Sunset on the Moors

by PapsIGuess

Summary:

Sherlock and Sir Henry speak to each other again after the events of the Baskerville case.

Notes:

Hi! This is another foray into Christopher Lee/Peter Cushing pairings :> Hammer’s Hound of the Baskervilles has always been a comfort film for me so I’ve wanted to write about these boys for some time now! Hope you enjoy it <3

Chapter 1: The Letter

Dark, dreary clouds loomed over London as rain poured down from the heavens. The entire sky was filled with nothing but tones of grey as the distant rumbling of thunder could be heard. Sluggishly lounging on the living room’s sofa, Sherlock Holmes observed the downpour from inside his apartment at 221B, Baker Street. He sighed as he lit his pipe, looking out of the window as he thoughtfully blew out wispy clouds of smoke. It was the perfect weather to accompany his foul mood, he supposed. He had been feeling very restless as of late. He did not quite know why. It was not as if he did not have anything to do. To the contrary, it seemed as if more darkness had been lurking in the streets of London than ever as of late.

Nevertheless, the great detective had found himself feeling… distracted. It was very unlike him. Solving crimes was his greatest passion, after all. And yet… he had noticed his mind wandering off. It was something he had never experienced ever before. It confused him. And if there was one thing he hated, it was feeling confused. He did not like it when he did not understand things. He was supposed to understand everything. He had a certain reputation to live up to, and all this nonsense of all this confusion he had been experiencing was not making that very easy as of late. Perhaps that was why he had been feeling so languid. He did not quite know. And he did not really care that much. And so, he kept on smoking and staring out of the window, watching on as the storm outside got worse and worse.

After a while, Sherlock heard the sound of a set of keys being inserted into a lock and the front door being opened. Looking in the sound’s direction, he saw his good friend John Watson walking into the living room, all of his clothes completely drenched by the rain. The detective could not help but let out a snicker as he saw the doctor. “Well, good afternoon, my dear fellow”, he chuckled, sitting up and crossing his legs. “Quite the weather we are having, wouldn’t you agree?” Watson made a soft ‘tch’ noise, taking off his sopping wet coat and hanging it out to dry. “You should be very glad that you did not have to experience it firsthand, Holmes. I feel like I would have been swept away in the storm if I had stayed outside for even a minute longer.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pressing his fingertips together as he saw a crinkled envelope his friend was holding. “…Would you care to enlighten me as to what it is you have with you there, my friend?”, he asked, his curiosity having been sparked. Watson raised his eyebrows, looking down at the piece of paper. “Ah, yes… I found this letter that was addressed to you delivered to the apartment when I walked in. Sent from… Devonshire, according to what’s written on the envelope.”

He showed the letter to the detective, who sprang up, a look of excitement on his face. “Ah, so Sir Henry has finally written again!”, he exclaimed, eagerly taking the envelope and opening it. The doctor looked at him, confused. “…How are you so certain that it was him who wrote you?”, he asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “Come on, my dear Watson…”, he replied. “You know my methods by now. Nothing more than a simple observation is needed to make that conclusion… the handwriting is the same.” “And you can tell that, even though he has only sent you one letter before this one?”, Watson asked curiously. “I pride myself on my perception”, the detective said, taking the letter out of its envelope. “You know that better than anyone else, my friend.”

The doctor laughed. “I suppose you are right there… Well? Were you correct in your assumption?” Sherlock smiled, putting his pipe in his mouth once again. “…Naturally. Now… let’s see what our old friend has to say, shall we?” He sat down, narrowing his eyes as he began to read the letter.  

To the honourable Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Do forgive this rather sudden letter, but I fear that I am in need of your help once again.

To start off, I know that quite some time has transpired since we have last contacted each other. It must have been at least a month since I sent my last letter, thanking you for your services. Everything has been going quite well since then at Baskerville Hall, and there have been no signs of any potential danger or trouble for any of its residents.

…Well, it seems like that to most people, anyways. I am well aware that the… well, the whole incident with the Hound has been solved already long ago. And I am certain that to you, it must feel like an even longer time already, considering how busy you must be with all your cases. Still, I… I cannot help but feel restless because of the events that transpired. I cannot help but live in fear whenever I look at the moors. There are still a lot of things that I am confused about, and I am afraid that I can no longer live with all this uncertainty.

I am well aware that this request must seem rather unimportant compared to all the other cases you are most likely dealing with. I know that it probably will not be a high priority for you. Nevertheless, I would greatly appreciate it if you could come to Baskerville Hall as soon as you are able to, to ward off the spirit of the Hound and the family’s curse once and for all. I fear that it will slowly kill me otherwise.

Yours truly,

Sir Henry Baskerville

“…Interesting”, Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “…Truly interesting.” Watson raised an eyebrow. “What is?” The detective gave him an enigmatic smile, pocketing the letter and standing up. “It appears the good lord of Baskerville Hall is in need of my services once again. Though… he was admittedly quite vague when describing his problems… I wonder why.” He began frantically searching for some of his belongings, grabbing a few packets of tobacco, his pocket watch, and a few other things. “…Holmes, what on earth are you doing?”, his friend asked, observing the scene with a perplexed look on his face. “Why, preparing myself to go to Baskerville Hall, of course”, Sherlock explained, speaking calmly as if it was the most logical thing in the world to run out into the storm to see a client whose concerns were not even properly explained. Watson frowned. “Really? Even with the torrential weather we are having? The man did not even fully explain his problems in his letter, if I am to believe your word-”

The detective cut him off, raising his finger at him with a stern look in his eyes. “There is always a reason when someone cannot tell the full truth. Something must be causing Sir Henry to be more cautious when detailing his troubles. And I intend to find out just what that thing is.” He took out his pocket watch, frowning as he began to mumble to himself: “…If I make for the station this very moment… Yes, that will do admirably…” He put the watch back in his pocket, before rushing to put on his deerstalker and tweed coat. “…My dear friend, what are you talking about?”, Watson asked. “I am afraid that you have completely lost me.” Sherlock impatiently tapped his foot on the floor. “The fastest way to get to Dartmoor”, he responded, pressing against his forehead with his finger. “I still have the train schedule memorised from our last adventure there. Now, I must be off... I can hear the call of a new mystery awaiting me.”

“Holmes.” The doctor let his hand rest on the detective’s shoulder, looking him in the eye calmly, yet sternly. “Don’t make any rash decisions out there. I am all too familiar with these excited moods of yours… and while I am glad to see you being in high spirits again, please… just try to stay rational.” Sherlock stayed silent for a while, but then he gave his friend a nod. “…I will, Watson. I will be quite all right. But if you would appreciate it… I will leave a message by wire once I have more clarity about this… well, it cannot really be called a case, can it? I shall simply call it a conundrum. Anyways, I need more clarity. And as soon as I know more, I shall let you know. Now, I really need to make a run for it… I might miss the train otherwise.” He tipped his hat to his friend, before sprinting out of the apartment. “Holmes, this is exactly what I meant-”, Watson began, but he soon saw that trying to talk sense into his friend was pointless. He rolled his eyes, smiling as he shook his head. “Oh, dear… You never learn, do you?”

Sherlock sprinted through the rainy streets of London, his boots splashing in muddy puddles with each and every step he took. He was already completely drenched within a few seconds. That did not matter to him, though. He had to get to Dartmoor as quickly as possible. He had to see Sir Henry. He had been a fool for not realising it sooner. His moods of listlessness and gloom had not started until after the Dartmoor case. It had to have been caused by that. While he was not a person to quickly give in to emotional sentiments, he had… thoroughly enjoyed his stay at Baskerville Hall. He had felt a certain warmth when in Sir Henry’s company that he had never felt before. A warmth that he had desperately missed.

…He had grown to deeply care for the man. In a way that was… different than he was familiar with. Different from the way he cared for, say, Watson. He went all light in the head when he thought of the new lord of Baskerville Hall. He noticed his heartbeat getting faster and faster. He would even feel a strange sensation in his stomach, one akin to nausea. The detective… did not like it. And yet… he did. The feeling sparked a wild sense of excitement within him. A warm, bubbly sensation. These things had already started when he had laid eyes upon Sir Henry for the very first time. And they had only gotten worse over time.

Was… was this what people called… ‘love’? Sherlock grimaced at the thought. He had never understood the idea ever before. He had found it to be a futile sentiment that distracted people from what was really important. But now… he was likely feeling it himself. And he did not know how to feel about it. It was all beginning to make sense to him now. Of course, it had been these sudden romantic feelings that were making him upset. And they were for Sir Henry. Of course, it was Sir Henry. It was always Sir Henry. It was always him that was on his mind. Back then, and even now.

The detective did not know why he was only beginning to realise this fact this very moment. He had been so stupid… and he did not know how he was supposed to feel about it. He desperately needed to speak to Sir Henry Baskerville, and the letter he had sent made for the perfect excuse. He needed to clear things up with him. He had to. Anything to stop all this confusion that was rampaging through his mind.

As soon as Sherlock arrived at the station, he ran straight for the train headed to Devon, managing to get aboard just in time. He breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as he did, attempting to get his clothes dried up somewhat. He let out an annoyed sigh as soon as he realised that that endeavour was a foolish one, though. At least the water had not gotten into his eyes thanks to his deerstalker.

Sitting down in one of the train seats, he frowned, his fingers interlaced together as he stared out of his compartment’s window and thought. He thought about a lot of things. About the Baskerville case. About the Hound. About Sir Henry’s letter. Sir Henry himself. The feelings he had been experiencing because of him lately. The detective’s mind had never been an inactive one, but it felt as if his head was bursting with thoughts at the moment. It made him restless. Anxiously tapping his foot against the ground, he just looked out of the window as the view began to change, from London’s urban landscape he had become so familiar with to rugged, dreary moorland fields.

Sherlock checked his pocket watch. It was still late in the afternoon. With any luck, he could arrive at Baskerville Hall before sunset. Only a few hours left. Only a few hours until he would stand face-to-face with Sir Henry again. Only a few hours, and he would speak with him again. The man that had been indirectly causing so much confusing feelings. The detective only prayed that he would be able to get some more clarity on them.  

Chapter 2: Haunted by the past

Summary:

Sir Henry has some conflicting feelings.

“Barrymore?” Sir Henry Baskerville walked down the stairs of Baskerville Hall, looking for his butler. His steps were slow and cautious as he looked at the multitude of portraits that hung on the wall next to him, shuddering as he laid eyes upon the painting of his ancestor Sir Hugo. He still did not really know what to do with the thing. Taking it off the wall felt like an insult to the family, but the young lord could not help but be unsettled by it.

Even though the mystery of the Baskerville curse was laid to rest, he still felt as if his ancestor’s steely gaze pierced his soul whenever he walked past that accursed portrait of his. He did not want to think about the fact that this man was what his family had become most well-known for. He did not want to be associated with him. He wanted to fulfil his role as the Lord of Baskerville Hall the best he could, but it was very hard to do that as long as he had to be reminded of his predecessor’s infamy.

And to think of the fact that there used to hang two paintings of the man in the hall… Henry had not missed the thing at all while it was still unrecovered. And when it was found again, he had been more than happy to send the thing to Sherlock Holmes as an additional way to thank him. Good riddance.

The nobleman stopped in his tracks as he felt that horrendous dizzy feeling rise up again. The same feeling he had been experiencing for a while now. Sherlock Holmes. Of course, his train of thought went back to that man again. All things seemed to, as of late. He had left an enormous impression on the young lord. Ever since the detective had walked into his hotel room to introduce himself, Henry had always felt a large amount of respect for him. The confidence with which he managed to portray himself was something entirely alien to the young lord. It was something he envied. He wished that he could be as self-assured as the investigator was. He guessed that dealing with all the troubles on his mind would be much easier, had he been like that.

But he was not. And he would probably never be. There were not a lot of things about him that inspired such confidence. If anything, they made him more nervous. He was not extroverted like his predecessor had been, enjoying engaging in all sorts of social activities with Devonshire’s residents. Instead, he was quiet and reserved, preferring to keep to himself whenever possible. No matter how much he tried his best to live up to the expectations placed upon him, he knew that he would never be able to do that deep down. And it made him feel worthless. He knew how privileged he was to be born into an aristocratic family, and he desperately wanted to do the few tasks he had to fulfil in his life to the best of his abilities. It was the least he could do. And he could not even do that. He truly was a hopeless man.

“You asked for me, sir?” Barrymore, the family’s loyal servant, called to his lord from the bottom of the staircase, having walked in through one of the hall’s many doors. Henry was immediately snapped out of his thoughts, looking around himself wildly before spotting the man, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Y-yes…”, he said quietly, walking down without looking back at Sir Hugo’s portrait even a single time. “That letter I gave you yesterday… you did see to it that it was posted, did you not?” His butler nodded. “But of course, my lord. I could tell that it was an important matter from the look on your face, so I saw to it immediately”, he responded. “You can rest assured that it was delivered safely, sir.”

The young lord stayed silent for a while, anxiously twiddling with his thumbs before realising that he should probably say something. “I… I see. Thank… thank you very much.” Barrymore frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Are you quite all right, my lord?”, he asked. “I do not mean to insult you in any way, but you seem a bit… off today.” “I- I do…?”, Henry stammered, his whole body tensing up. “I… I suppose I have been a bit nervous as of late…”, he eventually admitted. “…Though I am quite certain that I will be all right. I just… need some fresh air, is all. Y-yes, that must be it.” He took a few steps towards the hall’s front door in order to head for the stables, before turning around to look back at his servant. “I doubt that anyone would come to the hall while I am gone, but if one does, will you tell them that I am out on the moors? I shan’t be long. I… I simply need to overthink some things.” And without waiting from his butler’s response, he walked out promptly.

As soon as he had mounted his horse, he headed for the moors straightaway. Gusts of wind rustled his hair as he looked over the mirelands. He did not know why he had decided to go back here all of a sudden. He had begun to fear the moors ever since he had almost been killed at the abbey ruins. Even though the mystery had been completely solved. Even now, he could not help but be reminded of the hound’s claws on his skin. Its revolting breath. That agonising howl.

But even more than that… that moors reminded him of Cecile. That… awful girl. Henry still did not know how he was supposed to feel about the whole situation. He felt stupid for ever thinking that she had fallen in love with him. That he had fallen in love with her. He had no idea if he truly had been in love. He did not know what it felt like. He thought that he had finally learned what it was when she had kissed him. He thought that he had it all figured out. And then he had been brutally hit with the realisation that he had not. At all. She had only used him. She had wanted to kill him. And she had been responsible for his uncle’s death as well. She had been a horrible person all along, and he had been too stupid to realise. If it had not been for Holmes saving him, he would have suffered the same fate as his uncle. Betrayed by the person he thought he loved.

And there he was again, thinking about Sherlock Holmes. It seemed absolutely impossible to get the man out of his thoughts. Even though he wished he could. He did not know what this feeling was he would experience every time the detective crossed his mind, but he did not like it. It made him uncomfortable. He had never felt this intense desire to be around a person ever before. It made him sweat and tremble. It made him hyperventilate. It made him unable to think a single cohesive thought.

And yet… it felt good, somehow. Still, that very fact disturbed him even more. He did not know what all of this was. Was this normal to happen when making a new friend? The young lord had never befriended that many people in his life, so it could be entirely possible. What he did know was that he felt like Holmes was a friend to him that was unlike any other person he had ever met. He was special to him. And that is why he had written to him. He guessed that if anyone would be able to accurately point out the source of his troubles, it would be Sherlock Holmes. It had to be. No one understood the Baskervilles case better than him. No one was more intelligent than him.

…Henry wanted to see no one more than him.

No matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, he could not deny the fact that he had also written Holmes because he desperately wished to speak to him again. To see him again. It had been… awfully lonely at Baskerville Hall without having him or Watson around. And while Henry had never been one to take joy in the company of many, even he had to admit that living in such a big estate with only the Barrymores as company was nothing more than depressing.

It was all starting to become too much for the young lord. He felt like all of his problems were slowly beginning to suffocate him. And he did not know what to do. He would not even have known what to do if he had only been dealing with one thing, so suddenly having all these troubles at once was getting to him more and more. He had been doing quite a good job at hiding his anguish, but it was becoming harder and harder. It was most likely the reason Barrymore had pointed out his nervous disposition earlier.

Henry just prayed that Holmes would indeed come to Baskerville Hall, just like the young lord had asked of him in his letter. The nobleman knew that it was highly unlikely that he would do so anytime soon. In all honesty, he would be surprised if the man would arrive sooner than a month from now. Being the world’s only consulting detective was not an occupation that allowed for a lot of free time. Regardless, Henry hoped that the detective would see enough importance in his request to honour it as soon as he was able to. To him, it was the only way he could ever hope to see the turmoil he had found himself in ending. It was the only way he would be able to live without being shackled by all these fears. It was the only way he would ever be able to be happy again.

The nobleman looked up at the sky as he felt raindrops slowly and softly falling down onto his skin. The wind seemed to be getting more intense as well. And it did not seem like the weather would be clearing up anytime soon. He let out a sigh as he looked over the dreary mire. The old abbey ruins were within his sight now. They looked even more terrifying than before, now that the skies were starting to look more and more foreboding. Henry shuddered. He’d better get back to Baskerville Hall as quickly as possible.

He leaned forward, stroking his horse’s neck as he heard its hooves clatter against the muddy ground faster and faster. He felt his heart beat in his chest more and more intensely as he felt the howling wind blow against his face. It was strange. Under normal circumstances, he would have been frightened by the threat of the coming storm, but right now, it felt incredibly liberating to be dashing over the moorlands without a care in the world. Even the soft rain against his face felt refreshing. He finally felt like he was at peace again ever so slightly. His decision to try to go back to the moor had been a good one. Perhaps it would help him to be less afraid of it, as well. He really wanted to get rid of these fears. Dartmoor was so beautiful. It was such a shame that he could not bring himself to properly enjoy it because of the constant anxious feeling looming over his mind.

