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“Well, that was a most successful resolution to a perplexing little problem,” Holmes said as we entered the only guest room of the modest railway inn that served travellers who found, as we had done, that the last London-bound train of the day had left and the first of the next day was ten or twelve hours hence. He set the candle on the windowsill.
“I am glad you are satisfied with the outcome,” I replied as I shouldered my way into the room behind Holmes. He could barely make space for me, never mind my valise, as his knees already pushed against the side of the bed. There was no other furniture. I laughed. “Perhaps you might have waited until after breakfast at the Hall before revealing that the swindler was his lordship himself, and making it expedient that we depart.”
Holmes flashed me a quick smile, and amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Alas, yes, I expected that tonight we would be snug in our own beds, happily anticipating Mrs Hudson’s eggs and bacon. God forbid that anyone in these parts might want to return to civilisation later than dinnertime.”
I sighed. “Do you think if I asked nicely and offered to pay extra we might get a more suitable room? This one is very small for two people. I’m fairly certain that we are the only guests tonight.”
”Hah!” Holmes swung his legs over the corner of the bed, leaning back against me for stability as he did so, and thus escaped the corner he had been trapped in to accommodate my entry to the chamber. “If you examine the window, Watson, I think you will see that this ‘bedroom’ used to be a boxroom. The window is a relatively recent addition to the house, probably punched through the wall to increase the revenue from paying guests who, like us, have few options.”
I trudged back to the bar downstairs, where the landlord was wiping tables and tidying chairs. I proposed paying double for a double-sized room, but he shrugged at me.
”Up to you, sir, if you can stand the cold and damp. Both bigger rooms suffered in that storm last week. Roof got damaged over that side of the house.” He paused to bolt the door for the night. “You got the only dry room left. I’m sleeping in the kitchen.”
“Then we will have to make do.”
I went back to our room to give Holmes the bad news. He lay stretched out on the bed, his head high on the pillows and his heels balanced on the footboard. Although Holmes is strikingly tall, I would not call him a large man. Yet even his willowy frame took up more than half of the available bed-space.
”No luck,” I said. “If you need to stretch out, I will be quite comfortable in one of the chairs downstairs in the bar.”
He opened one eye and looked at me, a slight curl to his lips giving away his incredulity. “You will not!” He sat up and shifted over a little. “We will both fit. Better that we are a little uncomfortable here due to enforced proximity than either of us spends a cold and sleepless night, cramped in a chair. You, especially, need to be able to lie down properly.” He stood up, stretched, then stooped to peer through the little window. “How quiet it is here! I shan’t sleep for the deafening silence. Give me the hustle and bustle of Baker Street any day.”
I crouched beside him and looked out. There was little to see: the sun had set and the railway station was on the opposite side, so we had a view over the countryside. Here and there came a warm, dim glow from the window of some rustic dwelling that indicated peaceful human habitation nearby. I thought it was idyllic.
Holmes laughed. “My boy,” he said in a good-humoured tone. “No doubt you are musing on a bucolic paradise that exists only in your imagination.”
I laughed. “There is no harm in imagining it, my dear.”
He briefly gripped my shoulder then stood upright. I rose too and we both looked at the bed.
“I suppose we will have to make do,” I said.
“Good man,” Holmes said, patting my shoulder again. “Now, if we put our bags under the bed, we ought to have enough room to undress. I can’t be bothered finding my nightshirt. You won’t think me a poor bedfellow if I sleep in my undershirt and drawers, will you?”
“Not at all.”
I may have stammered. Heat gathered in my breast and crept up my neck to my cheeks. I hoped that the candlelight would not reveal the extent of my alarm at the thought of sharing such a small bed with Holmes. We had shared a bed many times before, but always a double and therefore with enough space that we did not interrupt one another’s repose. But this bed was barely a yard across and a little under two yards long. Pillows had been arranged side by side, but there was no disguising the fact that this bed had not been built with two adult men in mind.
In a larger bed, I could entertain a brief fantasy that Holmes and I might find comfort in one another’s arms, and any unwanted physical reaction on my part could be easily hidden from him by simply facing away. I would have to discipline my mind strictly so that thoughts of Holmes’s arms around me and Holmes’s lips pressed against mine did not accidentally cause embarrassment and awkwardness between us.
