternity, kissing in the sunshine, exploring each other’s mouths until they were gasping for breath and hands were seeking purchase on slippery grass or clinging fabric. They kissed until lips were swollen and red, and a dark flush colored both their cheeks.
Watson moved his lips over Holmes’ jaw, down his throat and under his ear. Each location produced a breathless gasp of pleasure, and spurred him to explore further.
Holmes, unlike Watson himself, wore only the bottom half of his underwear, which was doing little to hide his erection at the moment. Both men were breathing heavily, though Watson refused to give in to his urge to hurry matters along.
Slowly he kissed his way down Holmes’ stomach, tasting the faintly brackish tang of the pond water and salt from the sweat which had sprung out over his friend’s chest. He laved Holmes’ belly button with his tongue, pausing to inhale the scent of him before working his way back to kiss him deeply on the mouth, once more entwining their tongues together until both were nearly frantic with need. Hands joined as easily as their breath, and fingers clenched.
“Watson,” Holmes managed to gasp out, voice thick and hoarse with need. “We shouldn’t - we need to - oh, God!” he cried as teeth grazed a nipple, arching his back in pleasure.
Watson pulled away reluctantly, chest heaving with his desire as he stared greedily at the other man’s near naked form, and forced himself to sit back to put some space between them.
“We should head back,” he managed to say, voice breaking as he finally turned his gaze away from the man he considered his dearest and best friend. “They may wonder where we have got to.”
For a moment Holmes continued to lay on the ground, breath still unusually fast, before he nodded his head, closing his eyes as he willed his body into submission and managed to stumble to his feet.
Watson fallowed his lead, but could not refrain from closing his hands round Holmes’ waist and dragging him close for another heated kiss. Holmes’ hands wound through his hair, pulling on the wet strands as the kiss deepened. Their erections bumped, sending a jolt of desire so strong through him that Watson feared he would release without any further stimulation. From the stifled gasp against his mouth, he realized that Holmes was not much better off.
“We can’t - oh, yes! We can’t go back like this,” Holmes gasped, rubbing his front against Watson’s in a lust filled desire to seek release. “God, Watson!”
Realizing how close both men were, Watson cast caution to the wind and reached down to wrap his hand around Holmes’ member through the cloth of his underwear. The hard length twitched in his grasp, and it only took a few gentle pulls before he felt a warmth dampen the material, Holmes gasping his name as he buried his head against Watson’s shoulder and shuddered.
“Shhh,” Watson soothed, running his hand up Holmes’ bare back, feeling vertebra under the chilled flesh and muscles spasm with the force of his release. “It’s all right, it’s all right, Holmes.”
When he was finished, breathing heavily and still twitching slightly, Watson released his now flaccid manhood and gripped himself tightly. With only a single pull he was coming, biting his lip as his release washed over him, weakening his knees with the strength of it.
Finally, the two of them managed to part, looking at each other with astonished, wonder-filled eyes.
Holmes licked his lips unconsciously, taking in Watson’s form as though seeing it for the first time, and found himself whispering, “I love you.”
Both men froze as the words penetrated their sluggish brains, but when they did Watson’s eyes widened and then softened, his gaze so fond and adoring that Holmes had to look away lest he be undone by the emotions filling those blue, blue eyes.
“I love you, too,” Watson whispered back, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss to Holmes’ lips, savoring the feel of chapped skin on his own as he did so.
There was an awkward pause as both tried to figure out what was to happen next, neither one quite able to meet the other’s gaze. A dark cloud obscured the sun, the men glancing up as they realized how much time had passed since they first set out.
“We had best head back,” Holmes said in a fair approximation of his normal voice, moving hesitantly away from Watson’s warmth to gather his clothing. Watson did the same, though neither could resist casting furtive glances towards the other as they dressed, and it was only after they were fully clothed that they seemed able to rein their lingering gazes in.
The horses had wandered some ways off, and it took them nearly a half hour to round them up once more. By the time they had returned to the house for tea, both had nearly recovered their equilibrium and were able to hold normal conversation throughout.
After, they took Gladstone for a walk around the grounds, arms looped companionably together. They kept the conversation light, though neither could help brushing a hand across a shoulder or stealing a quick kiss when both were certain they were undetectable to any prying eyes.
Neither mentioned what had taken place between them, dressing for dinner in silence and in their separate rooms to ward off temptation. After they had eaten, they did not linger long in the study as was their wont, but retired early with the excuse of the ride having tired them out.
Mrs. Everman clucked at them good heartedly and sent them on their way, ordering a warm bath be prepared for them to ease whatever aches the unaccustomed ride would engender.
It was only after they had both washed away the remnants of the day and had donned their nightshirts that they firmly locked the doors to the outside world and fell into each other’s arms once more.
Their lips touched chastely at first, close mouthed, as their breath mingled. Shared, like so many things in their life had been. Watson’s fingers traced the hollow of Holmes’ throat, following the line of his collarbone, up to his neck, where he wound his hand in thick, still damp hair. His other hand rested gently on Holmes’ hip, a warmth barely felt through the cotton.
He could feel Holmes’ heartbeat against his palm, the ragged edges of his breathing as each breath became more labored with passion. His own stuttered in his lungs, at once too much and not enough.
“Have you ever…” Watson asked softly, his lips brushing against Holmes’, his tongue moving without conscious thought to intrude, robbing the other man of whatever reply he might have made. Only when they were both gasping did he step back, swallowing hard the taste of tobacco, brandy and something that could only be defined as Holmes. “Have you ever, before today?”
“Never,” Holmes whispered, voice rough and tinged with a hoarseness Watson had only heard that morning, and found himself desiring to hear more.
“Do you want to?” Watson asked, trailing his fingers down a well defined arm, over the wrist and lingering over slender, nimble hands. Holmes trembled against him, a slight twitching of the muscles that defied his usual iron control. “Now? With me? We did not speak of this earlier, but -”
Holmes leaned forward, resting his forehead against Watson’s chest in a move which was oddly shy as he answered in a voice barely above a breath, “Only with you, dear boy.”