Pushing his sopping, wet hair away from his face, Henry walked back into Baskerville Hall after bringing his horse back to the stables. As soon as he was inside, he noticed something strange. He frowned, stopping in his tracks and looking around himself, a confused look on his face. No, this definitely was not his imagination. He was able to notice the smell of tobacco. A very particular kind, as well. One that they did not have at the Hall. He… he could swear that he had smelled the scent before. Back when-

His eyes widening in surprise, the nobleman realised where he recognised that familiar smell from. That… that man. Surely, he could not have… No, that would be quite impossible. But why? Why did the smell of his tobacco fill the hall, then? Henry had to know.

Throwing off his coat, the young lord sprinted into the entrance hall, his heart skipping a beat as he saw a man patiently waiting in one of the room’s many chairs, calmly smoking his pipe as he was lounging back. Henry stared at him with a look of perplexion on his face. He felt his face getting warmer and warmer. He was getting dizzy again. His frail heart felt like it was going to burst. As soon as the man’s piercing, pale blue eyes met his, he froze in place as he heard him speak: “…Hello, my good sir… It has been quite some time, has it not?”

The young lord could only look back at him as he struggled to even respond. He was too astonished to properly think. He could swear that he was dreaming. This… this could not be real. It was too good to be. Despite his confusion though, he still tried to speak. Eventually, he managed to get out one single, though meaningful word:

“H… Holmes…”

Chapter 3: Back at the Hall

Summary:

Sherlock talks to Sir Henry about why he called for his help again.

Sherlock let out a smile, sitting up straight as he looked at the young lord standing in front of him, that dumbfounded look of his that the detective had become so familiar with still on his face. He could not help but be endeared by it. “…You seem surprised to see me”, he remarked, cocking an eyebrow as he blew out a small puff of smoke from his pipe. “Why is that…? Were you under the impression that I would not answer your letter?” Sir Henry gulped, scratching the back of his head nervously. “N-no, it’s…”, he began, stuttering his way through his words and fumbling over them. “I- I mean, I only sent the letter yesterday... I was entirely convinced that you would be too p-preoccupied with, you know… matters that… were of more importance to you for a while. I… had not anticipated you showing up at such a short notice. That is all.”

Sherlock frowned, pressing his fingers against each other as he keenly observed the nobleman. It was not just his imagination. He had always known Sir Henry to be of somewhat of a nervous disposition, but he seemed to be even less at ease than he normally seemed to be at the moment. It made sense, he supposed. The young lord had expressed feelings of distress and confusion in his letter, after all. “I am not one to waste time on cases, Sir Henry”, he responded after a while, looking straight at the nobleman’s face with his piercing gaze. “…And I fail to see how this matter would not be of significance to me. If anything… I suspect it might be of vital importance… to both of us.”

Sir Henry raised his eyebrows. “…V-vital importance? H-how-” The detective cut him off, waving his hands around impatiently as he shook his head. “But I am getting ahead of myself… I do apologise. Please… why don’t you sit down first? I think that would make it much easier for you to calmly explain your troubles to me… wouldn’t you agree?” A blush spread across the young lord’s face as he stared down at the ground. “I- I suppose so…”, he muttered, meekly sitting down across from Sherlock as he twiddled his thumbs. “…Do forgive me. You must think me a terrible host, with me being away from the Hall just as you got there, while you are taking time out of your schedule to help me with my problems-”

“Sir Henry.” The detective’s tone was patient, but direct. It immediately made the nobleman quiet down and listen. “I think none of those things,” Sherlock continued, “and I only suggested that you sit down in the hopes of making you feel more at ease. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable at all, believe me.” Henry gazed up at him, a look of relief spreading across his face. “R-right”, he stammered. “I’m sorry. I am… not the best at dealing with unexpected situations.” “Which is why you sent for me, did you not?”, the detective enquired, a spark of curiosity lighting up in his eyes. “There is something plaguing you. Something that you were unable to accurately describe in your letter. Something that you specifically wanted my help for. So…” He put his pipe in his mouth, staring at the young lord thoughtfully. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what it is you are suffering so greatly from?”

Henry looked away, smiling bashfully. “You know, if I did not know any different, I would say that you look as if you are about to begin unravelling the mystery behind yet another case of yours. I can assure you… I do not think that my concerns will be as exciting to you as you might think… nor important.” “Everything I do, I do out of importance”, Sherlock replied. “You are a dear friend of mine, Sir Henry. Anything that troubles a friend is of just as much significance to me as a new case would be… especially since friends are not something that I come across easily.”

That last statement seemed to surprise the nobleman. He stayed silent for a while, staring at the detective before eventually breaking the silence: “…You… don’t? I… would have thought differently, in all honesty.” Sherlock shrugged. “The life of a consulting detective is a lonely one, Sir Henry… but that is neither here nor there. I have come here to speak about your troubles, not mine. Please… do tell me in which way I can be of your assistance.”

“…Very well”, Henry agreed. A frown began to spread across his face as he looked down at the ground, thinking. “…I suppose I am still… very confused by a lot of the things that have happened…” He looked up at the detective, sighing. “I- I needed to talk about it to someone. Someone that would… get me, I suppose. I… I could only think of you. No one else understands that case like you do. No one else really… was there, that fateful night at the abbey ruins. And I feel like a fool for even needing to talk about things like this. I should have been able to simply… shrug it off. I mean, I survived the whole incident, right? The mystery was solved… The ones responsible for all the danger… well, they were served justice, one way or the other… even if I would have preferred it if they did not have to… die so violently…”

He ran his hands through his hair, frowning melancholically. “…It just does not feel like me to… be this distraught by something, I guess. I… cannot get all those things out of my mind… I cannot just… get over it. I am certain that that is what is expected of me, but… well, it seems that I have been failing to meet any and all expectations people want me to live up to, as of late.”

He scoffed at himself, holding his head in his hands. “…I- I do not know what has gotten into me recently. Everything should be fine. I should be fine. But I am… far from it. I- I am still so upset by everything that happened, and I- I do not know what is wrong with me-” He started to breathe more and more quickly, his chest heaving up and down as he began to panic. The detective could do nothing but sit back and watch. He hated seeing Sir Henry like this. He felt… extremely bad for him. Sherlock had never found himself to be a person that was in tune with others’ emotions, but even he was able to notice just how distraught the young lord was.

To his astonishment, though… it made him upset as well. He could not quite explain it. He had never felt like this for a person ever before, but seeing Henry on the verge of tears… it made him feel horrible. And it confused him. He could not stand it. He had to put a stop to it… somehow.

But how, though? The detective frowned. Dealing with people’s emotions had never been his strong suit. He simply could not bring himself to understand others, most of the time. Feelings made no sense to him. They did not follow clear rules of logic, like most things would. And that irritated him. He had brushed off all these notions of emotions as being pure, nonsensical rubbish that only idiotic humans subscribed to long ago, and he had been able to happily live with that philosophy ever since. Now, though… now, things seemed like they were going to be a bit more complicated than that. It was becoming more and more apparent to Sherlock that feelings were the very crux of this entire affair. And not just Sir Henry’s troubles, either. His, as well.  

“I- I just do not know what I should do-” the young lord continued, snapping the detective out of his thoughts. He clenched his jaw, his hands beginning to tremble as he helplessly looked up at Sherlock. “I- I’m an idiot… I do not know why I cannot figure this out by myself… B-but I simply can’t… and it- it makes me feel worthless-”

“Henry.” The detective stood up abruptly, not even fully noticing that he did not address the young lord by his title. He leaned forward, letting his hand rest on the nobleman’s shoulder. He did not know what he was doing. He did not even know whether this would calm down Sir Henry or not. He did know that he wanted to help the young lord calm down, though. In whatever way possible. Watson was usually the one to know what to do in situations like these, but he was not there right now. Sherlock was just going to have to do it all by himself. And while he was extremely inexperienced in this field, he wanted to at least try. Try his very best.

“Calm yourself, Sir Henry”, he urged the nobleman. “Please… I will not be able to help you otherwise.” The young lord paused, letting his hands rest in his lap as he looked at the detective’s hand on his shoulder. As soon as he did so, a furious blush spread across his face. Sherlock immediately drew his hand back, his eyes widening in surprise as if he was only realising what he was doing just now. “…Forgive me”, he muttered, an uncharacteristically confused tone coming from his voice as he sat back down, looking away. “You… you seemed like your heart was going to burst if you kept on panicking like that. I… just wanted to help you calm down. I see now that… I was wrong.”

Sherlock frowned. “I was wrong.” He could not remember the last time he had admitted that fact and truly meant it. He could not deny it any longer, though. He had no idea as to how he was supposed to make Sir Henry feel better. Even though he desperately wanted to. It was strange. He had never been in situations like this ever before. He was a great detective, after all… he was supposed to be a genius… so why was he having trouble with this?

“…Holmes…” Henry took a deep breath, still staring at his shoulder before looking back up at the detective, seemingly surprised by his words. Sherlock frowned. He did not like showing this side of his. The one that was uncertain about things. The one that… did not know what to do. But if he was supposed to show it to anyone, he was happy that it was to Sir Henry, he supposed. “…I must admit that situations like these are… not particularly included in my field of expertise”, he cautiously began, rubbing his forehead. “But I do want to help. I really do. I am… simply not very used to not knowing what to do.”

The nobleman stayed silent for a while. “I… I do appreciate you trying to help me”, he eventually said. “I really do.” He sat up straight, looking at the detective with his deep, dark brown eyes. They had that sense of pleading about them that Sherlock had come to associate with the Lord of Baskerville Hall. Ever since they had met each other, it had been one of the first things to stand out to the detective. That soft, timid look in his eyes. Sherlock had seen it when he had narrowly saved Henry from that tarantula that had been snuck into his boot, and he had never gotten it out of his head ever since.

“Really, you coming here in the first place… and so quickly as well… it- it means the world to me”, the nobleman continued. “…I did not know who else I could confide in. Everyone else here…” He sighed, looking around himself miserably. “…It seems like everyone else here is expecting me to behave some kind of way. A way that they have come to expect after having spent so much time with my uncle. I am getting sick of it. You are one of the few people to see me as… well, a person. Not just the next heir to the Baskerville name. And that… that truly is priceless to me, Holmes. You are doing a lot for me already.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, looking at the young lord intently as he interlaced his fingers. “Well, naturally”, he replied, his gaze wandering off to the many portraits of the previous Lords of Baskerville Hall that decorated the wall behind Sir Henry’s back. “It is quite evident that you are not like your predecessors… even if there is a physical resemblance.” The nobleman stared down at the ground, a disappointed look on his face. “…It is…?”, he asked quietly, a tone of self-loathing coming from him. “…I knew I was hopeless…”

The detective narrowed his eyes, cutting the young lord off rather abruptly. “…I never said that that was a bad thing, Sir Henry”, he retorted, raising his finger up at the man. “If anything, I would argue that it speaks to the goodness of your character, especially given your family’s… infamous history.” The nobleman sighed, following Sherlock’s gaze. Both men simply stared in silence at the empty space on the wall where the second painting depicting Sir Hugo Baskerville used to hang for a while.

“…Do not remind me”, Sir Henry eventually muttered, before making a ‘tch’ noise and grimacing. “You know, it is strange. My entire life, I have been taught the significance of holding reverence for your ancestors. I- I suppose that is a practice that only still really exists in noble houses nowadays… But it all felt so real to me. So… important. It was one of the first things that crossed my mind as soon as I heard that I was to be the next heir to the Baskerville name… I would be able to honour my predecessors. Live in the Hall that they used to call their home as well. I… I thought I was going to be able to… find a place where I would really… belong. And, well… lately, I have been feeling more and more as if that thought was… one of foolish optimism.”

“In what way?”, Sherlock asked. He was leaning forward, listening attentively to the young lord’s words. He felt like he was finally getting closer to finding out what had been troubling Sir Henry so much. Even if it was just a small step. Small steps would be the way forward, he thought to himself. Having observed the nobleman’s behaviour, the detective was not even quite sure whether or not Sir Henry himself knew just why he was suffering. He was going to have to be patient, and he was going to have to be considerate. And while both of those things were not exactly qualities that Sherlock would quickly associate with himself, he was going to try his best. If it would mean that Sir Henry’s troubles could be resolved that way… then so be it. “Are you perhaps referring to the Legend?”, he asked. “The scandalous tale of Sir Hugo?”

The nobleman closed his eyes, seemingly deep in thought. “I suppose so”, he replied after a while. “Partially, at least. I do not quite know what I should do with his… legacy. He was a horrible man. Family or not, that is a plain fact.” The detective smiled. “Ah, choosing rationality over emotional sentiments, I see”, he chuckled. “I know that I have told you this already, but you are a man after my own heart, Sir Henry.” The young lord smiled bashfully, blushing slightly as he awkwardly scratched his face. “I- I suppose so. I just do not think that… scoundrel should deserve any respect after what he has done… even if he was part of the Baskerville family. One’s birth should not excuse their behaviour.”

Sherlock nodded approvingly, not breaking eye contact with the nobleman for even a moment. “An admirable conclusion”, he remarked. “It… it was also one of the reasons for me sending the second painting of Sir Hugo to you, Holmes”, Henry continued. “The one that was recovered after searching through the Stapletons’ farm, I mean.” The detective nodded. “I know what you are talking about”, he simply said. Though if I had to be honest, I would have preferred to own your portrait, he thought to himself. “P-please, do not think of it as me simply wanting to get rid of it”, the young lord explained nervously. “It is more that… I thought you would be much happier with it than I would. In all honesty…” He gulped, looking back at the row of pictures again. “…Even that single painting of his still unnerves me when I look at it.”

A puzzled look spread across the nobleman’s face. Sherlock kept observing him closely. He had become very familiar with looks like that. They were often on his own face, as well. It was the expression one makes when realising something they should have noticed long ago. “Something crossed your mind just now”, he urged Sir Henry, hoping to assist him in figuring out what he was experiencing. “I can tell from that look on your face. Come on, then. Out with it. Facts cannot be glossed over, my dear fellow.” The nobleman began to frown, pressing his finger up against his lip. The detective could not help but find the sight incredibly endearing. “…It’s not just Sir Hugo”, Henry said eventually. “It is… all of them.”

“All of them?”, Sherlock asked. The nobleman nodded. “Yes. My ancestors. Just… all the expectations that are put upon me because of them. It has been… quite hard to live up to them. It feels like I cannot… be myself whenever I try to do that. But I… do not want to seem disrespectful of my predecessors at the same time… it is… complicated.” He stared at the portraits again, a frown on his face. “I cannot help but feel judged. Like their eyes are staring at me, their gazes piercing me. It feels… claustrophobic, for a lack of a better word. I want to do two things at the same time… honour my ancestors… and be true to myself… but it feels like I can only do one of those things. And the thought of disrespecting my predecessors terrifies me.”

“Very well.” Sherlock jumped up, putting his hands in his suit’s pockets. “That settles it, then.” Henry stared at him with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Wh-what does?”, he stuttered. “I- I do not follow…” “You are dealing with two troubles at the same time, which is causing you even more turmoil than these two things would separately”, the detective reasoned, passionately musing to himself as he began to pace around the room. “Ergo, if we eliminate one of these things, it makes it easier to discuss the other, and vice versa.” The nobleman stared at him as if he was a madman. “…And how would you propose to do that?”, he hesitantly asked.

Sherlock smiled. “Elementary, my dear fellow. You are unable to openly discuss your feelings as long as you feel the gaze of your family directed at you… so we will speak at a place where no one will be there to listen in on us. No worries about a reputation. No worries about being a disgrace. Are you still following?” Sir Henry blinked, fidgeting with his fingers. “…At a rudimentary level, yes. What… what is your plan then, exactly, if I may ask?”

The detective took his pipe out of his mouth, slowly blowing out a foggy cloud of smoke and watching it dissipate in the air. “Why, the moors, of course”, he said resolutely. “To the abbey ruins. If you are still upset by the events that transpired there… then why don’t I show you that there is no reason to fear the place?”

Sir Henry was taken aback by that answer, his eyes widening in surprise. “Now? A-at this hour?”, he asked. Sherlock nodded. “Yes. When else? The sun is still out, so why not?” The nobleman sighed, twiddling with his thumbs. “I- I don’t know…”, he mumbled. “I’m scared.” “Even when I will be there with you?”, the detective asked. “I have saved your life before already, Sir Henry. Multiple times, in fact, as I am certain that you know as well. And I do think that going there would be a wise decision. So…” He held out his hand, offering it to the young lord to hold onto. “Will you come with me?”

Henry stayed silent for a while, before slowly grabbing onto Sherlock’s hand and using it to sit up. “…I suppose I will if you will be there with me…”, he mumbled, a blush spreading across his face as he bashfully looked away. “I… do not quite know what it is you are getting at… but I trust you with this, Holmes. I want you to know that.”

Sherlock chuckled, tapping his friend on the shoulder before taking a few steps towards the Hall’s entrance. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?”, he asked eagerly. “The moors are calling, Sir Henry… and so is the salvation from your turmoil.”

Chapter 4: The Grip of the Mire

Summary:

Henry finally makes a realisation.
The art featured in this chapter was made by me :>

“…Yuck.” Henry scowled slightly as he looked up at the dreary grey clouds that were starting to gather above the mires. He was walking closely behind Sherlock, taking careful steps in order to avoid stepping into any muddy pools. “We certainly are not blessed by the weather this evening, are we?” The detective laughed. “My dear Sir Henry, you will come to find that this is actually quite a fine evening we are having… for Dartmoor’s standards, at least.” The young lord shuddered. “It is during moments like these that I remember just how pleasant Johannesburg was”, he complained, scratching the back of his head as he stopped walking. “I must say that I am quite honoured to live in the home of my ancestors, but the mud that surrounds it drives me insane.”