“I think you should get in first,” Holmes said, his voice somewhat muffled by the shirt he was pulling off over his head. His face emerged, hair delightfully tousled. “Once you have accommodated your various stiffnesses, I will fit around your needs.”
“Thank you.” I turned away so that I could undress too. I had a growing sense of doom—I could not very well start searching my hastily-packed valise for my night things now that Holmes had decided it was unnecessary, and despite my resolve to put all erotic thoughts from my mind, the very act of deciding on no account think about Holmes’s warm body pressed against yours made that thought by far the most vivid.
I matched Holmes in stripping down to my undershirt and drawers, folding my clothes over the foot rail of the bed as he had done. I slipped past him in the narrow space between the bed and the window, my back brushing against his chest, and got under the blankets. The mattress was at least fairly new and comfortable. I lay with my shoulder against the other wall and my hands clasped on my stomach.
”Have I left you enough room, old man?” I asked, as he blew out the candle.
I felt the bed dip. “Yes, I should be quite comfortable.”
Holmes stretched out beside me as best he could. He lay with his back against my side, and his feet tangled with mine because he had to bend his knees to fit.
”I’ll move,” I said. “You need more space.”
”You needn’t trouble yourself.”
But I had already rolled onto my side, facing the wall. My shoulder would ache tomorrow, or my thigh would, but I could not allow Holmes to lose sleep. Heaven knows he sleeps little enough as it is.
”That will not do,” he said after I settled again. “I do have a suggestion, if you will not think it too much of an imposition on your person.” He lay on his side facing my back. “Lie on your back. If I am facing you, I can accommodate myself around you more easily.”
I imagined Holmes stretching out again, with his feet poking out from under the blankets, his body providing warm pressure against my side, his dear face in calm repose beside mine on the pillows. I lay on my back, as he directed. Holmes indeed did stretch and roll slightly, a most welcome presence, but his knee came up so that one thigh rested atop mine, and his arm was a gentle weight across my chest. His upper body was snug and warm against me, and his head all but nestled into the crook of my neck.
“You must tell me if you are uncomfortable,” he said through a yawn. The sensation of his breath across my skin caused an electric tingle that started at my throat and ran down to my groin.
”No,” I said quietly. “This is rather unusual, but I’m comfortable enough.”
”Good,” he murmured, patting my ribs gently.
I believed that Holmes had fallen asleep. I could not help the thoughts that entered my head in my half-addled, soporific state. Thoughts of turning my head to kiss Holmes, and Holmes welcoming my lips. Thoughts of gathering him into my arms, holding his body tightly against my own, thoughts of feeling my urgent hardness matched by his own as we took each other in hand. Thoughts of taking Holmes’s hardstaff in my mouth, kissing its length, suckling on its smooth head. Thoughts of Holmes turning his back and grinding his hips against my protruding arbor vitae and—
I groaned. What was I doing? It was pointless to be torturing myself with imaginings of events that would never come to pass, especially when the subject of my erotic fantasies lay oblivious beside me.
The arm around my chest tightened for a second. “My dear boy, you seem quite unable to settle.”
I froze. For an instant I had the hot fear that somehow Holmes had seen inside my mind and knew the filthy fantasies that resided there.
”Sorry I woke you, Holmes. I’ll lie still and be quiet.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.” Holmes shifted, his leg pressing harder and dragging down my thigh, his fingers drumming absently on my ribs. “I suggest this as a remedy because I have found that when I can’t drop off to sleep, sometimes it quiets my churning thoughts.”
I frowned up towards the ceiling. “What remedy do you propose?”
”Oh!” He gave a brittle little laugh. “I notice that you are somewhat affected by this rather intimate situation. If it is that which is causing your restlessness, then I would be more than happy to relieve your distress.”
Heat—I knew not whether from hope or fear—flushed from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. My mouth dried and I swallowed. “Holmes, what exactly is this remedy you are suggesting?”
He sighed. “Merely that a certain release would cause, I believe, physical and mental adjustments that would allow you to fall asleep easily. But if you would rather I kept my hands to myself, then I will do my best to disregard your fidgeting.”
I turned my head—forced myself to look at him—and found him peering at me from mere inches away. “Are you suggesting—offering—to…to bring about—”
”Ejaculation,” he said, matter-of-fact. “With my hands. I think you would find it pleasurable and it would calm your mind.”
I was torn between elation that he would offer to frig me like that and wariness that his offer felt so casually given.