Their lips sought and found each other again, more daring as tongues entwined, bodies pressing closer with the weight of too many years. Hardness brushed against hardness, and Holmes gasped into Watson’s mouth, the hand still entwined with the doctor’s squeezing tightly as the other clenched against a battle damaged thigh.
“Tell me what to do, “ Holmes pleaded, gray eyes closed against the terror of waking only to find that the day had been nothing more than a dream.
“Follow me,” Watson murmured gently, using the hand captured in his to lead his friend to the bed, the covers already turned down invitingly. “Let me teach you, as you have taught me so much. Let me guide you.”
Holmes did not answer, his mouth too engaged with stealing more kisses, need surging through him as he trailed his lips down Watson’s neck, mouthing the fabric.
Watson shuddered, and when he fell to the bed, Holmes went with him, the two of them landing in a tangle of limbs until neither knew where one started and the other ended. With a deftness made all the more impressive by his shaking hands, Holmes removed his nightshirt swiftly, eyes never leaving Watson’s sun-browned form as the doctor quickly divested himself of his own garment. By the time nothing remained between them but skin, both were covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the warm air of the room an embrace that surrounded them.
Deftly, Watson’s fingers wrapped gently around Holmes erect member, the other’s sharp intake of breath and tightly closed eyes reminding him of his friend’s inexperience. Slowly he stroked , alternating between feather light caresses and a more forceful grip. There had been little time, before, when all that he had wanted was to ease his friend’s need. But now, in the silence of the bedchamber, he took his time, learning the wants and desires of the man he knew he had always, and would always, love.
When Holmes’ ragged breathing and shuddering reached new levels, Watson knew he was close, and without taking his eyes off his friend, he bent down and took the tip of his hardness into his mouth. Salty, with a faintly bitter taste that clung to his palate, Watson swallowed the first wave of release, continuing to stroke the twitching length with a firm grasp as Holmes cried out softly, the sound muffled by one hand pressed tightly against his mouth.
Suddenly unable to hold off his own need, Watson used the hand not gripping Holmes to wrap around his own aching length, a few rough pulls sending him swiftly over the edge until neither man could do more than breathe deeply, twitching with aftershocks of almost too painful pleasure.
“I did not -” Holmes began, the hint of guilt in his voice too much for Watson, who silenced the words with a kiss.
“Tonight was for you, Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered, forehead pressed to forehead. “Tomorrow, and all the rest of our nights, will be for us both.”
***
It had been a long time since John Watson had slept pressed close against another body. Longer still since he had made love with someone for whom he cared so deeply that his chest ached with the fierceness of it. That it was Holmes who had this effect on him was irrelevant. The other man had defied the polite rules of society for as long as Watson had known him. That he should do so again in the form of the person he loved seemed almost insignificant when compared to some of their more daring exploits.
Or perhaps it was the single most significant event of their lives; Watson was not certain yet.
As he lay tangled amongst the blankets, his front pressed tightly against Holmes’ back, their hands entwined across the detective’s stomach, he allowed his sleepy thoughts to wonder at the events which had transpired that day.
They had drifted off to sleep not long after making love the second time, Holmes’ sheer exhaustion finally catching up on him as Watson had wiped a flannel tenderly over his still flushed body.
There were many scars on that lithe frame, hidden away from the world. Watson had not seen the bullet wound which had precipitated his friend’s return before, as it had been hidden by his small-clothes during his physical. But the puckered skin along Holmes’ right flank, just above his hip and dangerously close to his groin, could have been nothing else. The flesh was still red and raised, not so very long healed that the scar tissue had begun to fade to white, as Watson’s own bullet wound had done.
The criss-cross of tissue and cratered flesh would always mar his shoulder, but he had found peace with that a long time ago. Holmes, he knew, would disregard his body until it gave out on him, and small things like scars and near death experiences did little to faze him.
Watson breathed deeply of their mingled scents as he regarded his friend’s face, lax with sleep and the wrinkles which wreathed his eyes when awake smoothed away. For all the many years that he had loved Holmes, and loved him he had, passionately and deeply, he had never dreamt that such a moment as this could exist.
Normally when one acquired a new lover there was so much to be said, so many confessions to make and secrets to tell. With Holmes, however, they had known each other so long that words were superfluous, a loss of breath that could be put to better use in kisses and gasps of pleasure.
Holmes twitched in his sleep, his hand tightening unconsciously in Watson’s, and a soft exhalation, almost a moan, escaped his parted lips. Watson frowned as the heartbeat beneath his hand quickened, the chest rising in quick staccato bursts as though struggling for air.
Nightmare.
“Shhhh,” he soothed, sitting up on his elbow to look down at the other man. “Hush, Holmes. Only a dream. Nothing can hurt you here,” he whispered.
Whether it was the words themselves or the voice which had uttered them, Holmes calmed, his breath evening out once more and the slight grimace which had creased his brow fading until he was sleeping peacefully.
Watson waited a moment before laying his head back down, his own weariness pulling at his limbs as the uncommon exertions of the day started to catch up to him. There was still much the two of them needed to discuss. Holmes’ recovery was too important to allow it to be waylaid, no matter how amorous the distraction.
Then again, he thought, allowing his eyes to close as sleep began to pull him under. Perhaps Holmes would defy the odds in this as well.
***
They made love once more, with the sun still a distant promise. Holmes had awakened first, frozen at the unfamiliar weight of a second body in his bed, before memories of the previous day caught up on him.
Warmth filled his face, his chest, and his usual morning stiffness, nestled against Watson’s firm thigh, twitched slightly at the thought of all that had happened. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the quiet of the Estate, of Watson’s calm breathing, warm puffs of air which ghosted across his right nipple and left it tight with need.
He concentrated on slowing his own breaths and calming his heart, as a want his body had never before possessed tried to make itself known once more.