Henry looked at Sherlock. He had expected him to retort with a sarcastic comment by now, yet the detective stayed silent. He simply smiled to himself, calmly pointing at the nobleman’s shoes using the same hand he was holding his pipe with. “It would do you well to watch where you are stepping with those boots of yours then, my friend”, he eventually said. “It would be a shame if you had to get yourself another pair this quickly, especially after all the trouble I went through to recover them.” Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared down at his feet, reflexively stepping away as he saw that he had been standing in a pool of mud. He let out a soft yelp as he ran up to the detective, catching up to him again. “That… that isn’t funny, Holmes…”, he panted, noticing his friend’s attempt to hide a chuckle. “I- I thought I had stepped into the mire for a second there.”

“I would never willingly lead you into the mire, Sir Henry”, Sherlock said sternly. “I want to make that very clear. And I do apologise if I made you think otherwise for even a single moment.” He stared into the nobleman’s eyes, a serious look spreading across his face. “I am here to help you. Succeeding at that is of vital importance to me.” Henry felt a bubbly feeling rise up in his chest as he felt the detective’s piercing gaze fixed upon him. There it was again. That strange sensation. The young lord had never felt it quite as intensely ever before. “I… I trust you, Holmes”, he eventually said. “I know that you have my best interests in mind. E-even if I… still do not quite know why we are here in the first place… but I suspect that you have your reasons. I- I just panicked, that was all. The idea of sinking away into the moorland fields, never to be seen again… it… it frightens me.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “…Tell me, Sir Henry…”, he asked, a cautious tone coming from his voice as he put his pipe in his mouth. “Is that because of the demise of Ms. Stapleton?” The nobleman froze in place, a hollow, nauseous feeling spreading through his entire body. “…Cecile, I think her name was?”, the detective continued. Henry began to tremble. His breathing was getting shaky. He noticed sweat running down his forehead. The memories came rushing back to him. The cold. The fear. The screams. Those haunting screams that still rung through his ears. The last thing he had gotten to hear of the girl he thought he had been in love with.

“Y-yes…”, he stuttered, only now fully realising why the moorland fields had been terrifying him so much. He cursed himself for being too stupid to make the connection up until now. Looking back, it seemed so simple. How could he have been such an idiot? Did everything truly need to be spelled out for him? Why could he not do any of these things by himself?

“She… she simply disappeared…”, he sobbed. “She sank away, leaving not even a single trace behind… I… I am scared that if I go out on the moors, I will just… stumble across her body, and she will still have that look of agony on her face…” He paused for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as he looked back at the detective. “B-but that is just my mind playing tricks on me”, he sighed, scoffing at himself clumsily. “I suppose that evening simply left... a large impact on my mind. I mean, the idea is ridiculous... There is no way that I would actually have to worry about that ever happening.”

Sherlock thought for a while. “Well, I would not quite necessarily say that”, he eventually remarked. “Moorland fields have been known to preserve bodies that were left behind in them quite well. It is quite fascinating, actually. The corpses undergo a process similar to mummification, making it so that they remain largely intact, even after the passing of centuries. They are called bog bodies, have you ever heard of them?”

Henry looked at him, his eyes widened in abject terror as he listened to the detective talking about this gruesome subject with an unsettlingly calm tone. The man seemed to have a morbid sense of curiosity about the phenomenon. In all honesty, Henry would not be surprised if Sherlock had completely forgotten about their original conversation in the first place, his attention having been pointed towards this obscure fact.

Seeing the look on the young lord’s face, the detective quickly stopped talking as he looked away apologetically. “...I should not have mentioned that, should I?”, he muttered quietly. Henry shook his head. “No, you... you really should not have. That fact is... quite upsetting, really.” “I got carried away there”, Sherlock admitted. “Do forgive me. The subject truly is intriguing, but I... do see how it was quite tactless of me to mention.”

The nobleman blushed. He was not quite used to seeing the detective like this. Normally, he was so confident and resolute, never seeming to doubt himself for even a moment. He seemed to be acting differently now, though. He seemed to be uncertain of what to do with this situation. He seemed rather... self-conscious about his behaviour all of a sudden. He had even apologised to him, and he seemed to genuinely mean it. Henry did not think that he would ever live to see Sherlock Holmes of all people to be this sincere with him, yet here he was.

And in all honesty... he liked it. It felt reassuring to know that even London's great detective was not always this certain about himself. Seeing the man's more genuine side was very endearing to Henry, somehow. He truly was lucky to have him as a friend. The two had not even known each other for that long, yet Sherlock was already willing to do so much for him. Even if he did not always know how to go about things the best way, he genuinely wanted to help. He wanted to root out this problem that Henry was dealing with… this problem that even the young lord himself could not quite point out yet.

From what the nobleman could tell though, the detective seemed to have gotten tangled up in it, as well. He behaved as if he had a personal stake in this conundrum. Henry wondered why. Sherlock’s mind was one big mystery to him. He wanted to understand his train of thought. He wished to know what it would be like… to be able to think so quickly. To always have a plan for something. To be able to take that systematic approach towards things. It had always fascinated the young lord. Sherlock fascinated him. There was something about the man that intrigued Henry beyond belief. He did not even know the detective that well yet, but he wanted to. He wanted nothing in the world more. He wanted to get to know Sherlock better. He wanted to understand him. And he wanted to be understood by him as well.

This was, admittedly, a bit of a foolish wish, of course. The young lord himself did not even understand his own feelings most of the time. How was the detective even supposed to figure out what was going on with him when he could not even identify the simplest of his emotions? Henry did not quite know. He knew that if anyone would be able to do it, though… it would be Sherlock. He would figure it out somehow. Henry knew he would. And even if he didn’t, the fact that he was willing to hear the young lord out and listen to him already meant the world to him. He appreciated this moment. Just them. Being in each other’s company. It felt… nice. It made Henry feel all warm inside.

“It is quite all right, really”, he said eventually, having pondered over these things for a while in silence. He gazed out over the moorland fields, seeing how the old abbey ruins were slowly coming into view as the sun was beginning to set. “I know you did not mean to upset me. And regardless… the truth is not always pleasant. That does not mean that I should live in ignorance of it.” He sighed melancholically, looking down at the ground. “…Harsh truths shall simply have to be something I am going to have to face. I feel like I have been ignorant of the things around me for long enough. I need to grow up. I… I need to face those memories. Even if they do haunt me. Even if… if she still haunts me.”

The detective nodded gravely as he led Henry inside the abbey ruins, looking up at the evening sky, which was slowly beginning to radiate shades of red and orange as some of the grey rainclouds were beginning to dissipate. “I think that is very wise of you”, he said, sitting down on a large piece of rubble as he began to smoke again, blowing out small, fumy puffs as he quietly watched the horizon. “You might have guessed it already, but that is precisely why we are here at this exact location right now. If you want to be rid of your fears, you are going to have to face them. Come…” He patted the stone surface next to him, gesturing at the young lord to come join him. “Sit with me. I am certain that you have a lot of things you wish to talk about, now that no one else is here to listen.”

Henry went red in the face. The idea of sitting next to the detective… and so closely, as well… it made his legs feel shaky. He thought that he was beginning to understand what Sherlock was getting at, though. And so he did what he had been asked. Sitting down next to the detective, he felt his heartbeat getting faster and faster as he found himself completely unable to even look the other man in the eye. He did not quite know why. This was all very strange to him. He could not deny the fact that it felt… right, though. Somehow. Like this was how they were supposed to be.

He noticed that Sherlock was staying silent. Even though he could not see it, he could tell that the man’s eyes were intently focusing on him. It made him blush even more. He noticed that the detective was waiting for him to speak first. And so he did.

“I- I suppose I have not been able to get the whole situation with… with Cecile out of my head”, he began. “It… it still confuses me. Scares me. I… do not quite know how it makes me feel. But it does not feel good. I- I thought I had genuinely met someone that I could… get along with. With Mr. Stapleton, as well. They- they were so kind… I did not think that they would ever… well, turn out to have ill intent towards me.”

He paused, frowning. “…I am… not the best at making new acquaintances. You know that yourself as well… w-with our, um… miscommunication when we first met at the Northumberland Hotel. It was something that I was very nervous about when coming back to England. I was afraid of being seen as an outsider. Of not fitting in. Of being doomed to stay lonely. I- I thought I had at least made friends with some of the local population, b-but I guess they were merely leading me on… Only setting me up to be brutally slaughtered… I… I felt betrayed… They lied to me… They… they pretended to be kind to me, merely because they wished to take advantage of me… And I feel stupid for not seeing through their deceit for even a moment…”

He finally managed to muster the courage to look in the detective’s general direction, meekly turning towards him as he began to feel more and more nervous. “…Tell me, Holmes…”, he muttered. “When did you start to suspect them? Was I truly a fool for believing their sickly sweet lies? Or am I not to blame at all…?”

“Hm.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pressing his fingertips together as he seemed to be deep in thought. “…When did I begin to suspect them, indeed? Well, I must say that I immediately found the fact that that second portrait of Sir Hugo was stolen highly suspicious. Barrymore’s statement that your ancestor’s hands were indeed webbed only cemented my theory. It was quite easy to figure out after that, really… But the fact that the man tried to kill me down in the mines did not really help him, either. That was the final nail in the coffin.” Henry’s eyes widened in shock. “I… I almost forgot that he did that to you…”, he muttered. “I-is that why you were so disapproving of their dinner invitation? Why… why couldn’t you have warned me?”

The detective raised his hand, calmly motioning the young lord to simmer down. “Easy there, my boy. I shall explain it all to you.” Henry’s heart skipped a beat as he heard Sherlock call him that. A jumpy, tingly feeling spread throughout his entire body as he felt his face getting warmer and warmer. The detective had never called him that before. They were but two simple words, but the young lord treasured them like they were a vow of honour. “I am quite certain that Stapleton had meant for it all to have looked like an accident, and he would have gotten away with it too, had his target been anyone else… But what can I say? I am afraid that you will not be rid of me quite that easily.” He paused after that last sentence, grinning as he looked to be very pleased with himself.

“Anyway, I had to play along with their little game for a little longer before being able to put a stop to their diabolical plan. I could not simply hold them accountable while just basing myself off of my logic, you see… even if, dare I say, my deductions are sometimes worth more than even the most valuable evidence.” The nobleman tilted his head to the side. “…How come…?”, he sheepishly asked. Sherlock looked straight at him, raising his finger at him. “Proof. Proof and facts are everything when fighting the darkness that lurks in our society, Sir Henry. Facts, I had. A multitude of them, in fact. But I knew that I could not get them to admit their guilt without solid evidence. I needed more proof. And so, I had to wait patiently until an opportunity arose for me to obtain it. And, well… I think you and I would both agree that their actions were… rather incriminating when they finally did reveal their plan to you.”

He let his hand rest on Henry’s shoulder, the touch of his hand gentle, yet firm. The young lord looked up at him at last, his entire body feeling queasy as soon as their gazes met one another. Neither of the men spoke a single word, yet so much was said during those few silent moments. Compassion. Pity. Perhaps even some slight regret. Sherlock’s eyes looked even more intense than they usually did as the sunset’s glow reflected in them. They were beautiful. Henry had read many books describing the beauty of one’s eyes, and he had never managed to understand it. Perhaps, though… perhaps he was beginning to, as he saw the detective’s pale blue irises looking straight at him.

“I am sorry that I could not tell you the full truth back then”, Sherlock said sternly. “I did what had to be done… but let it be known that I did not take any joy in doing so. Not for even a moment.” The young lord looked away. “…I do not mind, really…”, he mumbled quietly. “A-again, you had my best interests at heart. I knew that back then and I still do.” He paused, frowning mournfully before letting out a sigh. “I- I suppose it just… still hurts, you know… I… thought she cared for me…”

“Henry.” The detective’s voice sounded… different all of a sudden. It evoked a sense of urgent seriousness, yet there was also an unmistakable tone of worriment that even the nobleman was able to pick up. “I… I want you to answer me this question, and I want you to answer it truthfully.” Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “…What is it?”, he asked nervously, not quite liking the sudden change in his friend’s demeanour.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, compulsively fidgeting with his pipe. “…Did you love her, Henry?”, he eventually asked, a grave look on his face. The young lord froze in place, shocked by the detective’s question. “Wha- why do you-”, he began to stammer, but Sherlock spoke again before he could get his sentence out: “Answer me, Henry. Please. It is of vital importance. I… I need to know… for my own sake.”

Henry stayed silent for a while, thinking. “…I don’t know…”, he said quietly. “…I thought I was, at least… as far as I can tell… B-but now, I don’t know. It… it all does not make sense anymore. She- she had kissed me all of a sudden the first time we met, and she confused me- I… I suppose I just wanted to understand her better, understand why she did that… and I guess that I might have mistaken that for romantic feelings? I- I do not even know whether I even liked her that much, looking back now… or that I was merely trying to be polite…” His words were getting more and more panicked the longer he went on, yet the detective kept listening. If anything, he seemed to be listening even more intently than he had ever done.

“There… there are some certain… expectations that I have to live up to, being part of my noble family… I have to secure an heir, e-especially now that I am the last remaining member of the Baskervilles… a-and I suppose there might have been… pressure for me to… well, find someone… But I do not think that I ever want to marry now… not after what happened… not after the things she made me feel…” He closed his eyes as he began to shiver, his body feeling colder and colder as it was getting darker and the winds were getting more and more intense. “She- she scared me-”, he sobbed, covering his face with his hands in shame. “She made me afraid… she made me uneasy… b-but I thought that that was what love was supposed to feel like… I guess I am just a fool for not listening to my gut feeling…”

Henry suddenly felt the sensation of something being gently draped over his shoulders as he began to feel slightly less cold. Opening his eyes, he began to blush furiously as he saw that Sherlock had taken off his cape and covered the nobleman’s cold torso with it. He began to tremble as all he could do was stare into the detective’s eyes, his head in too much of a whirl to be able to properly speak. “H- Holmes, you-”

“You are not a fool, Henry.” Sherlock kept his hand resting on Henry’s back, his calm voice bringing the young lord some semblance of comfort again. “You were being led on. You were being taken advantage of. I do not blame you for your confusion in the slightest.”

Henry inched ever so slightly closer to the detective, tears welling up in his eyes. He was feeling too many emotions at once to properly process the situation. He knew that Sherlock’s touch made him feel safe, though. And a feeling of safety was all he needed right now. He wanted to put his arms around him. He wanted to lean against his body and take comfort in its warmth. He had never felt like this ever before, and it scared him. He could not deny the fact that it also excited him beyond belief, though.

The young lord felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stared into the detective’s eyes. “…Sherlock…”, he whispered shyly, his face turning even redder than it already was as the man’s first name passed his lips. “…Do you know what love feels like?” His friend stayed silent, seemingly thinking as a blush began to spread across his cheeks as well. “…I am still uncertain about that”, he eventually admitted. “…Love confuses me. I did not think that I… experienced it at first.” Tears slowly began to roll down Henry’s face as his hand hesitantly reached for Sherlock’s. “A-and… and now…?”, he asked breathlessly. The detective did not resist the young lord’s attempt to hold his hand. To the contrary, he nimbly interlaced his fingers with the nobleman’s, that strange, nauseating feeling becoming more intense than ever before for Henry as he did so. “…I think I may have been… wrong in that assertion”, he said carefully.

“Does… does it make you dizzy?”, the nobleman asked. “Does it make your legs feel shaky? Does… does it make you feel all warm inside?” Sherlock only nodded, not breaking eye contact for even a second as his hand slowly reached for the young lord’s cheek. “…I… I think so, yes…” Henry’s breathing was starting to become more and more shaky as he felt the detective’s fingers softly brushing against his jaw. He thought that he was supposed to be doing things like this with a woman. The idea that a man could be doing this to him had never even crossed his mind. It was slowly beginning to make sense to him, though.

Perhaps, this had been why Sherlock had occupied his mind during every single one of his waking moments. Why he would feel like he was going to be sick whenever he thought of him. Why he had wanted to put his arms around him. He still did not fully know what was going on. He was probably going to look back at this later and think of himself as an idiot once again. Just like the last time he thought he had figured it all out. But for now, the feelings were too intense to ignore.

“Sherlock, does…” Henry took a deep breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face as he felt the detective’s fingers gently brushing through his dark hair. “…Does it make you want to kiss me?” Sherlock held onto his face, letting his forehead rest against his as he began to let out shaky breaths.

“…It does, Henry… I-it does.”

The young lord’s eyes widened in astonishment as he felt the soft touch of the detective’s lips against his face. He froze in place as Sherlock began to kiss his face, his head being sent into a whirl by the multitude of emotions he was experiencing. The detective’s lips felt like heaven. They were warm. They were gentle. They were soft. His kiss was nothing like Cecile’s. It came from a place of passion. Of adoration. Of… of love. Henry wanted more of his touch. He needed more of his touch. He clumsily put his arms around Sherlock as he began to kiss him back, sobbing loudly as he let his emotions run wild at last. The detective began to breathe heavily as he ran his hands over Henry’s back, sweat running down both of their faces as the young lord could taste the salt of his own tears in his mouth.

It felt wonderful. It all did. Henry had never quite felt like he belonged anywhere before, but he thought that he had found his place in the world at last. In Sherlock’s arms. Nothing in his entire life had ever felt more right than this did. He had never even considered the idea that he might have been in love with the detective all this time. The thought seemed to make so much sense now, though. It was like a whole new world was opened to him all of a sudden. And while that was absolutely terrifying, it was also very exciting. Especially now that he knew that Sherlock would be there for him. He kept pressing his body against the detective’s as he kept kissing him. He kissed him as if his life depended on it. And at the moment, it did. For him, at least.

