Chapter Text
A case found its way onto our doorstep the same morning I received Holmes’ missive. For the next two weeks we barely spoke on anything not related to work, though when I was not thinking about the case my mind would inevitably drift to the words he had penned down for me so thoughtfully. I had hoped to discuss the letter at some point, but there was nary an idle moment for the two of us; after a fortnight the matter came to a conclusion quite cleanly and finally I had the opportunity. As was usual for the both of us, we were seated in our chairs by the fireplace. Tucked in the pocket of my smoking jacket was the single sheet of paper with his elegant, flowing penmanship on it. It was not that I felt the need to refer to it – I had spent whatever free time I had upon returning to Baker Street each night to read his message again and again, to the point where I was quite confident that I knew it by heart. I had kept it close by my bed in my nightstand drawer, and perhaps my bringing it along with me to our conversation was just out of sentimental attachment.
On a night like this Holmes was smoking with quiet contemplation, but even as he appeared to unwind he was still as sharp as ever. “You have something to say to me, Watson,” said he, taking a long draw from his pipe. “It is about the letter I wrote you, is it not?”
“Why, yes.” I didn’t expect him to forget it, but his wandering eyes also directed me to the strange fabric peaks of my jacket pocket formed by my arm pressing surreptitiously against it and the contents that sat within. “The one from two weeks ago.”
“I thought you would have prudently burned it by now.” He looked towards our warm fire with a hint of melancholy in his grey eyes, and I worried if he was falling into one of his black moods so soon after being relieved of a case. “Blackmail, my dear. Surely a letter with that much indulgence would be powerful leverage against Sherlock Holmes and the dearest John he writes to.”
Once again, Holmes was right, but while in most other matters I would have deferred to him this time I felt compelled to stand my ground. “I cannot. It may be most foolish of me but such a document holds so much emotional importance that to part with it would be a great loss,” I admitted, shaking my head.
He gave a long sigh, part disappointment and part resignation, and on his next breath a weary smile spread across his face. “Then I can only trust you to store it properly, along with all the other sensitive papers we have accrued throughout the years of our intimacy. But I digress.” Holmes tapped the long, thin mouthpiece of his pipe against his pale, marble forehead. “You must think me cold and frigid, to have no carnal desire for you even after an extended period of courtship.”
“On the contrary!” I exclaimed. “There is no doubt in my mind that you are as dedicated to our relationship as I.”
“So you have not been disappointed by my lack of sexual interest in you.”
It hurt like a wound to see the uncertainty written across his features. Though he had written that he had never once challenged the dear affection I held for him, I realised now that some part of him feared that I would question his love for me. And perhaps he had anticipated too, that the revelation of his nature would alter my perception of him. Of course, nothing about my feelings for him had wavered at all, but as he was unconvinced I would have to assure him.
“Like in many other aspects of your life, the way you approach matters of the heart is – to put it that way – unconventional. But in all your actions and affections towards me, I see your passion . Regardless of the queer ways it might manifest. You share your work with me, bringing me by the hand on your many adventures which greatly enrich the lives of us both. You let me into your life, allowing me to share your rooms, your bed – and most importantly of all your heart. Your confession to me, well, to me it was nothing short of a blessing .”
I traced his softening features, gazing through the wisps of light smoke billowing from where I held my cigar close by my face. Even through the haze his eyes were intense and wanting, beckoning me to explain myself. “Surely the occasion of my writing to you does not warrant your labelling of it as a divine miracle ?”
“But it is! The topic of love is one you have rarely spoken upon, aside from scorning it and your emotions for the sake of your professional life. Despite that, it’s obvious to me more than anyone else that you, of all people, are plenty capable of giving love, and plenty capable of receiving it. It’s a cold, aloof mask you wear, and allowing me to glimpse through the cracks into your private innermost thoughts – that is my incontestable evidence of the love you hold for me. I shall not want for what you can’t provide me with, but my love for you continues neither in spite of nor because of your nature.”
The sleeve of his dressing gown slid up to reveal a sliver of pale, thin wrist as he fiddled with his pipe. Crossing and uncrossing his ankles and shifting about in his seat, he seemed once again more contemplative yet restless, venturing some into the realm of philosophy. “The fact about our natures is that these traits are inherent within us, immutable by our own volition. In earlier days I might have considered myself unlovable and unable to love, wondering if that was part of my very nature – my time with you has disputed those statements wonderfully. But consider for a moment if we could choose…? ”
My answer flew from my lips before I could even begin to think about it. “Then I’d choose you, old boy. However it may be I find myself terribly reluctant to extract myself from the warm hearth and home of our relations, and so I would choose whatever would lead us back to this in the end.”
The silent moment between us seemed like an eternity as Holmes pondered over my words. I wondered if I would have to continue my elaborations, but then a wave of relief passed over his expression like cool water to quench a sufferer’s thirst on a scorching summer day and I knew the matter had been settled within his heart. “So I see.”
“And you?” My voice was meek, hesitant to press too far.
“I think, dearest , that I would be inclined to make the same choice as you.”
I continued, not on the topic of my own feelings but a tangent I knew would soothe him nonetheless. “And if it is any consolation, I don’t think your experience with carnal desire – or lack thereof, is a singular one. They’re writing pamphlets about it, in Germany. If you would like,” I offered, with a gentle tilt of my head, “I could get in touch with some colleagues to see if I can get my hands on a copy.”
He smiled, and all that remained in his twinkling eyes was the sheer depth of his love for me.
“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate your consideration most fondly.”
“You need not thank me about it. All I wish is to assure you that I shall not let you be alone in this. However things may be, you know you will always have my love and support.”
“John,” he whispered, my name a reverent prayer on those thin, quivering lips. “My dearest John.”
Whenever it strikes me that my words are not quite enough for the situation, my tendency is to turn to actions. And so I did, stubbing out the last of my cigar into the ashtray and rising from my chair. Then I took a few steps towards him – slow ones, for I did not wish to alarm him by moving too swiftly – and sank to my knees by his feet. He was halfway out of his chair by now, a flicker of shock and confusion coming over his features; but I eased him back down and wrapped my arms around him, my cheek pressed into the gentle silk of his dressing gown tied about his middle. “My darling Holmes,” said I, listening for the strong beat of his heart within the confines of his ribcage. I breathed with him, the two of us entwined in the same breath; how poetic it would be if our hearts would synchronise as well! My Holmes was bent over me, his nose nestled in my hair. My hands roamed in circles across his back, relishing in the evidence that he was real, and that he was mine. “Oh, you are quite terribly tense. Shall I give you a massage?”
He accepted my offer with great delight, and we shifted to the settee where I steadily kneaded the stiffness out of his form. With every press he unravelled, bit by bit, the cat-like side of his personality showing in the way he gracefully arched his back and mewled – my, perhaps that was a bit far, but his enjoyment brought happiness to me all the same. We sat together afterwards for a while more, his warm body slumped against mine; but the soothing comfort of his presence and the hypnotic crackle of our fire lulled me into a drowsy state. “Join me in bed, Sherlock,” said I, pressing a lazy kiss to the nape of his neck. “To sleep, I mean. It’s been a long case and I’m sure we’re both completely and utterly exhausted.”
“I would very much like to, John.” He reached back in request of my hand, which I cradled with my own. The moment I felt the warmth of his hand in mine, I knew that it belonged there. For the briefest of moments he playfully smirked, and how he still had the energy for such mischief I could not conceive. “But even if you were propositioning me for something else, you know that my answer would still have been yes. ”