“Holmes?” Watson murmured, still more asleep than awake as he moved his head slightly to peer up at him with drowsy eyes. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” Holmes assured, glad his voice was steady as he hesitantly moved his free hand to stroke through Watson’s hair. It was soft, much softer than his own, and the fine, pale strands looked dark against his pallid fingers. Slowly he moved them, caressing his dearest friend’s - his lover’s - head, before moving to touch a stubbled cheek.
Watson sighed in contentment, leaning into the touch, his nose rubbing against Holmes’ stomach in a manner which should not, in any way, have been adorable, yet that was the only word Holmes could think of. When Watson shifted again, moving his left thigh to a more comfortable position, Holmes could not suppress his gasp at the sensation, and Watson stilled.
Then he did it again, this time deliberately, and the room suddenly filled with a thick tension, as though the very air had wrapped around them. Holmes exhaled loudly as he moved his hips, slowly, into Watson’s warmth.
Before either could speak they were moving, Watson rising up to lay fully atop Holmes, pinning the other’s hands above his head as he ground down against him, need pushing them both as their members rubbed together in a delicious friction. Holmes could not help the small gasp that escaped him, and Watson kissed him deeply, as though trying to capture it.
They did not speak, the only sounds their quiet moans and breathless urgings. It did not take long before they both found their completion, and only after, when they lay twined together with their essence mixed upon their stomachs, did Holmes break the silence.
“Must we speak of this?” he asked, pressing a chaste kiss to Watson’s forehead where it rested next to his on the pillow.
“Yes,” Watson answered, just as softly. “But for now, let me get us clean, and then a bit more sleep. You still look exhausted, old boy.”
Holmes smiled as Watson kissed him gently on the nose, a silly gesture that nonetheless left him feeling giddy. When the doctor stood to make his way to the water pitcher near the bed, he watched in unabashed appreciation, marveling at the play of muscle along his friend’s backside and the firm buttocks.
So much to discover, he thought as Watson made his way back with a now damp flannel. So many secrets and hidden wonders to be revealed.
The front view was as impressive as the back, and Holmes could not help the smirk that tugged his lips at the sight of Watson’s flaccid member, and only when he dragged his gaze up to meet Watson’s did he realize a similar look graced the other’s face.
“You are gorgeous,” Watson whispered, an echo of a greeting so long ago, when things had seemed nearly at their darkest. How little they had realized back then, what they meant to each other.
Though Holmes imagined that, perhaps, they had begun to suspect. Somewhere in the back of their minds, even as Watson prepared to set out upon married life and Holmes had begun to devote his attention to the fall of a madman, they had suspected.
As Watson removed the traces of their lovemaking from their bodies, Holmes allowed his limbs to grow heavy and his eyes to close. The day had not yet begun, and there was still time. Time to enjoy this quiet, this moment of peace that was all too rare. Time to just bask in the warmth of his friend as he curled up next to him once more and pulled the blankets over them both.
Time for them, and time for so much more than either had ever dreamed.
***
The servants were well versed in Holmes’ habits, so there was no disturbance to their sleep, letting the two men wake on their own. The sun had already fully risen, the morning well on its way to being done by the time they managed to disentangle themselves and wash properly.
“Do we have plans for today?” Holmes asked, running a brush through his wild tangle of hair as he looked over his shoulder to Watson’s room, where the doctor was studiously shaving.
“Only for you to eat, rest, and perhaps take Gladstone and myself for a walk around the grounds,” Watson answered after a moment, running the razor over his left cheek, eyes determinedly set on the mirror and not on Holmes, who was donning fresh trousers and shirt. “You look better this morning.”
“I slept,” Holmes answered simply, a small smile tugging his lips as he moved to lean against the doorframe which stood between their rooms. “Thank you.”
Watson paused in his ablutions, looking over for the first time and taking in Holmes’ appearance. The dark circles under his eyes had faded to twin smudges of color, and the shoulders which seemed incapable of being relaxed were now loose, the tension seeming drained from them.
“You’re welcome,” Watson smiled, his eyes lingering for just a moment on Holmes’ naked chest before determinedly turning back to his mirror. Even as he resumed shaving, he could not help the quick glance at his friend’s reflection, watching him button his shirt with those slim, elegant fingers.
“Ouch!”
Watson sighed as he touched the small dot of blood which welled up along his jaw, frowning at Holmes’ knowing expression.
“Why don’t you go get dressed and let me finish in here?” he suggested, examining the small cut with a resigned sigh before resuming his grooming. “And for heaven’s sake, Holmes,” he called to the other’s retreating back, “get rid of that stubble! You’re starting to look like a savage!”
There was no reply, but as Watson finished trimming his mustache he heard the sound of splashing and Holmes’ grumbles. He smiled to himself and devoted the rest of his attention getting dressed. It would not do, after all, to have the staff get suspicious.
***
Breakfast was a lazy affair, the two men descending the stairs together to the smell of bacon and eggs, Mrs. Everman calling a greeting to them as she passed them at on the landing.
“There’s tea and toast already at the table!” she said as she carried a large, covered platter into the dining room. “And you’re to eat at least a bit of everything, Mr. Holmes,” she warned, eying him narrowly as he took his seat.
“That shan’t be a problem, Mrs. Everman. I find myself strangely famished today!” he replied with a cheeky grin, already ladling a respectable size serving of eggs onto his plate.
Watson, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, followed suit, shooting a glare Holmes’ way as soon as the housekeeper had left, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
“Eat up,” Holmes said, still smiling smugly and ignoring the warning frown. “Mrs. Everman is simply a fabulous cook!”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” the lady in question said as she bustled back in, a bowl filled with early season berries in hand. She leaned over Holmes’ shoulder to place it conveniently between the two men, but froze as she stood back up, her eyes latched onto Holmes’ neck.
“Is something wrong?” Holmes asked, his cheerful air fading at her stunned expression.