Suddenly, Henry froze in place, wincing in pain as he held onto his chest. Curses. He should have been more careful. He should have been more cautious with all the recent intensity of his heartbeats. But no… of course, he had been an idiot. Like he always had been. It felt like everything was spinning around him. Sherlock immediately held him by the shoulders, making sure that he did not collapse all of a sudden. “Henry… Henry, listen to me”, he urged the young lord. “Are you quite all right?” The nobleman only barely managed to look up at the detective, his vision getting blurrier and blurrier as he began to feel light in the head. “M… my heart…”, he stammered, his words starting to get slurred. “I- I don’t feel so…”

Before he was able to finish his sentence, a glazy look spread across his face as he fell down to the ground. All he was able to notice before losing consciousness was Sherlock leaning over him, a worried look on his face. “Henry…? Henry, can you hear me…?”

Then, everything became a blur.

Chapter 5: Guilt

Summary:

Sherlock reacts to Henry fainting in his arms, as he begins to see a few cracks in his confident persona.

“Henry…? Henry, can you hear me…?” Sherlock held the unconscious body of the man he had just kissed in his arms, his breathing getting faster and faster as he heard no response. It must have been his heart condition. The detective should have known. It was hereditary in the Baskerville family, after all. Sir Charles had died because of it. And if fate would not be on their side… it would take Henry now, as well.

Sherlock was starting to panic. He did not know what to do. It had all been so sudden. He had not even expected to have kissed the man, to begin with. That on its own was enough to send the detective into a state of confusion. It must have been that way for Henry, too, Sherlock supposed. So much, in fact, that it caused his heart to function improperly. The detective did not blame him. So many emotions had erupted from the man just then. So much had happened in just a few moments. Sherlock himself could not even fully wrap his head around all that had passed.

He did know one thing, though. And that was that Sir Henry was in desperate need of his help. The fate of his life was in his hands, once again. Though this time, it was in a way quite unusual to the detective. But he did not care. He had saved the young lord’s life once before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was stay calm and think rationally.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock slowly lowered Henry’s limp body against the ground, letting him lie on his back before letting his ear rest against his chest. He closed his eyes, sighing in relief as he still felt the nobleman’s chest slowly heaving up and down. He was still breathing. His heart seemed to be beating still as well, though the rhythm of his pulse was alarmingly fast. While that was concerning, the detective was already grateful that the young lord was even alive. The thought of him dying because Sherlock had given him a heart attack by kissing him… he did not even want to think about it for one moment.

And yet, it still kept haunting the back of his mind. He was technically responsible for this. He must have greatly upset Henry by going in to kiss him all of a sudden. Even though the nobleman had technically asked for it, still… the detective could not help but feel guilty. None of this would have happened if he had not done that. If he could have kept his desires to himself. If he could have simply explained his feelings for Henry in a calmer, more logical way… but no, of course he had to go and ruin it. Of course, he had to give in to this… this need of wanting his touch.

Even now, he could not help but feel it. The desire to feel those sweet lips against his skin. To caress his beautiful body. To show him just how much he cared for him. Sherlock had wanted to tell him so badly back then, but the words would not come to him. He had been left speechless.

It was a feeling completely alien to him. He always knew what to say. Whenever he did not speak, it would be because he deliberately chose to keep quiet. This time, though… this time, it had felt as if his tongue had been tied up and twisted beyond recognition. Not a single sentence made sense to him anymore. There had just been Henry. There had just been Henry, staring at him with those tearful, deep hazel eyes of his, asking him that question. That one, fateful question. “Sherlock… does it make you want to kiss me?”

And even now, the detective could only think up ‘yes’ as an answer. The young lord’s voice still rang through his ears, haunting him. Yes. Always, he thought to himself. How in God’s name could I ever say anything different? And it had felt so good as well. He had not been fully aware of what he was doing. He just did what felt right. It had all been… so impulsive. No thinking before acting. No rationalising of one’s actions. No moments of reflection. Just passion. Just pure, unfiltered passion. And it had felt amazing. It was a sensation that Sherlock had been completely unfamiliar with up until now. It scared him.

And yet… it intrigued him. He wanted to experience it again. To experience it more. To understand it. To find a sense of logic behind all these unexplainable things. He doubted that he ever would, though. While the human mind was something that had its fair share of patterns, the detective had always been of the strong belief that emotions such as these were entirely unpredictable in nature. Which was precisely the reason why he was not very fond of dealing with them. And especially not experiencing them.

He was experiencing them, though. That was something he was going to have to come to terms with. He most certainly was. He had suspected the fact for a while now, but there was absolutely no room left for any other interpretation anymore now: he, Sherlock Holmes, London’s great detective, the man who had up until recently laughed in the face of anyone who believed in these notions of romance, had fallen in love with Sir Henry Baskerville.

The most astonishing thing about this whole situation was that the nobleman seemed to have caught feelings for him as well. In all honesty, the detective could not quite understand why out of all people, he was the one that Henry had fallen for. He was not a man of social tact. If anything, he thought his blunt and direct attitude made him quite an undesirable partner, all things considered.

Sherlock sometimes wondered why people even put up with him. Whether he was truly deserving of the few friends he had, or that he was merely an insufferable fool. He knew that he talked too much about things that seemingly had no relevance to anything at hand, simply because they interested him. He knew that he would often unintentionally hurt others’ feelings by saying things as they were, instead of putting things more delicately. He knew that he would get too overexcited by things sometimes. He tried his best to keep himself in check. He really did. But he simply could not hide his excitement all the time. Not even when he really should.

And he should have kept it to himself, this time as well. He should not have kissed Henry like that. Even though he had desperately wanted to. Even though every single fibre of his being had cried out for his touch. He had gone too far. He had made the young lord pass out. And if he would not get any help soon… he might have accidentally sent him to an early grave. After having saved his life. After Henry explicitly trusted him to help him in this complicated matter. Sherlock did not even know whether or not he had helped at all. Whether he had truly helped the young lord figure out his problems, or that he had simply given him even more things to be nervous about.

He had been a fool. He had all ruined it. It had all gone so well, initially. He had gotten Henry to open up to him. He had found out just why this whole situation had upset him so much. But then he had thrown all that progress away by asking that one, stupid question. That selfish question. A question that only really mattered to his feelings and was not even absolutely necessary.

“Did you love her?”

Why did he even ask it? The nobleman could have been just as upset about thinking he had made a friend. It would have made no difference if his feelings towards Cecile had been romantic in the detective’s eyes. At least, when it concerned this mystery of his anxieties.

And yet, Sherlock had asked the question. Even though it was a fairly trivial detail. He never asked questions that were not necessary. He never did. He found them to be a waste of his time. Well… he supposed the question had been of importance. But not for figuring out Henry’s problems. It had been important to him and him alone. Hearing the nobleman talk about the girl like that… sounding so heartbroken… the detective had felt an odd sense of jealousy. He could not stand the idea of the young lord still harbouring feelings for that horrid woman. He had to get it out of his mind. He had to know that this envy was mere paranoia and not based in actual fact.

But he should have known. It had not been necessary to ask that question. He should have just been able to tell by thinking rationally. Surely, he could have just known by making a logical deduction, right? That is what he kept telling himself, but in all fairness… Sherlock did not know. He truly didn’t. But even if he could have only known by asking the young lord about it, he had no reason to feel like this in the first place.

…Why? Why had he felt this burning jealousy welling up in his chest? Why had he felt all this anger? It was not as if he had any right to feel like that. Henry was not his. Even though he would very much like him to be. Henry could never be his. Not openly. It pained the detective, but he knew that that was the harsh truth he had to live with. He thought that he had accepted that fact. And still, the thought of the nobleman being in love with the woman that tried to murder him instead of with him made his blood boil.

Sherlock could accept the fact that he felt like this. But acting upon these irrational feelings and putting the man he cared for in danger because of it… he would never forgive himself for that. This is all my fault. It was all he could think as he looked down at Henry’s unconscious face, his hands beginning to tremble as he raised them up to his face. I did this. This would not have happened if it had not been for my own foolishness.

The detective’s lips began to quiver. His eyes were tearing up. His entire body began to shake. He did something that he had not done for years, nor had he expected to do it ever again in his life.

Sherlock cried.

Tears streamed down the detective’s face as he held onto the young lord’s limp body, weeping sorrowfully as his wails echoed through the dreary night. “I… I’m sorry, Henry…”, he sobbed, clutching onto the nobleman. “I’m… so sorry… I- I was such an idiot... I- I do not know what I was thinking... I never intended for any of this to happen...” All of the emotions he was feeling released themselves violently as he wept like a small child, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his tear-stained face against Henry’s body. It all became too much for him. He could not handle it anymore. He had managed to stay calm and collected up until now, but that had become entirely impossible. All he could do was cry.

Sherlock did not know how long he had been sobbing like that. It felt like an eternity for him. Eventually though, he opened his eyes again, sniffling as he noticed just how cold Henry’s body felt. He was freezing. Even with the detective’s cape draped around him, his body was shivering. It managed to snap Sherlock out of his agony somewhat. He realised that they could not stay here. He had to get the young lord inside. His health would deteriorate even further than it already had if he would not.

The detective took a deep breath. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he held Henry close to his body, hoping to warm him up somewhat. “...It’s all right, my dear...”, he whispered quietly, looking up at the dark moorland fields. “...Forgive my outburst. I should not have wasted time like that... I am going to get you to safety. That, I swear.” He stood up, lifting the nobleman's limp body with him with the necessary difficulty. Taking a deep breath, a resolute look spread across his face as he stared at the lights coming from Baskerville Hall in the distance. This would not be a simple endeavour. Sherlock knew that. He had quite a distance to walk, not to mention the fact that Henry's body was quite difficult to carry. The detective was determined to bring the young lord back inside, though. He would do it or he would die trying.

Carrying the nobleman in his arms, Sherlock stepped out on the moors. He had always known that Henry was a very tall man, but he only fully seemed to realise just how large the man really was now as he struggled to support his body. Each and every step he took was taken with great care. He knew that he was going to have to watch out if he did not want to sink away in the moor. While the mummification of bog bodies was fascinating beyond belief to him, he would much rather not become one himself, if he had to be completely honest. And he especially did not want Henry to drown in the mire. He would never forgive himself if he would allow that to happen. The nobleman's life was in his hands. He was not going to treat it recklessly.

The howling wind chilled the detective to the bone as it mercilessly raged over the moorland fields. Rain was starting to fall down from the heavens. It made everything even more muddy than it already was. And it made it especially hard to figure out where the mires were. Sherlock cursed himself for even thinking of going out to the abbey ruins just as the sun was about to go down. He had not thought that they would have been out on the moors for that long. He was proven disastrously wrong, though. And now, he was going to have to face the consequences for being such an idiot. But if this had to be done in order to save Sir Henry's life, then so be it.

The detective felt his limbs feeling heavier and heavier the longer he kept walking. His arms were starting to hurt. His legs were becoming shaky. His breathing was getting more and more irregular. He could feel that he was starting to push himself past his limit. He desperately looked at the horizon, his heart sinking as he saw just how far they still were from the Hall. It made him feel hopeless. He was not going to be able to go much farther. And yet, he had to. He needed to. He had no other choice. He could not let Henry succumb to the cold. He would rather die. He had to keep pushing himself. He had to keep going.

He had finally reached somewhat of a path when he collapsed, falling down onto his knees and dropping to the ground. “No...”, he groaned, tears beginning to sting in his eyes as he desperately tried to get up. “Please... just... a bit more...” His hands bawled up into fists as he felt his legs giving out on him, hurting too much to move themselves even a little bit. Everything hurt. Every single part of his body. He was starting to feel light in the head as he felt his pulse's rhythm becoming alarmingly fast. He was spent. He could not keep going on. He could not carry Henry any further. He simply couldn't.

...He had failed.

“Damn it...” Sherlock was beginning to panic as he began to tremble. He was getting exhausted. He could not think clearly anymore. All that was on his mind was bringing the one he cared for back to a safe place. Back to Baskerville Hall. He had to try. He had to try everything that he could still do. He would be a failure as a person if he didn't. He had already failed to bring Henry comfort. To carry him home. The least he could do was see to it that Henry could be brought back inside by other means than his assistance.

...Even if he had to ask for help. The detective was revolted by the idea, but he had no other options. He was supposed to be able to do things like these by himself. He was always the one that knew what to do. The idea of having to admit that he could not do this on his own... to admit defeat... it disgusted him. But if it would mean that the young lord would be saved, he was willing to do it. He was willing to put aside his personal pride if it meant that Henry would be safe.

Rummaging through his pockets, Sherlock managed to pull out the revolver he had been carrying with him. He had not thought that it would have been necessary on his visit to Baskerville Hall, but he had been of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with being cautious. It turned out to have been the right decision. He silently thanked himself for taking the thing with him as he pointed it up in the air, firing a shot as a loud bang echoed over the moorland fields. And then he waited. Waited quietly in the hopes of anyone noticing. Praying for anyone to notice. Someone had to. It was the only way they could get back inside safely this night.

After a while, the detective spotted more lights being lit at Baskerville Hall. He took a box of matches from his pocket and struck one, waving the small flame around in the hopes of it being seen in the dark night. He had remembered the Barrymores using a candle to signal from outside the house, so he hoped to make use of that exact strategy in order to call for help. “ANYONE!”, he cried out into the night. “SIR HENRY IS IN DIRE NEED OF HELP! BRING THE CART!”

Nothing happened for a while. Sherlock was about to give up, as he saw the lights being extinguished, before a small candle was being lit. He let out a sigh of relief as his match faded out, its smoke flying up into the air before dissipating. His vision was becoming blurrier and blurrier as he crawled towards Henry, putting his arms around him in order to keep him warm as he felt himself getting dizzy. He closed his eyes as he just held him, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. Help was underway. It was coming. And yet, all Sherlock could do was worry. Worry that it would be too late for the nobleman. Worry that his heart was already beginning to give out on him. That it would all be for nothing. It was all the detective could think about as he lay there. He was cold. He was tired. He was devoid of all hope. Despite all of his, he would not leave Sir Henry’s side, though. He kept holding him close, protectively clutching onto him with all his might.

Seconds passed. Minutes. Perhaps even hours. Sherlock did not know anymore. Everything was going hazy in his mind. All he could think about was Henry. Nothing else mattered. The apocalypse might have happened and he would not have let go. He would never let go. Not until the young lord was brought back to safety.

***

“…Mister Holmes?! Wha- what happened?” The detective groggily opened his eyes as he found Barrymore staring down at him and Sir Henry, an expression of utter shock and confusion on his face. He sounded to be very tired, but worried. “…It… is a long story”, he replied, slowly getting up with difficulty and wincing with every movement he made. “That is not important, though”, he continued rather sternly, scratching the back of his head. “Sir Henry has fallen unconscious after experiencing what I suspect to be a heart attack. He is in dire need of medical help. He needs to be brought back to the Hall immediately.”

The butler’s eyes widened in surprise. “And… what happened to you, sir?” “That does not matter”, Sherlock immediately replied. “I will be quite all right. It is your lord that we need to worry about. Where… where is the cart?” Barrymore pointed behind him. “Just over there, sir… You go and sit down, and I will bring Sir Henry with us so that we can go back inside.” The detective shook his head. “I… I should be the one to do that-” “With all due respect, sir…”, the servant interrupted. “I appreciate your willingness to help the good sir, but you look positively exhausted. It would do us no good if two men were to faint tonight.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He did not like the fact that he was being told what to do. He did realise that what Barrymore was saying was true, though. He would only cause more problems if he tried to ‘help’ Henry any further. Only bad things had resulted from him trying to do just that this evening. He should not push his luck anymore. He let out a sigh, before reluctantly climbing on top of the cart. Barrymore joined him soon after, dutifully carrying the young lord’s limp body with him and laying him down next to the detective.

“Well then, sir… we’d better get back inside as quickly as possible. And then, the both of you should get the rest your bodies are in desperate need of.”

Chapter 6: Awake

Summary:

Henry regains consciousness and recalls everything that had happened on the moors the night before.

Telegram to John Watson, London

Will be staying for longer. Come to Hall. Sir Henry fainted. Suspect heart condition. Need your advice.

HOLMES.

---

Henry heard the soft sound of rain gently falling against the window as he slowly opened his eyes. He was laying in his bed. It felt… warm. Comfortable. He felt a familiar sense of safety as he sat up, looking around and noticing that he was back in his room. Staring at the window, he saw that sunlight was already beginning to leak through the curtains. It must have become morning.

The young lord scratched the back of his head as he simply sat in his bed, wondering what had happened last night for him to have ended up back here. His memories of the night before were… hazy. Now that he thought about it, he felt light-headed in general. That was to be expected, he supposed, especially after fainting. It had happened to him before. While it had been long ago since his last time losing consciousness, he had never been good at dealing with a high heart rate, thanks to his heart condition. This, combined with the fact that he tended to be of somewhat of a nervous disposition, made it so that he was not unfamiliar with fainting at all.

That did not take away the fact that it terrified him every time it happened, though. He was always frightened that he would not wake up again. He had heard enough stories of his family members dying of heart attacks. He would rather not share the same fate as them, if he had to be honest.

Henry exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. Worrying about all this would not help him any further, he thought to himself. He had woken up again this time, and that was all that mattered. He was all right. He was back at Baskerville Hall. He was safe. There was nothing he needed to worry about.