“It is a very generous offer,” I heard myself say, and I wanted to tell myself to shut up. “But I can’t accept.”
”Nonsense,” he replied. Then he raised himself up on his elbow and leaned down and kissed me and I agreed with him completely. Refusing was utter nonsense. I mumbled my consent against his lips, wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him close.
“There’s my dear boy,” Holmes said quietly as he eased his thigh between mine and slipped his hand inside my drawers. The sensation of his long and slender fingers on my erect cock made me gasp, and he chuckled in my ear, sending a different kind of shiver across my skin. He teased me with feathery touches for a couple of minutes, then clasped my staff and gave it a few, firmer pumps.
”Turn and face me,” he murmured. I obeyed. I would have obeyed any command he cared to give at this point. He unfastened my drawers and pushed the cotton out of the way, then clasped my cock once more. With his other hand he cupped and stroked my ballocks. I reached for his own arbor vitae, but he intercepted my hand and with a quiet, ”no,” he placed it on his waist. He stroked me and we kissed. I threw my leg over his thigh and pulled closer, and he stroked me harder. Our kisses became greedier, more desperate, until I felt my climax build and I came, hard, with a breathy cry that I did my best to stifle.
I lay back, heart still hammering. “Holmes, my dearest old man, that was—”
”Hush, my boy. Try to sleep.”
Holmes sat up and peeled off his undershirt. I realised I must have soiled it.
“Sorry about your shirt.”
”I have a spare. Go to sleep.”
”But don’t you want me to—”
”My dear boy, I want you to lie still, close your eyes and go to sleep!”
I was unsettled in a different way now. “But if I don’t return the favour—”
”Watson!” I opened my eyes. Holmes’s face hovered above mine. “This is neither the time nor the place for that discussion. Would it help if I admit that I have wanted to perform that particular small service for you for quite some time?”
“So, you’re not…put out by it?”
Holmes huffed a laugh and settled with his head on my shoulder. “Not in the slightest. Now, will you put your arm around me to guard against a sudden encounter with the floor if I roll too far backwards?”
I laughed too and put my arm around him. I wondered if it meant anything that he fell asleep almost immediately. I intended to stay awake and puzzle over what had just happened, but Holmes had been correct in both the diagnosis of my condition and its cure. I was soon fast asleep too.
Morning brought Holmes, rousing me with a shake and an urgent command to dress quickly and be on the station platform in nine minutes. We made it—barely—and collapsed into our seats on the London train with perspiration beading our brows. There was no opportunity for private conversation until long after we returned to Baker Street, as the first train of the day was busy and we found a client waiting in our sitting room.
Fortunately, the case was resolved by the evening, and Holmes and I could sit across the hearthrug from one another in our armchairs without fear of interruption. Holmes turned his attention from his newspaper to his Petrarch. If I was correct in predicting his habits, his violin would be next.
I smiled. “Mendelssohn, if you would be so kind.”
He looked over at me, surprise turning to a pleased smile. “My dear boy, I believe I am becoming quite transparent to you. I was indeed considering whether you might enjoy a recital. Perhaps you will consent to lie on the settee, and we’ll see if I can ease your weary soul to sleep with some of your favourite lieder.”
“If only you’d had your violin with you last night,” I said drily. “I might have avoided staining your undershirt.”
“Ah.” He put his book down but did not reach for his Stradivarius. “I suppose you want to have the conversation I would not allow last night.”
I nodded. “Yes. My dear Holmes, I am perplexed.” He quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. I leaned forward in my chair and lowered my voice. “While I found the…the act pleasurable, I fear that you did not, and I cannot abide such selfishness in myself—to receive such a generous gift and give nothing in return.”
His brow furrowed. “But it was freely offered. In turn, I cannot abide selfishness in only offering gifts where a reciprocal gift is expected. I offered because I was happy to be able to...” He sighed and sat back. “I thought you wanted…”
He bit his lip. I waited. He looked at me, with a slightly uncertain frown. “When we have shared sleeping accommodations, I have often got the impression that you would welcome a more intimate understanding between us. So, I offered and you accepted. Was I incorrect to conclude that my attention was welcome?”
“Holmes, it was very welcome! I was surprised, and delighted, and it was lovely. But when you refused to allow me to bring you the same pleasure, I felt guilty. Like I had taken something I had no right to.”