“No!” she exclaimed too loudly, seeming to come back to herself and pulling her eyes away quickly from whatever had caught her attention. “No, nothing is wrong at all! In fact, everything is marvelous, Mr. Holmes! Simply wonderful!” she gushed, startling both men by placing a motherly kiss on Holmes’ cheek. “You eat up, young man.”
As she turned to go, she absently patted Watson’s shoulder, humming to herself as she took her leave.
For a moment both men were too stunned to continue eating, staring after her retreating back before turning to share a confused look. Watson felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what had caught Mrs. Everman’s attention.
Just above Holmes’ collar, plainly visible below his ear, was a love bite, the outline unmistakable to any who had borne one before.
“Watson?” Holmes asked, startled at his companion’s pale complexion. He reached across the table quickly and took his hand. “What’s the matter, old boy? You’re pale as a ghost!”
“Holmes -” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, very softly, “I think Mrs. Everman knows about the change in our relations.” And then indicated with his free hand the mark upon the other’s neck.
For a moment Holmes looked confused, uncertain what the doctor was referring to, before turning and picking up the gleaming silver creamer. He angled it to catch his own reflection before setting it down very carefully.
What color had filled his cheeks before vanished.
“Bugger!”
Watson could only agree.
***
They continued to eat silently, their appetites diminished by the realization that their secret was no longer. Both knew how effective gossip, even in a house as polite and respectful as theirs, got around. By the end of the day, they fully anticipated all the servants knowing.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Everman demanded as she came back in, a ewer in her hand. Her eyes took in the scene before her shrewdly, her wrinkled face filling with concern as she placed the ewer on the table. “Mr. Holmes? You’ve lost all color, you have! Are you ill?”
“No, no,” Holmes assured her, gamely trying to smile up at her, though his expression remained sickly. “I simply - that is -”
“We hadn’t realized - I mean - We had thought -” Watson stammered.
They stopped attempted to explain, sharing a helpless look.
“Ahh,” Mrs. Everman sighed, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling as she smiled brightly.
“Don’t you be giving it a second thought, Mr. Holmes,” she said conspiratorially, patting his arm reassuringly. “When I was a young lass, my William left so many marks on my neck my mother thought I had the plague,” she laughed, turning her indulgent expression to Watson, ignoring his stunned countenance as she deftly retrieved the pitcher and poured each man a glass of a sweet smelling juice. “I must say, Mr. Holmes, I can’t tell you how happy I am you found yourself a nice young doctor. My mother always wanted me to marry one, but not another man could best my William, and that’s the truth. Now you two eat up,” she ordered, patting Watson on the arm again. “Young things like you need all your energy!”
She winked bawdily as she left, humming under her breath again.
“Dear Lord,” Watson murmured, too stunned to know whether he wished to laugh with relief or sink under the table in mortified horror.
“Just remember,” Holmes grumbled as he took a long sip from his glass as though it were the finest of spirits. “This was all your idea.”
“Actually,” Watson sighed, filling his fork with his now slightly cooled eggs. “It was your brother’s.”
As Holmes spit the juice across the table, Watson reflected that there were worse ways to start a day.
***
Part 10
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes 09 and Canon
Rating: This chapter NC-17 for sexual situations
Wordcount: 85,307
Parings: Holmes/Watson
Summary: After Holmes returns from his three years' absence, not everything is as it should be.
Warnings: Deals with the physical and mental aspects of PTSD
Beta and Brit-picker: Beta'ed by the lovely
jenlee1 and Brit-picked by the wonderful nodbear Author's notes: Thanks always for
enkiduts ' help, encouragement, and brainstorming .The next day passed much as the first, as did the second. Their mornings started around nine, when they would head down together for a hearty breakfast, followed by more rambles around the estate and countryside. Lunch, as long as the weather held, was eaten outside, followed by a nap for Holmes and a few hours of peaceful reading for Watson. Then dinner and another few hours in the library.
Though Watson found his sleep undisturbed, he knew that Holmes could not say the same by the dark circles which continued to underline his weary eyes. He did not comment, however, even when on the third day, which dawned brilliantly sunny and warm, Holmes looked more wearied and beaten than he had previously. He resolved to confront his friend on the matter if a better rest was not achieved that night, and determinedly set about enjoying the day.
A stable, small in comparison to many Watson had seen, housed three fine horses, and it was decided that a ride would be a welcome distraction from Holmes’ depression, which seemed to be growing rather than diminishing with his lack of sleep.
They set out shortly after their morning meal, the horses patient and sturdy as they ambled along paths which led out to the countryside. Neither man spoke for nearly an hour, until they came to a small pond ringed by weeping willows and reeds.
“It’s lovely,” Watson observed as he dismounted, grimacing only slightly as his bad leg twinged. Surprised as he was to admit it, Mrs. Everman’s poultice had worked wonders. “Is this still your land?”
“Yes,” Holmes answered, eying the pond with a nervous flutter in his chest.
He had not meant to bring the doctor here, or at least, he admitted to himself, he had not intended to bring him here after their conversation on the train. The implications were…suggestive, and he was not certain at all that either man was prepared to face those suggestions.
As it was, however, the path they had wandered had been one of his favorites from childhood, and it had been instinct to lead his horse down its well worn trail, content to enjoy the sunshine and the company.
Watson, eying his companion closely, could for once follow Holmes’ thoughts easily enough, as his own had reached the same conclusion as soon as the pond came into view. He doubted that his friend had consciously brought him here, but the results were the same, and he thought it time to test the waters a bit, so to speak.
“Do you think it’s warm enough for a dip?” he asked lightly, determinedly turning his gaze back to the water. The pond was not overlarge, and looked free from scum and vegetation. “According to Norton, the weather’s actually been warmer than usual, and a bit of a dunk might do us good.”
He could feel Holmes’ eyes on his back, and, gathering his courage, turned to meet his gaze. He was unsurprised to see the conflicting emotions warring within his friend; longing battled with caution and suspicion, and fear could be seen behind it all.