…That is what he thought to himself, at least, until he looked down. He was still wearing all his clothes. That was not the thing that upset him, though. That was the fact that Sherlock’s cape was still draped around him. As soon as he saw the thing, he froze in place.

…And then he remembered it all.

The detective had put it around his shoulders to protect him from the cold. To comfort him, perhaps. The young lord could not quite tell. He only knew that it had made him want to be even closer to Sherlock than he already had been. Even thinking back now, he became completely dizzy. He was starting to sweat. He was becoming nauseous. All the signs of another upcoming heart attack. He could swear that he was getting another one, but the pains in his chest never came. And that confused him even further.

The detective had kissed him. He had taken him in his arms and caressed every inch of his face. And he had liked it. He had kissed Sherlock back. He had put his arms around him and clumsily kissed him as if he had never kissed someone ever before. Well… he supposed that that was true, to some extent. Henry’s only prior experience with kissing had been with Cecile. But that was different. It did not… feel the same way. He had never been kissed the way Sherlock had worshipped his skin with those angelic lips of his. And the way with which he had so gently caressed his body… it had made him cry. He had cried so much. It had felt like he had barely been able to do anything else back then. It had felt… so good, though. It had been… cathartic, he supposed? He did not really know.

The young lord felt himself getting redder and redder in the face as he remembered the moment. As he remembered how heavenly it had been. It had been unexpected. It had been clumsy. It had been chaotic. And yet, it had been so much better than any kiss with Cecile had ever been. He wanted the detective. He wanted him so badly. Him in his entirety. His presence. His company. His body. All of it. He had completely surrendered himself to Sherlock’s touch back then, and he wanted to continue to do that for the rest of his life. To feel his body brush against his. To be held in his arms. To enjoy the touch of those sweet lips.

Henry’s eyes widened in fear as he thought this over. What… what was happening to him? Why was he thinking about these things all of a sudden? This… this was not normal, right? He had never heard anyone talk about feelings like this ever in his life. Nor had he read about them. He did not even know that two men could be feeling like this for each other. It had always been a man and a woman in his life. Nothing else. In his family. In society. Not even in the books that he had read had he ever seen something about two men being together being mentioned, ever. Even when the most fantastical scenarios would present themselves in these stories.

This… was not supposed to happen. He had been content with accepting that he would never find love in his life, but now he suddenly had… And if that was not confusing enough already, he had fallen for a man. Which was something that he had deemed virtually impossible up until now. Something must be wrong with him. This was not how it was supposed to be. It was not right. No one would ever accept him for it. And yet, he could not deny the fact that he desired Sherlock Holmes with such an intensity that he could not ignore it anymore. Even though he desperately tried not to feel these things. It kept creeping up in the back of his mind. It kept haunting him. He could not get the detective out of his head.

Tears began to roll down Henry’s cheeks as he pressed Sherlock’s cape against his face, sobbing. He did not know what to do. He did not know what to do at all. Not with his feelings. Not with all these things that had happened. Not with the situation he had found himself in. He did not want to feel like this. He did not want to acknowledge the fact that he had fallen for the detective. But at the same time, he knew that he could not keep lying to himself. He wanted him. He wanted him more than anyone else in the world. He could not deny it any longer. And it made him feel horrible.

Why couldn’t he just be like everyone else? Why couldn’t he just be… normal? Why was he such a disgrace in every single aspect of his life? He could not fit in with others. He could not be like his ancestors. He could not even fall in love in the right way. Everything he did, he failed at. He always needed others to help him out. And when he did things on his own, he did them so horribly wrong that he should not have even bothered to do them in the first place. He was rotten work. He was worthless. Perhaps everyone would have been better off if he had gotten murdered by the Stapletons after all. It was not like he was doing anyone much good, anyway. Well… maybe Sherlock. But he was probably just being a burden to him.

“Really, there truly is no reason to worry for my wellbeing!” Henry’s head perked up as he heard a familiar voice groaning from behind his door. He immediately recognised it as Sherlock’s. He immediately felt that nauseating feeling again. He was… still here. The young lord had not expected any differently, but hearing his voice again after… well, everything that had happened… it still sent his head in a whirl. It was strange, though. The detective’s tone was… rather agitated. “The message needed to be sent, it was urgent”, Sherlock continued. “And again, I am quite all right. I do not appreciate you behaving like some sort of nursemaid when I am not the one that you should be worrying about.”

Another voice, which the nobleman recognised as Mrs. Barrymore’s, sighed. “Really, dear… I understand that the message needed to be sent as soon as possible, and both me and my husband truly appreciate the lengths to which you are prepared to go in order to secure Sir Henry’s safety, but… could you not have asked one of us to go to the telegram office in your stead? You are going to end up hurting yourself if you keep on pushing yourself like this, my dear… You walked across half the moor carrying the poor man in your arms, for Pete’s sake! Shouldn’t you be completely exhausted by now?”

Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he heard this, slowly stepping out of bed and walking towards the door leading out of the room. Had Sherlock carried him all the way back home? How on earth did he manage to do that? And as if that was not enough, he had gone to the telegram office as well? Mrs. Barrymore’s words made complete sense to him now. How hadn’t the detective dropped down to the floor from fatigue by now? “Well, I am not”, Sherlock retorted, seemingly tapping his foot on the ground impatiently from what the nobleman could hear. “And I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much. I appreciate your worries, but I am not the one that you should be worrying about. Sir Henry is.”

“Wh... what is it about me...?” Henry nervously opened his bedroom door, peeking behind it and seeing Sherlock and Mrs. Barrymore standing in the hall, not far away from him. The two of them immediately turned their heads towards the young lord as soon as they heard his voice.

The detective froze in place as soon as he laid eyes upon the nobleman, his eyes widening in surprise. Henry took a good look at him. He seemed... positively exhausted. Absolutely spent. His hair was all dishevelled and his clothes were wet and muddy. Dark circles had begun to appear under his eyes, though they still shone with that unrelenting passion and determination that the young lord had grown to associate with him. Henry could not help but silently agree with Mrs. Barrymore as soon as he saw Sherlock. He still was not entirely sure as to what had happened after he had lost consciousness, but it could not have been anything good if the detective looked like this now.

As soon as the nobleman's eyes met Sherlock's, a chill went down his spine. He felt his face getting warm again. That nauseous feeling began to spread in his stomach. He began to feel dizzy. An odd look spread across the detective’s face, as well. Henry could not quite tell what it conveyed. Fear, perhaps? Worries? It was hard to tell. Sherlock had always been quite a stoic man. This time was no exception, the nobleman supposed. Though he could definitely tell that the detective was feeling... something.

"You... you're awake again, I see.” Henry was rather surprised by Sherlock's tone. It carried... a sense of awkwardness with it. Nervousness. Uncertainty. “Are... are you... feeling better?” The nobleman glanced at Mrs. Barrymore, realising where his friend's discomfort came from, before looking back at him. “Still... a bit queasy...", he mumbled, twiddling with his thumbs, “...but much better already, I think.” He gave the detective and his housekeeper a clumsy smile, before letting his hand rest on his chest. “I mean, I am not experiencing any chest pains anymore, for starters. I think that that is a great improvement already.”

Mrs. Barrymore gave him a warm smile. “That is good to hear, sir. All of us were very worried after you passed out so suddenly... I am very glad that you are feeling better already, and I am sure that I can say that for all of us.” She looked to her side at Sherlock, who only gave a silent nod, keeping his eyes closed. “But really, my dear... I do think that it would be better if you stayed in bed for the day. It would do you well to rest up for a while... and you are not the only person to whom that applies to, mind you.” She said that last sentence rather pointedly, looking straight at the detective, but he seemed to ignore that statement.

“Oh, um...”, Henry stammered, his body tensing up as he looked at Sherlock. “I- I only got out of bed because I heard you two argue... A-and because, um... Sher- I- I mean Holmes, you... you left your cape with me, and I th... thought you might want to have it returned to you... I- I mean... it's not like I still need it to k-keep me warm...” He fell silent as his housekeeper let her hand rest on his shoulder, before giving him a kind nod. “Oh, that is nothing for you to worry about, sir. And I am certain that Mr. Holmes would like his cape returned, but that is not of any urgency, right? Let's just get you back to bed, first. You are going to have to take it easy on yourself while we wait for the doctor to come here.”

“D-doctor?!", Henry exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. “I took the liberty of asking Watson to come here", the detective explained calmly, finally saying something again after having fallen silent. “I suspect that you had a heart attack, Sir Henry. That is not something to be taken lightly.” “B-but I have fainted before", the young lord protested as he was being led back into the bedroom by Sherlock and Mrs. Barrymore. “Really, there's no need... It's just my heart...”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “...Your heart just so happens to be one of the most vital organs that is necessary for your body to function, Sir Henry.” His housekeeper sighed. “Yes, well... though I most definitely disagree with the way Mr. Holmes went about contacting him, we do share the opinion that a doctor seeing you would be best for you, sir. I... I have seen it before with... Sir Charles.” She gave off an air of sadness as she spoke of the Hall's previous Lord, before regaining her composure again. “A-anyways, this condition is hereditary. And it could cause serious health issues, my lord. We just want to be careful.”

Henry began to pout as he sat back in his bed, still not sure what to do with the fact that he was in the same room as Sherlock again after everything that had happened. “…Fine…”, he sighed reluctantly. “But I tell you, it’s all going to be fine. I just… had a shock, that’s all.” Mrs. Barrymore raised her eyebrows, looking at the detective. “A shock? Whatever could have happened to upset him, then?”

Henry felt as if he had just been punched in the gut as soon as he heard that question. He looked at Sherlock in a panic, his eyes widened in desperation as he prayed that the detective would think up an excuse. His friend seemed to have been surprised by the question as well. He stayed silent for a while, closing his eyes thoughtfully before answering the question: “…Memories from the mystery with the Hound. Recent trauma can be quite harrowing, you see.” As soon as he was done speaking, he looked over at the young lord, giving him a reassuring nod. It made Henry breathe out a sigh of relief. He did not even know what to think about all the things that had happened himself. The idea of anyone that wasn’t him or Sherlock finding out about it… needless to say, it terrified him beyond belief.

“I… suppose that is right…”, Mrs. Barrymore replied, before giving the young lord a pitying look. “Poor dear… you can rest assured now that everything will be fine… You do not deserve to live in fear like that.” Henry blushed, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. He did not know what to do with all this sudden attention directed at him. With everyone wanting to take care of him. It made him feel shyer than ever before. “Well, that is precisely why I am here, Mrs. Barrymore”, the detective said, putting his pipe in his mouth. “I am confident that with my help, Sir Henry’s worries shall fade like snow in the sun.”

The housekeeper sighed. “If you do not completely burn yourself out, that is…”, she mumbled to herself quietly, before continuing at her normal volume: “Well… as it seems that Sir Henry is well taken care of now, I should probably attend to my other duties. But you listen to me, Mr Holmes.” She raised her finger at the detective disapprovingly, narrowing her eyes. “You’d better go and get some rest yourself, soon. You are going to end up hurting yourself one of these days if you keep up this behaviour.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “…Again, I know how to take care of myself, thank you very much”, he replied drily. “…But I shall take your advice into consideration.” “…Good”, Mrs. Barrymore replied, before looking back over at Henry and giving him a kind smile. “Rest up well, sir.” And with that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Sherlock pressed his back up against the door, almost as if he wanted to keep out anyone that would potentially walk into the room. His entire demeanour seemed to have changed in one single moment. Instead of the usual calm and collected way he had presented himself up until now, his facial expression became one of nervousness. Of panic. Of embarrassment. A furious blush began to spread across his face as he stared at Henry’s face with those piercing, pale blue eyes of his. “Are… are you all right, Sherlock?”, the young lord asked anxiously, grabbing his bedsheets and nervously pressing them against his face.

The detective stayed silent for a while. “…Considering the situation, yes”, he eventually replied. Henry tilted his head to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow. “…What do you mean by that, exactly…? Are you referring to the fact that you carried me across the moor? Or… is this… is this about your emotional state…?” Sherlock stared down at the ground, frowning. Seemingly thinking. He crossed his arms, nervously tapping his arm with his fingers as he let out a deep sigh. “…Both at once, I suppose”, he confessed after a while, before looking back up at Henry, tears glistening in his eyes. “…I do not know how I am supposed to feel about this anymore.” The young lord began to sniffle, holding his head in his hands as he squeezed his eyes shut. “…Nor do I”, he admitted. “I… I think that there is something w-wrong with me…”

“Henry, I…”, the detective began, but he cut himself off quickly, sighing. “…I do not even know where I am supposed to begin. I… I do know one thing, though.” Henry opened his eyes again, his lips quivering as his eyes met Sherlock’s. The detective put his pipe in his mouth as he closed his eyes, blowing out a small puff of smoke before looking straight into the young lord’s eyes again, a look of seriousness on his face.

“…And that is that we need to talk.”

Notes:

I, um. I had originally intended this to be the chapter where Henry and Sherlock talk it out. But I guess I ended up dragging the chapter out again woopsie daisyyy
TBC I suppose!

Chapter 7: Jumping into the unknown

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry clear things up with one another.

“...We do, don’t we...” Henry sighed, staring at Sherlock with an apologetic look on his face. Puppy dog eyes. The detective had always melted at the sight of them. He knew how ironic the comparison was, but the resemblance was too uncanny not to notice. He was fascinated by the young lord’s eyes. He could be content with just staring into them and doing nothing else for an eternity. They truly were mesmerising. Henry was mesmerising. And that was precisely why Sherlock so desperately needed to clear up this entire situation with him. So many things still confused him. And he was certain that the nobleman was going through those very feelings as well, if not even more intensely. He could tell from the look on his face. If only he would be able to bring the man some comfort.

The two men stayed silent for a while, staring at each other with strange looks of guilt on their faces. The expression on Henry’s face spoke a thousand words. It spoke of fear. Of confusion. Of sadness. The detective did not quite know what to do about it. He wanted to embrace the young lord and hold him in his arms. To tell him that he had nothing to worry about. That there was no person in the world that he desired more than him. He thought that that would not be a very good idea, though. Henry seemed frightened. Apprehensive. Sherlock immediately realised that he was going to have to be gentle and patient with him. As much as he wanted to satisfy these intense desires he was feeling, he knew that it would not do him or Henry any good. Not only that, but he had a lot of things he needed to apologise for.

...If only he could have made that realisation before he had been so stupid as to kiss the nobleman. They would not have to deal with all this mess if that had been the case.

The young lord stared at the detective’s muddy clothes, nervously biting his lip before finally breaking the unbearable silence that had fallen between them: “...H-how did you end up so dirty...? What happened after I... passed out...?” Sherlock fidgeted with his pipe, frowning. “...I tried to carry you back here”, he confessed. “Y-you were cold. I could feel you shivering. I... I could not just let you lay there back at the ruins... all cold and wet from the rain... I would never have forgiven myself if I had done that. But, well... I... failed to bring you back to safety on my own.”

He said the latter sentence with a tone of absolute disdain for himself. He was still disgusted with himself for not being able to help Henry on his own. He should not have had to ask for help. He should have been able to do it by himself. “...I collapsed on the road”, he admitted after having stayed silent for a while. “...I had to signal to the Hall for Barrymore’s aid and he brought the two of us back here with the cart.” The young lord stared at him, a look of utter surprise and admiration on his face. “...Holmes...”, he uttered under his breath.

The detective looked him straight in the eye. “Please,” he urged the nobleman, “do not refer to me by my surname. You... called me by my first name yesterday. I... I think I prefer it.” Henry nodded apologetically. “A... all right, then...”, he said quietly. “Sh... Sherlock, then... Y-you mean to tell me that after collapsing last night, you... you still went to the telegram office this morning...?” Sherlock crossed his arms, frowning as he stared down at the ground. “...Your safety is of utmost importance to me. I did not want to take any risks... especially if it concerns your health.”

The young lord stared at him, seemingly worried. “...Do you really think that it was necessary to call in Watson, though...? I... I would not want to have two people come all the way from London for my wellbeing if there is no direct threat to my life... I- I mean, I would just be a burden...” “You are not a burden, Sir Henry”, the detective immediately replied, some of his usual, direct demeanour coming back. “You have never been one. Not ever. Do you hear me? And besides... would you prefer for me to ask Dr. Mortimer to come see you, then?” Henry’s entire body tensed up, a look of discomfort on his face. “No”, he said. “No, definitely not. Nope. Watson it is, then.”

Sherlock let out a slight chuckle. “I thought as much. It seems I made the right decision then, did I not?” The young lord pouted. “...I suppose so. But I am still of the opinion that there was no reason to call a doctor in the first place...” “Well, I am not”, the detective immediately retorted. “I… I was worried for you, Henry… I still am.” His facial expression became one of sadness as he looked away, a horrible, hollow feeling building up in his stomach. “…I… I thought I might have killed you last night, Henry. I thought I had sent you to an early grave. And I… I still might, if we are not careful.”

Staring into Henry’s eyes, he began to get teary as an immense feeling of guilt began to crawl up his back. “…That… that is really what I wished to talk to you about. About… what we did last night, I mean.” The longer he looked at the nobleman, the more anxious he got. He felt as if his stomach was completely twisted into a knot from the nerves at this point. He was afraid. He was so terribly afraid of what Henry might say. He knew that he needed to have this conversation, though. He needed to clear this up with him. He needed to find closure.

…He felt like he was going to suffocate if he didn’t.

“R-right…”, the young lord answered shakily, taking a deep breath. “...W-what... what did we do last night...? What h-happened...? It… it was all so sudden…” He sounded... extremely nervous. The way he anxiously stuttered out his words almost made it seem as if he was a scared child. One who just got caught doing something he was not supposed to do and was awaiting punishment from his parents. It broke Sherlock’s heart. He could only think of how this was all his fault as he frowned, a melancholic look spreading across his face as he stared down at the ground.