Holmes was looking at me as if I had grown horns. I looked away.
”Watson.” I could feel his gaze on me. I sighed and looked up. He smiled. “I don’t believe you have a single truly selfish bone in your body. The reason I would not permit a reciprocal gift is that I have little interest in it.”
“Little interest…in me?”
He tutted at me. “That is not what I said!”
I frowned at him. ”Little interest in intimate acts?”
He smiled and nodded. “Exactly, my boy!”
I thought back over our brief discussion before he had frigged me so delightfully the night before. “You said that you use such an act to calm your own mind sometimes.”
”Indeed. Rarely, though, and I would prefer it to remain a solitary activity.”
“But if you wanted, I would be more than happy to—”
He raised a hand to silence me with a gesture. “No. I do not want that. Thank you all the same.”
I blinked away the prickle behind my eyelids. Far from being the beginning of a new intimacy, I concluded that last night must have been a single, unique moment. He watched as I forced a smile.
”I think I will have a nightcap,” I said, rising. “Would you like one?”
He indicated assent and I poured brandy for us both. Our glasses were almost drained before he spoke again.
”I have given it much consideration, my dear boy, and I think whenever you have trouble sleeping you ought to join me in my bed. I would be quite happy to perform the same service again.”
I coughed as I accidentally inhaled the last trace of brandy vapour in my glass. “But I thought you took no pleasure in it?”
“Tut-tut again, Watson, that is not what I said. I pity your patients when they must tolerate a doctor who cannot listen!”
I sighed in frustration. “Sorry, Holmes. Please enlighten me.”
”Well maybe if you ask without the sarcasm!” He pulled a face at me and I laughed. “Will you listen, and refrain from making assumptions when you do not yet possess all the pertinent facts?”
”I’m all ears.”
Holmes fixed me with a steady but patient stare. “When the mood takes me, I occasionally indulge in acts of self-abuse and find it a satisfactory way of redirecting my mind to more constructive purposes afterwards. Despite all I was told as a boy, my eyesight has not been unduly degraded.”
I stifled a giggle.
”I intuited that you enjoy such acts also, and that you would be open to the suggestion that I might play some small part. I was correct. Contrary to your assumption, I enjoyed the process of putting a happy smile on your face. Will you take my word for it when I tell you that seeing your evident pleasure was sufficient reward?”
He waited for a reply. I was uncertain, but in my experience Holmes has always valued scrupulous honesty with me, often at the expense of my feelings.
“If you say it is so, then I believe you.”
“Good. Now.” His face grew thoughtful. “I would prefer not to have to fend off wandering hands.”
“Holmes, I would never! Not without invitation.”
”I know, dear boy. And that is why I find you such an ideal candidate for an intimate companion.”
Holmes got up and refilled both our glasses. When he returned, he sat on the settee and patted the seat beside him. I joined him there, and we had a brief, quiet conversation about what shape our new intimacy might take.
“Just so that I am quite clear,” I said, as I lined up the main points in my head. “I may kiss you.”
“You may.”
I kissed him.
“And I may touch you anywhere except…” I pointed at his groin.
“Correct. And if you notice that I am in a state of arousal?”
“Then I am to leave it alone.”
“And if you ever again feel guilty that you have not brought me to a moment of blissful release?”
“Then I am to remember that you don’t want me to do that, and it doesn’t mean you love me any less.”
I added the last few words myself, for we had not spoken directly of love. He raised his eyebrows and stared at me.
“Tut tut, Watson,” I said in a clipped voice. “That is not what he said.”
Holmes put his hand over his mouth and burst out in a nervous giggle.
“I suppose you are not so very far from the truth,” he said once he had recovered. “Those are not words I have ever been prepared to say, but I believe they apply in this particular situation.”
“Then let me kiss you again,” I said, holding my arm out for him to nestle against my side. I held him close and we kissed softly. “I hope they are words you are prepared to hear, my dearest, because I doubt I could keep such a secret from you.”
Holmes smiled. “You are a sentimental and romantic old fool.”
I grinned back. “And that is not going to change. Now, I do not believe I will have any difficulty falling asleep tonight, but may I join you in bed anyway?”
He got up and led me into his bedroom, closing the door behind us. We undressed and got into bed, and I have rarely had a better night’s sleep than I did with Holmes snug against my side.