“I’ll race you, if you think you stand a chance of winning,” he challenged, forcing his face into a smirk when Holmes narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly insulted and the emotions once more hidden behind a carefully erected wall of wounded dignity.
Without a word, Holmes dismounted and removed his waistcoat. It had been too hot for jackets, so neither man had too many layers to remove before they were both in their small clothes, eying each other warily.
“Go!” Holmes suddenly shouted, and took off for the pond as though fleeing for his life.
Watson, prepared for such a move, was right beside him, and the two barely paused before jumping feet first into the frigid water.
“Oh, good Lord!” Watson yelped when he broke the surface, sputtering with the cold.
“Yes, not quite what I had expected,” Holmes agreed, already making his way back to the edge of the pond.
He had not gone far, however, before he was seized from behind and half thrown, half carried, back into the now murky water, both men gasping and laughing as they wrestled.
Flesh made slippery by water slid along his hands as Holmes attempted to grapple Watson into a better position, and the doctor was having no more success in trying to best him. They tumbled and splashed and wrestled until out of breath, and only when their teeth were chattering did they escape to the embankment, climbing out to lay along the sun warmed grass as they breathed heavily.
Holmes turned, mouth open to ask about the success of the race, when he stopped, staring openly at Watson’s thoroughly tousled figure.
His small-clothes, a two-piece cotton affair that buttoned down the front and ended at his knees, clung to the doctor’s muscular form, the white fabric hiding nothing of his build. His nipples, a dark brown against the nearly see-through material, were constricted into narrow points by the cold, and the different muscles of his stomach, outlined by the clinging fabric, could just be made out if he stared hard enough.
And Holmes was staring very hard at Watson’s stomach, because he knew that if he were to look lower, he would see his friend’s member as clear as if there were no barrier to his flesh.
“Holmes,” Watson whispered, and the sound of his name brought him back to himself, looking up in horrified shock at his own actions, an apology already forming.
The words died on his lips as he realized that the other man was staring just as intently at him, (cheeks flushed despite the cold, eyes dilated in arousal, tongue wetting lips in nervous habit) eyes taking in all of Holmes’ form greedily, as though afraid he would miss something.
A tension seemed to form around the two of them, a band which stretched between their bodies and constricted, leaving them both breathless and aching to move. It was Watson who did so, propping himself up on his right elbow and leaning towards Holmes, until he was looking down at him with an intent, searching gaze.
Slowly, he moved his left hand until he was cupping Holmes’ cheek, the soft stubble scratching his palm as he closed the distance between them, lips touching for just a moment before pulling back slightly to gauge his friend’s reaction.
Holmes stared up at him, wide eyed with pupils impossibly black, and licked his lips. Taking that as a positive sign, Watson descended once more, pressing their lips together until Holmes opened his mouth slightly, the tip of his tongue tracing Watson’s lips and allowing him access.
The two of them lay there for an eternity, kissing in the sunshine, exploring each other’s mouths until they were gasping for breath and hands were seeking purchase on slippery grass or clinging fabric. They kissed until lips were swollen and red, and a dark flush colored both their cheeks.
Watson moved his lips over Holmes’ jaw, down his throat and under his ear. Each location produced a breathless gasp of pleasure, and spurred him to explore further.
Holmes, unlike Watson himself, wore only the bottom half of his underwear, which was doing little to hide his erection at the moment. Both men were breathing heavily, though Watson refused to give in to his urge to hurry matters along.
Slowly he kissed his way down Holmes’ stomach, tasting the faintly brackish tang of the pond water and salt from the sweat which had sprung out over his friend’s chest. He laved Holmes’ belly button with his tongue, pausing to inhale the scent of him before working his way back to kiss him deeply on the mouth, once more entwining their tongues together until both were nearly frantic with need. Hands joined as easily as their breath, and fingers clenched.
“Watson,” Holmes managed to gasp out, voice thick and hoarse with need. “We shouldn’t - we need to - oh, God!” he cried as teeth grazed a nipple, arching his back in pleasure.
Watson pulled away reluctantly, chest heaving with his desire as he stared greedily at the other man’s near naked form, and forced himself to sit back to put some space between them.
“We should head back,” he managed to say, voice breaking as he finally turned his gaze away from the man he considered his dearest and best friend. “They may wonder where we have got to.”
For a moment Holmes continued to lay on the ground, breath still unusually fast, before he nodded his head, closing his eyes as he willed his body into submission and managed to stumble to his feet.
Watson fallowed his lead, but could not refrain from closing his hands round Holmes’ waist and dragging him close for another heated kiss. Holmes’ hands wound through his hair, pulling on the wet strands as the kiss deepened. Their erections bumped, sending a jolt of desire so strong through him that Watson feared he would release without any further stimulation. From the stifled gasp against his mouth, he realized that Holmes was not much better off.
“We can’t - oh, yes! We can’t go back like this,” Holmes gasped, rubbing his front against Watson’s in a lust filled desire to seek release. “God, Watson!”
Realizing how close both men were, Watson cast caution to the wind and reached down to wrap his hand around Holmes’ member through the cloth of his underwear. The hard length twitched in his grasp, and it only took a few gentle pulls before he felt a warmth dampen the material, Holmes gasping his name as he buried his head against Watson’s shoulder and shuddered.
“Shhh,” Watson soothed, running his hand up Holmes’ bare back, feeling vertebra under the chilled flesh and muscles spasm with the force of his release. “It’s all right, it’s all right, Holmes.”
When he was finished, breathing heavily and still twitching slightly, Watson released his now flaccid manhood and gripped himself tightly. With only a single pull he was coming, biting his lip as his release washed over him, weakening his knees with the strength of it.
Finally, the two of them managed to part, looking at each other with astonished, wonder-filled eyes.
Holmes licked his lips unconsciously, taking in Watson’s form as though seeing it for the first time, and found himself whispering, “I love you.”