“...I kissed you”, he began, a sombre tone coming from his voice. “...I kissed you, and you had a heart attack and fainted because of it...” He crossed his arms, a sense of self-loathing coming from him as he let out a sigh. “...Because I could not contain myself.” Looking up at Henry, tears began to sting in his eyes as his voice got more and more choked up. “I... I don’t know what I was thinking... I was an idiot. I-it was never my intention to... to make you faint... I’m... I’m sorry...” He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as he clenched his jaw. “...I just don’t know what... what is wrong with me... I am not used to feeling like this... I- I don’t know what to do... and I hate that... I hate it so much, Henry... A-and if that was not bad enough, I have made you suffer because of my own foolishness, as well...”

He took a deep, shaky breath, opening his eyes again and trying to regain his composure. “...F-forgive me. I am... not used to dealing with these kinds of things. I hope you won’t think me an idiot for, well... my little outburst there.”

Henry stayed silent, fumbling with his bedsheets as his face became redder and redder. “...It’s not like I... did not... like it”, he began cautiously. “...I- I was the one that asked you to... well... kiss me... in the first place. A-and I... I...” He began to tremble, holding onto his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I- I enjoyed it...”, he blurted out. “...I very much enjoyed it. I... I could not stop thinking back to that moment as soon as I woke up again. A-about how... how good it m-made me feel...” Tears began to stream down his cheeks as he began to sob, his whole body shaking as he did so. “...And... and that is exactly what scares me...”

The detective frowned. “…I would be lying if I said that I was not afraid, either”, he admitted after a while. The young lord looked up at him, his lips quivering. “…What… what is wrong with me, Sherlock…? Why am I feeling all these… things? And why… why can’t I stop it?” He raised his trembling hands up to his face, the look in his eyes becoming one of terror. “I know it is wrong… I know it… and yet, I… I still want it… What is happening to me…?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, a worrying expression on his face. “…Why do you think that there is something wrong with you, Henry?”, he asked. The nobleman’s crying got more and more intense as he covered his face with his hands. “…Because I want you”, he wept. “Because I want to feel your touch. Your lips against my skin. I want to feel your body against mine and I… I want to feel your caresses.” His face got redder and redder as he confessed this, all the while the detective was feeling butterflies in his stomach like never before. “But I’m… not supposed to feel this way, right…? It… it’s wrong… I am wrong for allowing myself to feel like this… I do not know why I keep experiencing these… these emotions, even though I know they are wrong… and it… it scares me…”

“…And what exactly makes you think that this is… wrong?” The detective did not quite know what he was supposed to do, but he absolutely hated seeing the man he cared for being this distraught. Especially because he could not understand how Henry could think that he was the one at fault in this situation. The young lord looked up at him, his eyes reddened by tears. “…Because two men are not supposed to feel like this, right?”, he asked nervously. “I… I have never heard of that being possible ever before… I… I did not think that we could… have these feelings for one another… the same way a wife and husband feel for each other…” He put his arms around his body, trembling. “…It’s not normal. If it had been, I would have known of it. But it appears that I am… different, once again.”

He tucked his knees to his chest, whimpering. “…I am so tired of being different…”, he softly cried. “…I just want to fit in… I don’t want to be looked at like an outsider anymore… I have been for all my life… and I am… so sick of it… Why… Why can’t I just be… normal…”

Sherlock felt himself getting choked up as he listened to Henry’s words. Something about them… felt familiar. He… seemed to recognise those feelings. He had been experiencing similar things. Not only as of late, but his entire life. Being… ‘different’. It was something that he had been confronted with ever since he was a very small boy. And as he heard Henry talk about it, he slowly began to realise that which he had not been able to put into words during his whole existence up until now. He thought that he was beginning to understand the young lord’s concerns now. Why he was so upset. Why he was so confused. Just for feeling the way he did. It was downright cruel that he had been raised to simply not know any better than this. He would have been spared of a lot of sorrows if someone could have just explained it to him.

“H-Henry…”, the detective stammered, slowly taking a few steps towards the nobleman and sitting down at the side of his bed. “…Is this all right with you…?”, he asked. Henry looked up at him meekly, his sobbing slowly coming to a halt as he gave Sherlock a nervous nod. “I… I want you to listen to me very carefully”, the detective said, his hand slowly but steadily reaching for the young lord’s as he took deep, shaky breaths, trying to stay calm and collected as the emotions he was experiencing were getting more and more intense. Henry tensed up, but he still held onto Sherlock’s hand, albeit cautiously.

The detective stared into his eyes. “…There is nothing wrong with you”, he said. “You… you should not feel like there is something wrong with you… because you are feeling the way you do… You do not deserve that.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as he contemplated what to say next. “I… I want you too, Henry… I desperately want you. It sometimes surprises me just how much I desire you. I… cherish you very dearly. And I care about you. A lot.”

He frowned, tapping his fingers against each other absent-mindedly. “I… I am also new to… all this. I have never been in love before. To the contrary, I… I believed love to be something foolish. Something that only the weak-minded give importance to. I was confident that I would never fall in love. But then, well…” He squeezed Henry’s hand, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “…Then I met you.”

The nobleman let out shaky breaths, his hands trembling as he stared at Sherlock’s face. “…What… what changed back then…?”, he quietly asked. The detective narrowed his eyes, staring at the ground and thinking. What… what did happen to change his mind when he had met Henry? He did not quite know. It was extremely difficult to put into words. Not a single word in the English language could accurately convey the way he felt when he first saw the young lord. The excited, bubbly feeling he felt in his chest. Yes, he had felt it even back then. He might have been unable to identify these sentiments back then, but they had always been there. And they had only gotten stronger over time.

“…I do not quite know”, he muttered after a while. “…All I can say is that you fascinated me from the moment we met each other. You… you made me feel a warmth that I had never felt before while I was staying here.” He let out a sigh, before looking up at Henry again. “…I suppose I was just… completely smitten by you the moment I laid eyes upon you. I simply did not have the words for it back then.”

The nobleman looked away, a painful look on his face as his shoulders slumped down. “…And you do not feel… guilty for it…?”, he uttered. Sherlock stayed silent for a while. He tapped his fingertips against each other as he contemplated what he was about to say. “Yes… and no”, he eventually explained as he stared into the distance. “…I… I feel guilty for… giving in to my desires last night. For letting my emotions control me. For... for making you pass out. I… should not have done that. And I feel horrible for doing it. I… I only caused you more suffering than you already had to deal with. And I will never forgive myself for that.”

He paused momentarily, frowning. “…I am not used to letting my emotions affect me so much. To… well, being romantically involved with anyone, really. I do not know much about it, really. And if I have to be honest… that frightens me.” He scoffed at himself, grimacing. “…I suppose that I am… unfamiliar with not knowing what to do. And I do not dabble much with things that I am unfamiliar with. I do not like it. I… I feel like I am making a fool of myself when I struggle to comprehend unfamiliar things. I am… not supposed to have trouble with things like that. Or with anything, really…” He let out a melancholic sigh, letting his hands rest on his lap as he looked away. “…Too many expectations have been placed upon me for me to struggle with things.”

Henry inched closer to him, a worried look on his face. “Wh… what do you mean by that…?”, he asked, his grip on the detective’s hand tightening. Sherlock looked at him, tears stinging in his eyes. “…People see me as a genius”, he began. “I am Sherlock Holmes. London’s greatest detective. The so-called ‘prodigy’. They… they have put me on this pedestal ever since I was young, and… and I feel like I cannot make a single mistake now, because I fear what people will think of me if I do. Even the smallest, most trivial thing… if I make a blunder of it, I will be judged for it.”

His lip began to quiver as he noticed his voice getting choked up: “…People expect me to do everything flawlessly. I… I have to be perfect. It… it is why I try to present myself so confidently most of the time. Because if people saw what I was really feeling… they would ridicule me for it… Not that most of the people I interact with care much for the actual person that I am. They only want to speak to me because of my intelligence. Because I can solve their mysteries that no one else can solve.” He let out a mournful sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “…Because I am of use to them. And when I do show my true feelings about something, I can see how uncomfortable I make them. I… I know that I… do not quite act like others. I get overexcited about things. My thinking patterns are… strange, to most people at least. I say things the way I see it, instead of trying to be ‘polite’… I know that it is unlike other people to act like that.”

He paused, a mournful look spreading across his face. “…I have been painstakingly told that very thing my entire life. And I have been shamed for it.” Running his hand through his hair, tears began to slowly fall down his cheeks as he looked into Henry’s eyes. “…W-well…”, he muttered quietly, “…now you know why I do not care that much about me having fallen for another man making me ‘different’ from others… I have had to live my entire life with the fact that I am different. At some point… I have simply decided to accept the reality that most people will just… not understand me. It is a lonely life... but I have grown to live with it.”

He stayed silent after that, squeezing his eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to conceal the tears that were starting to fall down his face. He felt ashamed for having to admit this. For showing himself at his weakest. It also felt... oddly liberating, though. To finally be able to find words for these things he had been struggling with his entire life. To finally be able to... talk to someone about it. To finally feel like he was being slightly understood. He could not bring himself to look Henry in the eye, though. Not after all the things he had confessed to him. He was too terrified of how the nobleman would react.

He let go of Henry’s hand, covering his face in shame as he began to sob. He hated the fact that he was breaking down like this in front of the person he admired, but he could not attempt to hide his feelings for any longer. He was completely exhausted after last night. He could not do it anymore. He could not stay strong for a moment longer.

“...Sherlock...?” Henry's voice was nervous and shaky, yet still compassionate. Pitying, perhaps. The detective felt tingles going down his spine as he suddenly noticed the soft touch of the nobleman’s hand awkwardly brushing against his arm. Slowly looking back up at the young lord again, he slowly stopped crying as their gazes met each other. Henry's whole body was trembling from the nerves. Sweat ran down his forehead. His breathing was shaky. And yet, he did not move his hand away from Sherlock. His grip stayed steady. “I... I w-want to understand you, Sherlock", he stuttered. “...I want to know you as the person you really are... not just the way you present yourself to others. I... I want you, Sherlock... you in your entirety... E-even if... if this all does... frighten me.”

The detective gulped, not quite sure as to what he should be saying. “...H-Henry...", he began carefully, inching closer to the young lord. “D-do... do you... still feel the same way you did last night...?” The young lord began to blush furiously, covering his face in embarrassment as he took deep breaths. “I... I do...", he confessed after a while, his entire body tensing up as he said the words. “...And it confuses me... I- I know it makes me different... a disgrace... even though I... do not want that. B-but...” He moved his hands away from his face, staring into Sherlock’s eyes. “...I also cannot deny my feelings anymore.”

“Henry...” The detective reached out with his hand to caress the young lord's face. He felt so dizzy that it was like the entire world was spinning around him at this point. He could only stare at Henry. Nothing else mattered in the moment. “Can... can we be different... together...? Can we... can we please find comfort in each other...?”

The nobleman's eyes widened in surprise as he noticed Sherlock stroking his cheeks, but he did not resist the detective's affection. To the contrary, he leaned into them, closing his eyes and letting himself be caressed. “Y-yes...", he stammered. “I... I would like nothing more...”

Sherlock took a deep breath, feeling his heart beat in his chest as he moved closer and closer to the young lord until they were but a few inches apart. “Henry, d-do you...", he stammered, “...do you still want me to kiss you?”

The nobleman opened his eyes, his lips quivering. “I... I do...”

The detective took Henry’s face in his hands, staring at him adoringly. “...I do too.” And with those words, he leaned forward, stroking the young lord's cheeks as he lovingly kissed him. Gently, this time. Not as desperately as last night. He just wanted to be gentle to Henry right now, instead of giving him another heart attack. The young lord grasped onto his body, trembling as he kissed him back. Sherlock felt butterflies in stomach as he felt the touch of Henry's arms around him. He wished that they could stay like this forever, in the comfort of one another. No one else there to bother them. Just them... allowing themselves to be vulnerable with each other. It felt amazing.

Breaking out of the kiss, the detective let his forehead rest against the nobleman's as he held onto his face. “Henry...", he whispered under his breath, “I am not giving you another heart attack, am I?” The young lord shook his head. “No... no, you are not... I... I was panicking back then... I did not know what was happening... I was going through so many revelations... It... it all makes a bit more sense to me now... though there are still a lot of things that confuse me...” He smiled softly, his grip on Sherlock tightening. “...But the confusion is worth it... C-considering... how amazing it feels... How... how loved you make me feel... It is all so new, but it is... so exciting...”

The detective began to tenderly run his fingers through the nobleman's hair, kissing him on the forehead. “...I want to make you feel loved every day of your life", he muttered breathlessly. “I wish to show you how much you mean to me. How wonderful of a person you are.” Henry blushed, running his finger over the bridge of Sherlock's nose. “...Sherlock, we... we'll figure this all out together... right? All these new things?” The detective held him close, staring into his eyes. “...I am willing to jump into the unknown with you if you are.” The young lord smiled bashfully. “...I am.”

“Then that answers your question", Sherlock responded, attempting to conceal a yawn. He narrowed his eyes as he felt himself feeling more and more dizzy, his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier every second. Henry stared at him, a worried look on your face. “...Sherlock, are you... feeling quite all right? Aren't you tired?” The detective rolled his eyes, giving him a sarcastic grin. “...You are beginning to sound like Mrs. Barrymore.” “...She does have a point, though", the nobleman replied. “...I don't want to see you getting hurt.” Sherlock scratched the back of his head. “There is no need to worry about me”, he said. “I will be quite all right. You are the one we should be concerned about-”

“Sherlock.” Henry’s tone was rather serious all of a sudden. He took the detective’s hand in his, staring at his face with a worried look in his eyes. “…Please… let yourself take a break. I know you want to ensure my safety. I know that you care more about my health than your own. But I beg of you… go to sleep. You… you have done more than enough for me already last night.”

Sherlock stared at the ground, not quite knowing what to say. He felt how his body was slowly beginning to give up on him, but the thought of having to leave Sir Henry’s side did not sit right with him. “…I do not like the idea of no one being able to help you”, he muttered. “Well… that would not quite be the case, wouldn’t it?”, the nobleman responded. “The Barrymores are here, for example.” The detective frowned, nervously tugging at his suit’s sleeve. “…I do not want to leave your safety in others’ hands. I have been tasked with it… I should ensure it.”

“Sherlock…” Henry tilted his head to the side. He looked… adorable. Sherlock could not help but blush. “Please… do not exhaust yourself for my sake.” “…But that is all I know”, the detective replied. “…I only know having to be of use to everyone constantly. Putting others first. I… I am really trying not to do that, but I… cannot help but feel guilty.” The nobleman leaned forward, embracing Sherlock and pressing his face against his chest. “Please…”, he pleaded. “If you cannot do it for your own sake, then please do it for mine... You are not going to be able to look after me if you drop to the ground from exhaustion.”

The detective took a deep breath, his entire body tensing up. He… he was tired. He was so very tired. Not only had he pushed himself to his absolute limit the night before, but he also had barely slept. He was spent. Even he could deny it no longer. He stared at the young lord, who was looking up at him with those begging eyes of his. He… could not say no. Not to Henry. Not to those eyes of his. “…Fine”, he admitted reluctantly, scratching the back of his head. “…If that would truly make you happier.”

The nobleman gave him a smile. “Delightful”, he said. Sherlock stood up, walking towards the bedroom door. He felt like it was quite awkward to just leave it there, but he did not really know what he was supposed to do otherwise. “…I must stress that I am merely doing this because you insisted”, he sighed. “Am I understood?” “Don’t you worry”, Henry replied cheekily, “I know you are. In all fairness… I appreciate your honesty.”

The detective huffed. “Well… I suppose that I will see you again soon then, yes?” He was about to exit the room, but he stopped as he heard the young lord’s voice: “Oh… Sherlock?” He turned around as he saw Henry stepping out of his bed, taking a few shaky steps as he approached him. “What is it?”, he asked as the nobleman stood in front of him, giving him a shy smile. “…Just this”, Henry said, leaning down and giving Sherlock a peck on the cheek. The detective’s eyes widened as his face became redder than ever before, the butterflies in his stomach flaring up again as he felt the young lord’s lips brush against his face. “…That was all”, Henry muttered bashfully. “…I hope you sleep well, Sherlock. You deserve some rest.”

Sherlock walked straight to his room after that exchange, blushing like a school boy as he laid down in his bed. Too many things were going through his mind for him to immediately sleep, but he was not all too upset by that. At least, things had gotten cleared up a bit. He was still scared. He could tell Henry was, as well. But at least, he had been able to bring him some comfort. He had no idea where all these new feelings were going to take them. He had no idea what it would all mean in the future. Nor did he know how they were going to conceal this all to the outside world. He could not help but be excited about it all, though. Time would tell, he supposed.

---

Telegram to Sherlock Holmes, Devonshire

Will come as soon as possible. Have Sir Henry stay in bed until my arrival. Best wishes.

WATSON.

Chapter 8: Breakfast

Summary:

Sherlock brings Henry breakfast in bed.

“Henry?” The young lord slowly opened his eyes as he was awoken by the sound of knocking at his door. “...Come in...", he mumbled with slurred words as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He saw Sherlock opening the door, walking in as he carried a tray in his hands. He seemed significantly better than yesterday, after having slept and putting on some clothes that were not covered in mud. Henry's eyes widened in surprise as he blushed. “G... good morning...", he yawned, stretching his muscles. The detective raised his eyebrows. “...Did I wake you?', he asked, a worried tone coming from his voice. “I do apologise. I would have thought you would have been awake at this hour.” He glanced at the room's windows, the sun seemingly haven risen long ago by now.

The nobleman scratched the back of his head, smiling clumsily. “Well... you kind of did, yes... but I do not mind it, really.” He followed Sherlock's gaze, seeing how bright it already was outside. “...What time is it even?", he wondered. “It is precisely seventeen minutes past eleven", the detective immediately answered without any hesitation. Henry could not help but smile as he heard that answer. “You are rather fond of pinpoint accuracy with these things... aren't you?”, he asked, looking at Sherlock fondly.

“Naturally", the detective replied. “One must not gloss over the smaller details. I have solved many a mystery by paying close attention to these things. It honestly baffles me how often such details go over other people's heads.” He paused, placing the tray down on the nobleman’s bedside table. “But while this is a fascinating subject to discuss, that is not why I came here.” A light blush spread across his cheeks as he looked away, pointing at the tray. “...I thought you might appreciate some breakfast.”

Henry went red in the face. “D... did you-” “Oh no, you can rest assured”, Sherlock immediately replied as he shook his head. “This was made by Mrs. Barrymore. Trust me, my attempts at cooking would make you lose your appetite in the blink of an eye. I simply took the liberty of bringing it to you. The Barrymores seemed busy enough already, you see.”

The young lord felt his face getting warmer and warmer as he took the tray. Despite the detective's statement, he wondered what it would be like for Sherlock to make him breakfast. The thought made him experience butterflies in his stomach. Even if the detective truly was as bad at cooking as he said he was, he would like nothing more. It felt like such a kind gesture to him. It seemed so... romantic. He smiled to himself softly, before looking up at Sherlock, his eyes sparkling with delight. “...Thank you, Sherlock. It... it really means a lot.”

The detective blushed, looking away as he fidgeted with his fingers. “It's-” He pressed his lips together, cutting himself off halfway through his sentence before taking a deep breath. “...You're... you're welcome.” He went red in the face as he looked a bit uncomfortable, staring at the ground in shame. “...You were about to say ‘it's nothing’, weren't you?”, Henry asked. Sherlock simply nodded. “Well, good on you for realising that there was no need for that”, the nobleman assured him, smiling before looking down at the tray that rested on his lap.

A wave of excitement rushed through him as he did. Mrs. Barrymore had made him his favourite sandwiches and eggs. Just the way he liked them, as well. It might not have seemed like much to most people, but to Henry, it was an extremely pleasant surprise. Just the idea of having breakfast in bed felt like such a special occasion to him, as well. He realised that it would be quite hard to avoid it, considering the fact that everyone in the house kept insisting that he should stay in bed for as much as possible for him to recover, but he could not help but be delighted by it regardless.

He eagerly took some bites before looking back up at Sherlock, who had made himself comfortable in the red, cushiony chair that stood in the room. “Have you eaten yet?”, he asked, offering the detective one of his sandwiches. Sherlock smiled, waving his hand around. “No, thank you", he said. “I appreciate the gesture, but I already breakfasted as soon as I woke up. Deductions cannot be done on an empty stomach, my dear fellow.” He rolled his eyes, softly scoffing to himself before muttering: “...Not to mention the fact that I am quite certain that Mrs. Barrymore would have put her hands around my throat if I did not eat properly.”

Henry stared at him, a concerned feeling rising up in his chest. “...She means well, you know”, he said. “...I think she worries for you... as do I.” The detective raised his eyebrows. “...You do?”, he asked quietly. The young lord nodded. “Yes, I do”, he responded. “...You are always very keen on helping out others. Which is a remarkable trait, mind you. There is nothing wrong with that in and of itself...” He frowned, looking away. “...What worries me is the fact that you seem unable to care for yourself as well as you care for others. I... I am scared that you will end up hurting yourself because of your selflessness, Sherlock. And the thought of that happening terrifies me.”

The detective stared down at the ground, a melancholic look on his face. “...I apologise”, he murmured. “...It was never my intention to make you feel that way.” “I know it wasn't”, the nobleman assured him. “It's just that... when I see you all exhausted and muddy after trying to bring me back to the Hall, refusing to take a rest because you want to ensure my safety, I... I cannot help but understand Mrs. Barrymore. She... she does not keep insisting that you should take care of yourself to pester you. She does that for your own wellbeing.”

Sherlock frowned, crossing his arms. “...It feels patronising.” Henry tilted his head, a puzzled look on his face as he put his breakfast tray on his bedside table again. “How come?”, he asked. “…Isn’t it comforting to know that there are people out there that care for you?” Crossing his legs, the detective pressed his fingertips together, thinking. “…I had not really thought of it that way”, he confessed. “It is what I tell myself when I get annoyed with… well, this whole situation”, the young lord continued, gesturing towards his bed. “The constant bedrest, I mean. And the Barrymores and you constantly fussing over me.”

Sherlock sighed. “You know, I do have a lot of respect for how you put up with that”, he said. “If it were me, I would have lost my mind the minute someone tried to tell me what to do.” Scratching the back of his head, Henry gave him a clumsy smile. “…I would be lying if I said that the idea never crossed my mind… but then I kept reminding myself that you all were just… worried. A-and I suppose you had good reasons for it, with me passing out and all…” He let out a sigh, twiddling with his thumbs. “…I just hope Watson can get here soon.” The detective nodded. “It won’t be long until Watson comes”, he replied. “I know him quite well by now. He would not treat this situation as something unserious.” He paused for a while, frowning. “As for Mrs. Barrymore… I can see why she would be worried for you… I mean, you are her lord, after all. I… I fail to see why she would be concerned for my sake.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “You really are?” The detective looked at him like that was a surprising reaction. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be? I am virtually a stranger to her.” The young lord put his palm against his face as he chuckled to himself. Sherlock truly never learned. “Well, to start off, you have saved my life numerous times by now. I would say that that is reason enough in and of itself. However, you should also consider the fact that you have given her closure regarding the situation with her brother. Selden, the convict, I mean. And not only that, but you also did not report her to the authorities for helping an escaped criminal, even though you had every right to do so.”

He looked at Sherlock with a compassionate look in his eyes, hoping to make him understand just how much he had done already. Not just for him, but for the other residents of Baskerville Hall, as well. “…Or had you forgotten all about that?”

The detective shook his head, his face getting red. “…I never forget such things… especially not when they concerned a case that holds so much value to me.” Henry sat up even more, letting his lanky legs dangle off the bed as he let his hands rest on his lap. “So why are you so uncomfortable with the idea of her being worried for your wellbeing?”

Sherlock stayed silent, thinking as he nervously twiddled his thumbs together. “…I do not really know”, he eventually said. “I suppose that I am just… not that familiar with it. I… I do not know how to feel about it. And I do not like that.” He looked up at the young lord, a guilty look on his face. “I have always been expected to do things by myself, really. Of course, Watson has helped me numerous times with things… but that feels different. We are working alongside each other in that case, instead of someone outright doing something for me… or telling me what to do.” He sighed, tapping his foot on the ground. “…I suppose it makes me feel put down. Not being taken seriously, perhaps. I… I am aware that it is not rational… but I feel like nothing in my mind has been rational as of late. And I hate it.”

“Sherlock…” Henry patted the empty space on his bed beside him. “Come sit with me, why don’t you?” The detective narrowed his eyes, seemingly confused as to what the nobleman was getting at, but he slowly did what he was asked to do regardless, sitting down next to the young lord and looking at him like an embarrassed school boy. Henry took his hand in both of his, holding it close to his chest.

“We… we would figure this all out together… wouldn’t we?”, he asked quietly. Sherlock nodded. The young lord stared into his eyes. Even when the detective was distraught, his eyes were beautiful. Henry was quite confident that he had never seen such intensely blue irises. There was a steely iciness to them, yet also so much kindness at the same time. It truly was mesmerising to look at. The nobleman was so grateful that his path had crossed with Sherlock’s. That he loved him. And that Sherlock loved him back. He rose the detective’s hand up to his lips, gently nuzzling it before giving it a soft kiss. “Will you let me help you figure this out, as well?”, he whispered.

Sherlock sighed, looking away. “…It is… very hard for me to allow myself to put my guard down”, he muttered. “I understand”, Henry said, inching closer to him. “…I feel the same.” The detective looked at him. “…Doesn’t it feel… claustrophobic? I… I want to be able to bring myself to do it… to not have to force myself to stay strong all the time, but…” He paused, staring down at his hands. “it seems like I have completely forgotten how to put down my barriers. I have put up this facade for so long… I fear that it has completely overtaken me by now.”

Henry put one arm around him, blushing furiously. He felt like a degenerate for doing it, invading the detective’s personal space like that without asking. It felt… nice, though. Comforting. It made him feel a wild sense of excitement that he had never felt before. It had always been Sherlock that had initiated their physical contact before. Now, though… he had made the decision to do it himself. It might have seemed completely insignificant to most people, but it was a huge step to the young lord.

“I-is this fine with y-you?”, he stammered, sweat running down his forehead as he hesitantly looked at the detective. Sherlock simply nodded, leaning into the nobleman’s embrace as he closed his eyes. “…It is… It certainly is.”

They stayed like that for a while in silence. Henry could hear the soft sound of the detective breathing calmly. It… put him at ease as well, weirdly enough. He closed his eyes, his grip on Sherlock tightening as he simply enjoyed the moment. Everything felt so peaceful. No loud sounds. No people to bother them. No expectations. Just them. Together. The young lord wished that they could stay like this forever.

“…You know…”, he said after a while, looking down at the detective fondly. “…For someone who has so much trouble with letting his guard down, you have done a rather remarkable job at helping me with beginning to do just that.” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Have I?” Henry nodded. “You did. And not by making some genius deduction… not by being a great detective… but by being a friend. By… by being there for me and listening. By… being you.”

The detective closed his eyes and began to sniffle as the young lord started to run his fingers through his hair. Henry quite liked how it felt. He had never expected Sherlock’s hair to be this soft. He could not get enough of it. He wanted more of his touch. He still could not shake the unnerving feeling that the very idea of him feeling like this was vulgar, but he kept telling himself that he had no reason to worry. He was merely stroking the detective’s head, after all. Nothing more.

He should not feel guilty for wanting to do that… even though he most certainly did. He remembered his promise to Sherlock, though. What he had told him last night. That they would jump into the unknown together, no matter how frightening it may be. Henry supposed that this was going to be a part of it. And so, he did not pull back, despite his many anxieties. “I- I suppose what I am trying to say is…”, he continued, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the detective’s, “…I want to be able to help you just as you have helped me… I- I really want to. I doubt that I will be very good at it, but… I want to try. For your sake. So you can be happier.” He took a hold of Sherlock’s hand, squeezing it. “Will… will you let me?”

The detective took a deep breath. “…I will try. For you.” The nobleman put his other arm around him as well, embracing him tightly. “Thank you…”, he whispered, slowly beginning to nuzzle the top of his head, “…Thank you so much.”

Sherlock smiled softly as he felt Henry’s soft nuzzles. He surrendered himself to the young lord’s touch, closing his eyes and letting the nobleman caress him. Henry was starting to blush even more. “D-does that feel good?”, he stuttered clumsily. “I- I do not really know what I am doing, in all fairness-” “Shh, Henry.” The detective pressed his finger against the young lord’s lips, smiling at him kindly. “…Just let it happen.”

 Henry felt his heart beating in his chest as he stared into Sherlock’s eyes. He… he was gorgeous. He was so elegantly dressed like always, as well. It made the nobleman feel rather shabby by comparison, as he was only wearing his dressing gown. He gulped, looking down at the beautiful man that he was holding in his arms. “Just let it happen.” That was easier said than done, he supposed. He really did not know what he was doing. The last few times had been simpler, as he could just follow whatever movements the detective was making. He did not have those luxuries this time, though. But he supposed that he might as well try.

“A… all right…”, he stammered, softly pressing his lips against Sherlock’s forehead and kissing it. He felt the gentle touch of the detective’s fingers stroking his face as he continued to caress him with his lips, still holding Sherlock close. He did not even fully realise what he was doing. He simply let his impulses decide for him. And it seemed to work out. Sweat ran down his forehead as he felt the detective holding onto his head and kissing his lips, but he soon began to lean into it, breathing heavily as he kissed him back.

His eyes widened in surprise though, as he noticed Sherlock slowly moving away from his face and planting little kisses on his neck. It felt… amazing. He let out a gasp, the pleasure he was experiencing making him dizzy. “My… my god…”, he whispered under his breath. The detective paused. “Is that too much?”, he asked. Henry shook his head. “N-no…”, he replied shakily. “Wh… whatever it is you’re doing, I… I want more of it… oh god…” Sherlock smiled. “Who am I to refuse you, my dear Henry?” And as he said that, he leaned forward again, passionately kissing the young lord’s throat.

The nobleman squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself getting even sweatier, gasping out as he grasped onto the detective’s hair. “Sherlock…”, he moaned, breathing heavily as he felt the man’s teeth brush against his skin, “Sherlock, I… I love you… Oh god… I- I do not know what it is you are doing to me… what these things are that you are making me feel… but I do not ever want it to stop… dear god, I do not want it to stop…” The detective moved away from his neck, fondly running his fingers through the nobleman’s hair before kissing him on the forehead.

“…I do not want it to stop either, Henry.”

Henry moved his hand up to his throat, feeling around where Sherlock had caressed his skin mere seconds ago. “A-are… are kisses… supposed to feel that good?”, he asked shyly. The detective smiled, leaning against his body. “…Most likely”, he responded. “But perhaps I shall need some more firsthand experience before I can hazard a more educated guess…?” The two looked each other in the eye for a moment, before simultaneously breaking out in laughter. “God, you are insufferable sometimes…”, the young lord chuckled, “And I love you all the more for it.”

They stayed silent for a while, both staring into the distance as they found comfort in each other’s touch. Henry frowned. “…Sherlock…”, he quietly began after a while, “…What are we exactly…? Are… are we lovers?” The detective smiled, holding onto the nobleman’s hand. “…I suppose we are”, he replied. “It still feels a bit… strange to say, doesn’t it?”

Henry nodded. “…A bit.” He softly kissed Sherlock’s forehead, smiling softly. “I am sure that we will become used to it eventually, though. And I… I cannot wait for it.”

Notes:

Heyhey thanks for reading! As a little bonus treat, here is a chibi doodle I made after some people in the comments (thank you very much for commenting btw) talked about Sherlock refusing to take a nap loll

Chapter 9: A familiar face

Summary:

Watson visits.

Smoking his pipe, Sherlock lounged back in one of the Hall’s many chairs as he waited in the entrance hall. Rhythmically tapping his fingers against the chair’s armrest, he blew out some (if he might say so himself) rather impressive smoke rings as he pondered over the telegram he had received from Watson this morning. He hoped that it would not be much longer until his friend would arrive, and not only for his patience’s sake. For Henry’s, as well. Even the detective was able to tell that the young lord was getting irritated by this mandatory bedrest. It was for his own good, of course. Watson seemed to agree with him, according to his telegram, at least. Still, Sherlock could not help but understand why the nobleman was so annoyed with the idea. He was quite certain that if he had been in this position, he most definitely would not have been as well-behaved a patient as Sir Henry was. That was how Mrs. Barrymore seemed to think of him, at least.

The detective let out a sigh, interlacing his fingers as a thoughtful frown spread across his face. He could not help but feel anxious about this whole situation. Watson’s doctor’s visit. What if… what if it turned out to be something serious? What if Henry’s health was in dire conditions? Everything seemed to be going well, but there was always the possibility, of course. He could only base his conclusions off of his observations of the young lord’s behaviour, but that was most definitely not a foolproof method. Henry could have been concealing the fact that he was not doing well, not wanting anyone to worry. Or maybe he himself fully believed himself to be fine, not understanding the severity of his own condition.

It was all entirely possible. A lot of things were possible. All these possibilities… and Sherlock could not figure out which one of them was the most plausible. Multiple were, some even more worrying than the other. All that the detective was left with was uncertainty. Sheer uncertainty. And he had been left with it for so long. He had almost been waiting this entire day, and it was already starting to become evening. All he could do was hope. Hope that everything would go well. That Henry was going to be fine. That he would recover. He hoped all of these things with a furious intensity… and yet, he could not get the comfort of knowing that it would all turn out to be like that.

...It made him rather nervous.

Sherlock had always had a habit of overthinking things. It was part of his method, in all honesty. One needed to consider every single possible outcome of a situation in order to accurately solve a mystery. Nothing was to be left unchecked. It had helped him fight crime very often. He thought ahead. He observed. He deduced. It allowed him to get a grip on the situation far more quickly than others would, which, admittedly, would often leave people very confused with his train of thought, but it was efficient, nonetheless. And efficiency was what he strove for. It was all he could hope to achieve.

The trouble of this all was that this process of thinking made his mind a very restless one. And he could not stop it. Even when he was not on any case, his brain treated every situation as if it was one. Every single little thing had to be thought over. Every single detail had to be remembered. His mind was always full, thoughts constantly raging through it and very rarely allowing him a moment of peace and quiet.

Henry had brought something to his attention, something that kept creeping amidst his thoughts ever since he had pointed it out. "You know, if I did not know any different, I would say that you look as if you are about to begin unravelling the mystery behind yet another case of yours.” It was curious that the young lord had brought it up. There was some truth to it, the detective supposed. He did treat most things as if they were some sort of mystery.

He did not quite know why. If he had to guess, it was probably because of multiple things. Mysteries excited him. There was nothing in the world he enjoyed quite as much as solving them. Discovering the truth hidden behind layers and layers of lies. It sent a furious feeling of excitement through him that made him feel... alive. As if he was doing that which he was meant to do. He felt like he was in his element when fighting crime. He knew exactly what to do and he knew that he was good at it, as well. It inspired confidence in him. It all just felt... right. Familiar.