Both men froze as the words penetrated their sluggish brains, but when they did Watson’s eyes widened and then softened, his gaze so fond and adoring that Holmes had to look away lest he be undone by the emotions filling those blue, blue eyes.
“I love you, too,” Watson whispered back, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss to Holmes’ lips, savoring the feel of chapped skin on his own as he did so.
There was an awkward pause as both tried to figure out what was to happen next, neither one quite able to meet the other’s gaze. A dark cloud obscured the sun, the men glancing up as they realized how much time had passed since they first set out.
“We had best head back,” Holmes said in a fair approximation of his normal voice, moving hesitantly away from Watson’s warmth to gather his clothing. Watson did the same, though neither could resist casting furtive glances towards the other as they dressed, and it was only after they were fully clothed that they seemed able to rein their lingering gazes in.
The horses had wandered some ways off, and it took them nearly a half hour to round them up once more. By the time they had returned to the house for tea, both had nearly recovered their equilibrium and were able to hold normal conversation throughout.
After, they took Gladstone for a walk around the grounds, arms looped companionably together. They kept the conversation light, though neither could help brushing a hand across a shoulder or stealing a quick kiss when both were certain they were undetectable to any prying eyes.
Neither mentioned what had taken place between them, dressing for dinner in silence and in their separate rooms to ward off temptation. After they had eaten, they did not linger long in the study as was their wont, but retired early with the excuse of the ride having tired them out.
Mrs. Everman clucked at them good heartedly and sent them on their way, ordering a warm bath be prepared for them to ease whatever aches the unaccustomed ride would engender.
It was only after they had both washed away the remnants of the day and had donned their nightshirts that they firmly locked the doors to the outside world and fell into each other’s arms once more.
Their lips touched chastely at first, close mouthed, as their breath mingled. Shared, like so many things in their life had been. Watson’s fingers traced the hollow of Holmes’ throat, following the line of his collarbone, up to his neck, where he wound his hand in thick, still damp hair. His other hand rested gently on Holmes’ hip, a warmth barely felt through the cotton.
He could feel Holmes’ heartbeat against his palm, the ragged edges of his breathing as each breath became more labored with passion. His own stuttered in his lungs, at once too much and not enough.
“Have you ever…” Watson asked softly, his lips brushing against Holmes’, his tongue moving without conscious thought to intrude, robbing the other man of whatever reply he might have made. Only when they were both gasping did he step back, swallowing hard the taste of tobacco, brandy and something that could only be defined as Holmes. “Have you ever, before today?”
“Never,” Holmes whispered, voice rough and tinged with a hoarseness Watson had only heard that morning, and found himself desiring to hear more.
“Do you want to?” Watson asked, trailing his fingers down a well defined arm, over the wrist and lingering over slender, nimble hands. Holmes trembled against him, a slight twitching of the muscles that defied his usual iron control. “Now? With me? We did not speak of this earlier, but -”
Holmes leaned forward, resting his forehead against Watson’s chest in a move which was oddly shy as he answered in a voice barely above a breath, “Only with you, dear boy.”
Their lips sought and found each other again, more daring as tongues entwined, bodies pressing closer with the weight of too many years. Hardness brushed against hardness, and Holmes gasped into Watson’s mouth, the hand still entwined with the doctor’s squeezing tightly as the other clenched against a battle damaged thigh.
“Tell me what to do, “ Holmes pleaded, gray eyes closed against the terror of waking only to find that the day had been nothing more than a dream.
“Follow me,” Watson murmured gently, using the hand captured in his to lead his friend to the bed, the covers already turned down invitingly. “Let me teach you, as you have taught me so much. Let me guide you.”
Holmes did not answer, his mouth too engaged with stealing more kisses, need surging through him as he trailed his lips down Watson’s neck, mouthing the fabric.
Watson shuddered, and when he fell to the bed, Holmes went with him, the two of them landing in a tangle of limbs until neither knew where one started and the other ended. With a deftness made all the more impressive by his shaking hands, Holmes removed his nightshirt swiftly, eyes never leaving Watson’s sun-browned form as the doctor quickly divested himself of his own garment. By the time nothing remained between them but skin, both were covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the warm air of the room an embrace that surrounded them.
Deftly, Watson’s fingers wrapped gently around Holmes erect member, the other’s sharp intake of breath and tightly closed eyes reminding him of his friend’s inexperience. Slowly he stroked , alternating between feather light caresses and a more forceful grip. There had been little time, before, when all that he had wanted was to ease his friend’s need. But now, in the silence of the bedchamber, he took his time, learning the wants and desires of the man he knew he had always, and would always, love.
When Holmes’ ragged breathing and shuddering reached new levels, Watson knew he was close, and without taking his eyes off his friend, he bent down and took the tip of his hardness into his mouth. Salty, with a faintly bitter taste that clung to his palate, Watson swallowed the first wave of release, continuing to stroke the twitching length with a firm grasp as Holmes cried out softly, the sound muffled by one hand pressed tightly against his mouth.
Suddenly unable to hold off his own need, Watson used the hand not gripping Holmes to wrap around his own aching length, a few rough pulls sending him swiftly over the edge until neither man could do more than breathe deeply, twitching with aftershocks of almost too painful pleasure.
“I did not -” Holmes began, the hint of guilt in his voice too much for Watson, who silenced the words with a kiss.
“Tonight was for you, Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered, forehead pressed to forehead. “Tomorrow, and all the rest of our nights, will be for us both.”
***
It had been a long time since John Watson had slept pressed close against another body. Longer still since he had made love with someone for whom he cared so deeply that his chest ached with the fierceness of it. That it was Holmes who had this effect on him was irrelevant. The other man had defied the polite rules of society for as long as Watson had known him. That he should do so again in the form of the person he loved seemed almost insignificant when compared to some of their more daring exploits.
Or perhaps it was the single most significant event of their lives; Watson was not certain yet.
As he lay tangled amongst the blankets, his front pressed tightly against Holmes’ back, their hands entwined across the detective’s stomach, he allowed his sleepy thoughts to wonder at the events which had transpired that day.
They had drifted off to sleep not long after making love the second time, Holmes’ sheer exhaustion finally catching up on him as Watson had wiped a flannel tenderly over his still flushed body.
There were many scars on that lithe frame, hidden away from the world. Watson had not seen the bullet wound which had precipitated his friend’s return before, as it had been hidden by his small-clothes during his physical. But the puckered skin along Holmes’ right flank, just above his hip and dangerously close to his groin, could have been nothing else. The flesh was still red and raised, not so very long healed that the scar tissue had begun to fade to white, as Watson’s own bullet wound had done.
The criss-cross of tissue and cratered flesh would always mar his shoulder, but he had found peace with that a long time ago. Holmes, he knew, would disregard his body until it gave out on him, and small things like scars and near death experiences did little to faze him.
Watson breathed deeply of their mingled scents as he regarded his friend’s face, lax with sleep and the wrinkles which wreathed his eyes when awake smoothed away. For all the many years that he had loved Holmes, and loved him he had, passionately and deeply, he had never dreamt that such a moment as this could exist.
Normally when one acquired a new lover there was so much to be said, so many confessions to make and secrets to tell. With Holmes, however, they had known each other so long that words were superfluous, a loss of breath that could be put to better use in kisses and gasps of pleasure.
Holmes twitched in his sleep, his hand tightening unconsciously in Watson’s, and a soft exhalation, almost a moan, escaped his parted lips. Watson frowned as the heartbeat beneath his hand quickened, the chest rising in quick staccato bursts as though struggling for air.
Nightmare.
“Shhhh,” he soothed, sitting up on his elbow to look down at the other man. “Hush, Holmes. Only a dream. Nothing can hurt you here,” he whispered.
Whether it was the words themselves or the voice which had uttered them, Holmes calmed, his breath evening out once more and the slight grimace which had creased his brow fading until he was sleeping peacefully.
Watson waited a moment before laying his head back down, his own weariness pulling at his limbs as the uncommon exertions of the day started to catch up to him. There was still much the two of them needed to discuss. Holmes’ recovery was too important to allow it to be waylaid, no matter how amorous the distraction.
Then again, he thought, allowing his eyes to close as sleep began to pull him under. Perhaps Holmes would defy the odds in this as well.
***
They made love once more, with the sun still a distant promise. Holmes had awakened first, frozen at the unfamiliar weight of a second body in his bed, before memories of the previous day caught up on him.
Warmth filled his face, his chest, and his usual morning stiffness, nestled against Watson’s firm thigh, twitched slightly at the thought of all that had happened. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the quiet of the Estate, of Watson’s calm breathing, warm puffs of air which ghosted across his right nipple and left it tight with need.
He concentrated on slowing his own breaths and calming his heart, as a want his body had never before possessed tried to make itself known once more.
“Holmes?” Watson murmured, still more asleep than awake as he moved his head slightly to peer up at him with drowsy eyes. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” Holmes assured, glad his voice was steady as he hesitantly moved his free hand to stroke through Watson’s hair. It was soft, much softer than his own, and the fine, pale strands looked dark against his pallid fingers. Slowly he moved them, caressing his dearest friend’s - his lover’s - head, before moving to touch a stubbled cheek.
Watson sighed in contentment, leaning into the touch, his nose rubbing against Holmes’ stomach in a manner which should not, in any way, have been adorable, yet that was the only word Holmes could think of. When Watson shifted again, moving his left thigh to a more comfortable position, Holmes could not suppress his gasp at the sensation, and Watson stilled.
Then he did it again, this time deliberately, and the room suddenly filled with a thick tension, as though the very air had wrapped around them. Holmes exhaled loudly as he moved his hips, slowly, into Watson’s warmth.
Before either could speak they were moving, Watson rising up to lay fully atop Holmes, pinning the other’s hands above his head as he ground down against him, need pushing them both as their members rubbed together in a delicious friction. Holmes could not help the small gasp that escaped him, and Watson kissed him deeply, as though trying to capture it.
They did not speak, the only sounds their quiet moans and breathless urgings. It did not take long before they both found their completion, and only after, when they lay twined together with their essence mixed upon their stomachs, did Holmes break the silence.
“Must we speak of this?” he asked, pressing a chaste kiss to Watson’s forehead where it rested next to his on the pillow.
“Yes,” Watson answered, just as softly. “But for now, let me get us clean, and then a bit more sleep. You still look exhausted, old boy.”
Holmes smiled as Watson kissed him gently on the nose, a silly gesture that nonetheless left him feeling giddy. When the doctor stood to make his way to the water pitcher near the bed, he watched in unabashed appreciation, marveling at the play of muscle along his friend’s backside and the firm buttocks.
So much to discover, he thought as Watson made his way back with a now damp flannel. So many secrets and hidden wonders to be revealed.
The front view was as impressive as the back, and Holmes could not help the smirk that tugged his lips at the sight of Watson’s flaccid member, and only when he dragged his gaze up to meet Watson’s did he realize a similar look graced the other’s face.
“You are gorgeous,” Watson whispered, an echo of a greeting so long ago, when things had seemed nearly at their darkest. How little they had realized back then, what they meant to each other.
Though Holmes imagined that, perhaps, they had begun to suspect. Somewhere in the back of their minds, even as Watson prepared to set out upon married life and Holmes had begun to devote his attention to the fall of a madman, they had suspected.
As Watson removed the traces of their lovemaking from their bodies, Holmes allowed his limbs to grow heavy and his eyes to close. The day had not yet begun, and there was still time. Time to enjoy this quiet, this moment of peace that was all too rare. Time to just bask in the warmth of his friend as he curled up next to him once more and pulled the blankets over them both.
Time for them, and time for so much more than either had ever dreamed.
***
The servants were well versed in Holmes’ habits, so there was no disturbance to their sleep, letting the two men wake on their own. The sun had already fully risen, the morning well on its way to being done by the time they managed to disentangle themselves and wash properly.
“Do we have plans for today?” Holmes asked, running a brush through his wild tangle of hair as he looked over his shoulder to Watson’s room, where the doctor was studiously shaving.
“Only for you to eat, rest, and perhaps take Gladstone and myself for a walk around the grounds,” Watson answered after a moment, running the razor over his left cheek, eyes determinedly set on the mirror and not on Holmes, who was donning fresh trousers and shirt. “You look better this morning.”
“I slept,” Holmes answered simply, a small smile tugging his lips as he moved to lean against the doorframe which stood between their rooms. “Thank you.”
Watson paused in his ablutions, looking over for the first time and taking in Holmes’ appearance. The dark circles under his eyes had faded to twin smudges of color, and the shoulders which seemed incapable of being relaxed were now loose, the tension seeming drained from them.
“You’re welcome,” Watson smiled, his eyes lingering for just a moment on Holmes’ naked chest before determinedly turning back to his mirror. Even as he resumed shaving, he could not help the quick glance at his friend’s reflection, watching him button his shirt with those slim, elegant fingers.
“Ouch!”
Watson sighed as he touched the small dot of blood which welled up along his jaw, frowning at Holmes’ knowing expression.
“Why don’t you go get dressed and let me finish in here?” he suggested, examining the small cut with a resigned sigh before resuming his grooming. “And for heaven’s sake, Holmes,” he called to the other’s retreating back, “get rid of that stubble! You’re starting to look like a savage!”
There was no reply, but as Watson finished trimming his mustache he heard the sound of splashing and Holmes’ grumbles. He smiled to himself and devoted the rest of his attention getting dressed. It would not do, after all, to have the staff get suspicious.
***
Breakfast was a lazy affair, the two men descending the stairs together to the smell of bacon and eggs, Mrs. Everman calling a greeting to them as she passed them at on the landing.
“There’s tea and toast already at the table!” she said as she carried a large, covered platter into the dining room. “And you’re to eat at least a bit of everything, Mr. Holmes,” she warned, eying him narrowly as he took his seat.
“That shan’t be a problem, Mrs. Everman. I find myself strangely famished today!” he replied with a cheeky grin, already ladling a respectable size serving of eggs onto his plate.
Watson, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, followed suit, shooting a glare Holmes’ way as soon as the housekeeper had left, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
“Eat up,” Holmes said, still smiling smugly and ignoring the warning frown. “Mrs. Everman is simply a fabulous cook!”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” the lady in question said as she bustled back in, a bowl filled with early season berries in hand. She leaned over Holmes’ shoulder to place it conveniently between the two men, but froze as she stood back up, her eyes latched onto Holmes’ neck.
“Is something wrong?” Holmes asked, his cheerful air fading at her stunned expression.
“No!” she exclaimed too loudly, seeming to come back to herself and pulling her eyes away quickly from whatever had caught her attention. “No, nothing is wrong at all! In fact, everything is marvelous, Mr. Holmes! Simply wonderful!” she gushed, startling both men by placing a motherly kiss on Holmes’ cheek. “You eat up, young man.”
As she turned to go, she absently patted Watson’s shoulder, humming to herself as she took her leave.
For a moment both men were too stunned to continue eating, staring after her retreating back before turning to share a confused look. Watson felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what had caught Mrs. Everman’s attention.
Just above Holmes’ collar, plainly visible below his ear, was a love bite, the outline unmistakable to any who had borne one before.
“Watson?” Holmes asked, startled at his companion’s pale complexion. He reached across the table quickly and took his hand. “What’s the matter, old boy? You’re pale as a ghost!”
“Holmes -” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, very softly, “I think Mrs. Everman knows about the change in our relations.” And then indicated with his free hand the mark upon the other’s neck.
For a moment Holmes looked confused, uncertain what the doctor was referring to, before turning and picking up the gleaming silver creamer. He angled it to catch his own reflection before setting it down very carefully.
What color had filled his cheeks before vanished.
“Bugger!”
Watson could only agree.
***
They continued to eat silently, their appetites diminished by the realization that their secret was no longer. Both knew how effective gossip, even in a house as polite and respectful as theirs, got around. By the end of the day, they fully anticipated all the servants knowing.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Everman demanded as she came back in, a ewer in her hand. Her eyes took in the scene before her shrewdly, her wrinkled face filling with concern as she placed the ewer on the table. “Mr. Holmes? You’ve lost all color, you have! Are you ill?”
“No, no,” Holmes assured her, gamely trying to smile up at her, though his expression remained sickly. “I simply - that is -”
“We hadn’t realized - I mean - We had thought -” Watson stammered.
They stopped attempted to explain, sharing a helpless look.
“Ahh,” Mrs. Everman sighed, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling as she smiled brightly.
“Don’t you be giving it a second thought, Mr. Holmes,” she said conspiratorially, patting his arm reassuringly. “When I was a young lass, my William left so many marks on my neck my mother thought I had the plague,” she laughed, turning her indulgent expression to Watson, ignoring his stunned countenance as she deftly retrieved the pitcher and poured each man a glass of a sweet smelling juice. “I must say, Mr. Holmes, I can’t tell you how happy I am you found yourself a nice young doctor. My mother always wanted me to marry one, but not another man could best my William, and that’s the truth. Now you two eat up,” she ordered, patting Watson on the arm again. “Young things like you need all your energy!”
She winked bawdily as she left, humming under her breath again.
“Dear Lord,” Watson murmured, too stunned to know whether he wished to laugh with relief or sink under the table in mortified horror.
“Just remember,” Holmes grumbled as he took a long sip from his glass as though it were the finest of spirits. “This was all your idea.”
“Actually,” Watson sighed, filling his fork with his now slightly cooled eggs. “It was your brother’s.”
As Holmes spit the juice across the table, Watson reflected that there were worse ways to start a day.
***
Part 10