‘Familiar’. Sherlock’s head perked up as he thought of the word. Familiarity. Perhaps that was why he tried to link everything back to mysteries. Especially when it concerned things that were new to him. His obsessive need for familiarity. Finding a way to bring these new things back to something that he knew he was good at... it brought him comfort. It made him feel less insecure, perhaps. It made it so that he did not have to be afraid.

Perhaps that had been why his mind had been so completely stuck in the idea that he was working on a case the past few days, even though he really wasn't. Why he felt such a need to protect Sir Henry. Why he had not been allowing himself to properly rest. He had felt the exact same things while he was unearthing the truth behind the mystery of the Baskerville curse.

...It was because he was terribly afraid. He was afraid... and he needed the comfort of familiarity.

Sherlock found it strange to admit this to himself. He never saw himself as someone who would get 'scared'. He could not remember the last time he had been truly frightened. Of course, he had felt nervousness while working on his various cases. Dire urgency, as well. Perhaps even desperation. But pure, actual fear... No, he had not felt it that much for a very long time. Not even when solving the grimmest of crimes. And yet, here he was, frightened by the prospect of his own feelings. It all felt rather foolish, really. He felt silly for being afraid of these things. And yet, he could not deny it. He did not want to lie to himself, either.

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Barrymore…” The detective sat up rapidly, his head perking up as he heard the sound of nearby voices. “Oh no, it was no trouble at all. I am all too happy to help, rest assured.” Sherlock smiled as he recognised that voice, happy to find an opportunity to get a break from all these worrying thoughts. It could only be one person that he was hearing.

“Watson!”, he exclaimed, jumping up and quickly walking towards the Hall’s entrance to greet his old friend. The doctor chuckled as soon as he saw him. “Ah, there you are, Holmes…”, he said. “I was beginning to wonder where you were.” The detective eagerly shook his hand, glad to see a familiar face again. “Why, of course I would be here, my dear fellow”, he responded. “I have been taking care of Sir Henry until you would come here, in order to secure his safety.”

Watson nodded. “Right… did you indeed follow my advice? To have him rest in bed until further notice?” Mr. Barrymore, who was standing next to the two of them, cleared his throat. “Ah, yes…”, he said. “You needn’t worry, doctor. Mr. Holmes and my wife have been… quite adamant on ensuring that very thing.” The detective scratched the back of his head. “…He’s not wrong”, he admitted. His friend laughed. “Holmes, I would not have expected any differently of you. Now…” He frowned, peering past the other two men. “I think it would be best if I would see Sir Henry as quickly as possible, wouldn’t you agree?”

***

“…Henry?” Sherlock cautiously opened the door to the young lord’s bedroom, peeking behind it and spotting the nobleman still sitting in his bed, reading a book. Henry looked up at the detective, seemingly surprised by him suddenly entering his room. A blush spread across his cheeks as he stared into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling bashfully. “Oh… um… h-hey…”

The detective could not help but lovingly smile at the young lord as he saw him. He truly was adorable. Sherlock wished that he could see that shy look on his face every day. He opened the door further, showing the nobleman his friend that was standing behind him. “Watson’s here to see you, Henry”, he said calmly. “Is that all right with you?”

Henry nodded. “Yes, of course”, he said, a rather eager tone coming from his voice as he closed his book and put it on his bedside table. “I-is there anything that I need to do?”, he asked. “Or should I just… sit back…?” Watson gave him a patient smile as he approached him, taking a general look at the man. “Simply sitting back will do for now”, he assured the nobleman. “You can just follow my instructions… I shall have to take a general examination first.”

Gulping nervously, Henry did precisely what the doctor had asked of him. It was not that difficult to tell that he was not at ease. Even Sherlock could spot it. Narrowing his eyes, he kept watching from the door opening as he just… stood there. Uncertain of what to do. He did not know whether or not he should even be there, or whether it was better to leave Henry alone. And if he should stay, should he stay close to the young lord? Or should he give him more space? The detective knew none of these things. And yet, it felt very invasive to him to ask any of these things.

And so he kept standing. Just… standing. And watching. Wanting to make sure that Henry was all right. Always making sure. Never faltering. Never taking his eyes off of him. The nobleman was too gorgeous for him to do that, anyway. Sherlock had to admit that this whole situation was making him rather uncomfortable, though. Just…. watching as Watson did his work, meticulous as always. As Henry was getting more and more nervous from the examination. As he himself was starting to feel more and more as if he was… intruding upon this whole situation. It made him uneasy. He felt like he was being invasive. And he did not like it.

He took a few shuffling steps backwards, slowly creeping out of the room. He did not want to be noticed while leaving. Both Henry’s and Watson’s attention was being directed at much more important things. He did not want to distract either of them. It was better this way. At least, he would not feel so uncomfortable.

Henry suddenly looked up at him, his intense, dark eyes peering at him. The detective froze in place. He could not quite tell how the nobleman had noticed him. Perhaps it had been a coincidence? Either way, he had been noticed. He was starting to feel rather foolish about himself as his face started to become redder and redder.

Henry still kept his gaze fixed on him. “H… Holmes…”, he muttered quietly. Sherlock could have melted on the spot right then and there as he heard the pleading tone coming from the young lord’s voice. He noticed how the nobleman was referring to him by his last name. It almost sounded… unnatural. As if he had to actively keep himself from calling him ‘Sherlock’. They had both gotten used to it by now, the detective supposed. Henry kept staring at him with those puppy dog eyes of his. It was becoming very hard for Sherlock to ignore his desires to hold the man in his arms and kiss him until he ran out of breath. He was still managing to keep his composure, though. For now.

The young lord reached out to him with a shaky hand, his fingers trembling. “C-could…”, he continued, his tone quiet, but begging. “…Could you stay with me? Please…?”

Sherlock stayed quiet for a while. And exactly the same thing that he had thought when Henry had asked to be kissed ran through his head.

…How in God’s name could I ever say anything different from yes?

“…Of course I will, Henry”, he said quietly, taking a few hesitant steps towards the young lord. “…If that would bring you comfort.” He sat down on the side of Henry’s bed, taking his trembling hand in his and giving him a reassuring smile. “It’ll all be all right, my friend”, he said to him calmly. “It’s merely an examination… nothing more.” The young lord nodded nervously. “R-right…”, he mumbled, before taking a deep breath. “J-just… just an examination.” His grip on the detective’s hand tightened as he looked at him, blushing bashfully. “…Thank you.”

Watson smiled softly at the two men before frowning and writing down some of his observations. “Very well…”, he muttered to himself, before taking a stethoscope out of his bag and holding it up to the nobleman. “All right, Sir Henry, would you please take a few deep breaths for me?”, he asked.

The young lord gulped as he saw the thing. “Wh… what is that for…?”, he stammered nervously, a few drops of sweat running down his forehead. “This helps me listen to your lungs and heart”, the doctor calmly explained. “I won’t have to press my ear against your chest, this way.”

Sherlock could not help but feel uncomfortable about the idea of anyone pressing their face against his Henry’s chest like that. Especially before he himself had gotten the chance to do it. His entire body tensed up as he thought about it. It almost seemed to enrage him. He did not quite know why, but the fact that Watson would not have to do that made him feel oddly relieved.

The nobleman raised his eyebrows as he heard the doctor’s explanation. “Ah… I- I see”, he muttered quietly. “Very well, then.” He began to take slow, deep breaths, just like Watson had asked of him. He kept his gaze fixed on Sherlock, though. He never looked away from him. The detective felt butterflies in his stomach as he simply gazed into his beloved’s eyes, holding his hand and stroking it with his thumb.

Something about this moment felt… so special. It was surprisingly intimate. Sherlock stared at their hands intertwining with one another, almost instinctively. He began to realise that it all felt… right. This was how they were meant to be. This was how their love for each other truly showed itself. Them being there for each other. Bringing one another comfort. There was no need for exchanging words. Enough was said by silence. The detective looked up at Henry, a warm, excited feeling rising up in his chest as his gaze met the young lord’s. He loved him. He loved him so very dearly. And he could not wait to shower the nobleman with kisses as soon as they were alone again.

“…I see.” Watson took his stethoscope away from Henry’s chest, putting it back in his bag and looking over his observations once again. “It seems that you were correct, Holmes, in assuming that Sir Henry over here has recently suffered from his heart condition. However…”, he paused for a while, scratching his chin. “I do not think that there is an immediate reason to worry. It seems that he has recovered quite decently during these past few days… my advice would be to not engage in any intense physical activity anytime soon, as the condition is triggered by exactly that. I do not think that the constant bedrest will be necessary anymore, though.”

The young lord’s eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement as soon as he heard that. “Really?”, he asked, sitting up rapidly and smiling eagerly. “Oh, thank you, Watson!” He let out a relieved sigh, scratching the back of his head. “You cannot even imagine how worried I had been. I… I’m so glad that everything will be all right.” Sherlock quietly nodded. So was he. He did not want to admit that, though. He thought it best to keep silent. “Oh, one more thing, Sir Henry”, Watson remarked. “I would advise you to take some light exercise. It will build up your heart’s tolerance for physical activity… But again, do not overexert yourself. Only harm will come from that.” “A-all right, Watson”, Henry replied, nodding. “I shall try my hardest.”

The doctor smiled. “I am certain that you will, Sir Henry.” He looked over at Sherlock, who was still sitting on the young lord’s bed. “I did mean to ask you, Holmes… do you intend on staying here for longer? I thought we could catch the next train to London together, if you didn’t.” The detective stood up, shaking his head as he put his pipe in his mouth. “No, I am afraid that I shall still be staying here for a little while”, he replied. “I am… not quite finished here yet. I feel like Sir Henry and I have only begun to unveil the very beginning of this whole… conundrum.”

Watson chuckled. “I have to say, you are barely surprising me at this point, my friend.” Sherlock shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? You know me too well by now, my dear fellow. I do not leave things unfinished… especially not when they fascinate me.” His friend smiled. “Of course you don’t. Well then, Sir Henry…” He gave a kind nod to the young lord. “My best wishes for your recovery. I would have liked to stay longer, but… I am afraid that I am rather busy.”

Henry stood up out of his bed, adjusting his dressing gown and walking up to the doctor to give him a handshake. “Thank you so much… I- I cannot stress how grateful I am. Especially considering the fact that you had to come all the way over here from London… I r-really appreciate it.” Watson chuckled. “Really, it was not that much of a problem… it gives me an excuse to admire the positively beautiful nature of this place. London may have its parks, but they really bleak in comparison to Devonshire’s moorland fields. If you avoid the mires, that is, of course.”

The young lord gave no response to that. Sherlock could immediately tell that the mention of the mires had made him uncomfortable. He did not really blame him, in all honesty. “Well, I must also say that I greatly appreciate you coming here”, he quickly chimed in, giving Henry a reassuring look. “Not only for Sir Henry’s sake, mind you. It really is wonderful to see you again.”

Watson smiled. “Of course”, he said, checking his pocket watch. “Well, I think I had better be going… missing my train would make for quite the hassle.” “Allow me to see you off”, Henry immediately said. “It would be the least I could do for all your troubles.”

Both Sherlock and his friend looked at the young lord with looks of surprise on their faces. Watson was the first to speak out of the two of them. “That is very kind of you, Sir Henry”, he said. “Very gracious indeed.”

And so, the two men saw Watson off, both of them shaking hands with him before saying goodbye. Sherlock had promised to send word to him, should anything happen to Henry’s heart again, and the nobleman had once again expressed his deepest thanks after the doctor had quietly whispered something to him that the detective had not been quite able to hear. It did not matter that much to Sherlock in the moment, though. His mind was occupied with how he could not help but feel so happy as he saw Henry out of his bed again. He did not quite know why. He just did. And that was all that mattered.

As they walked back inside, the detective’s hand quickly reached for the nobleman’s and grabbed it. Henry blushed as he noticed it. “S… something the matter…?”, he asked Sherlock, an unmistakably shy tone coming from his voice. The detective looked him in the eye. “…I’m just so happy that your health is not in dire conditions”, he admitted. “I… I had been worrying so much.” The young lord raised his eyebrows, scratching the back of his head as the two of them walked up the stairs again. “R-really…?”, he responded.

Sherlock nodded. “…I have been worrying almost this entire day. After I had left your room this morning, that is.” He blushed slightly as he recalled him kissing the surface of Henry’s throat earlier that day. It… it had been wonderful. He wanted to do that more. He needed to do that more.

The young lord stared at his face. “Sherlock…” They both stopped in front of the door leading to the nobleman’s bedroom as Henry took both of the detective’s hands in his. Sherlock looked away in shame. “…I was afraid”, he confessed. “…I was afraid that something might be terribly wrong. That… that I might lose you.”

The young lord inched closer to him. “Sherlock, I…” He reached out with his arms to put them around the detective’s body, but he froze in place, before looking around anxiously as a guilty look spread across his face. He was still afraid of other people seeing them. To show him affection outside of the comfort of his own room. Sherlock could see that rather quickly. And he understood it, in all honesty. He would not know how he should react if someone accidentally saw them in each other’s arms, either.

“…Don’t worry”, he said quietly, opening Henry’s bedroom door and leading the young lord with him. The nobleman immediately closed the door behind them, before wrapping his arms around the detective and holding him tight. “I’m sorry”, he said, blushing. “I… I did not want anyone to… well, see us. Not… not like this. E-even though I want to be with you… like this… so badly… I-it still scares me…”

Sherlock pressed his face against Henry’s chest, closing his eyes as he melted into the young lord’s embrace. “I understand”, he replied. “I… I also think it would be better if we… kept it like this for now.” The nobleman let his head rest on the detective’s, smiling softy. “…You know, I… I wish we could hold hands like we just did more often.” Sherlock quietly chuckled. “…I wish that you could know how intensely I felt the need to kiss you back then”, he confessed, before pausing. “…I still do.”

Henry went red in the face. “H… here…? Right n-now?” “Of course”, the detective responded. “Where else?” The young lord broke out of their embrace, bashfully scratching his arm as he looked at the ground. “Well, actually… I… I think that I would… like to…” He squeezed his eyes shut as he gulped, trembling nervously. “…I would like to… to lay in bed with you”, he confessed, blurting it out and sounding so incredibly guilty. He truly seemed to feel like this was entirely inappropriate to ask. He looked… scared. And yet, excited.

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise, a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks as well as he heard nobleman say those words. He felt himself getting dizzy as he was feeling more and more nauseous again. Lying in the same bed with Henry… the detective wanted nothing more. Of course, he wanted that. Of course, he did. He had never wanted to go to bed quite as eagerly ever before. Not recently, at least.

He was starting to feel all excited and bubbly inside as he looked up at the young lord, his eyes sparkling with delight. Henry still kept his eyes shut. “I-it’s completely fine if you w-wouldn’t want to”, he stuttered, his entire body tensing up due to the nerves, “I just thought that… you know, since I won’t have to stay in bed all the time anymore… I- I don’t know, I-”

He was promptly cut off as Sherlock took him in his arms, kissed him on the lips and pulled him with him to his bed. “My dear Henry… of course I would”, he said, staring into his eyes. “…I would like nothing more.” The young lord began to blush even more furiously, fidgeting with his fingers as he watched the detective lie down first. “D-do you mean you will also… s-spend the night with me…?”, he asked hopefully. “Of course I will, Henry”, Sherlock laughed, taking off his shoes and suit jacket. “Why else would I lie down in a bed?”

“That is… fair, I suppose”, the nobleman said quietly, hesitantly sitting down on his bed and slowly lying down. “I… I cannot believe that this is happening…”, he whispered under his breath. The detective smiled, reaching out to the young lord with his hand and gently stroking his cheeks. “You know, I shall have to be extremely cautious moving forward”, he teased. “Next thing I know, you’ll be sounding like Mrs. Barrymore, constantly asking me to go to bed.” Henry smiled bashfully as he allowed Sherlock to caress him. “Well… I cannot make any promises”, he said, laughing quietly before he slowly inched closer to the detective. “Can… can I do this…?”

Sherlock leaned forward, covering the two of them completely with the bedsheets and wrapping his arms around the young lord. He nuzzled his face affectionately, before giving him a peck on the cheek. “…Does that answer your question?”, he asked. Henry’s breathing was becoming more and more shaky as he froze in place, seemingly completely overtaken by surprise. “Y-yes…”, he stammered. “Oh god, I- I did not think that we would ever do this, Sherlock- I-” “It’s all right, Henry”, the detective assured him, cuddling up to him and closing his eyes. “It is quite all right, I assure you. I am here with you… it’s just us… There is nothing to worry about, my dear Henry. Nothing. Not as long as we are together.”

The young lord softly nuzzled Sherlock’s hair. The detective had quickly picked up that this was something that Henry was quite fond of doing. And in all honesty, he did not mind it one bit… which was a bit surprising. He usually did not like it when people touched his hair. It felt invasive. And yet… when he felt the nobleman softly brush his face against it, it just felt… right. It felt so good. He felt like he could never get enough of it. He loved it so much.

“As long as we are together…”, Henry muttered quietly. “I… I like that. It’s comforting.” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pressing his face against the top of his head. “…You are comforting. I- I love you, Sherlock… You do realise that, right?”

The detective yawned, his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier as he looked up at the young lord. “Of course I do… they do not call me the great detective for nothing, you know.” Henry smiled, kissing his forehead affectionately. “I think I like you even more as Sherlock Holmes…”, he whispered quietly. “The person, I mean.”

Sherlock felt tears stinging in his eyes as he lovingly held the nobleman in his arms, the butterflies in his stomach getting even more intense than before. Henry saying that… it meant… so much to him. This was why he loved Henry so much. He knew him unlike anyone else by now. Not even Watson knew this side of him as much as Henry did. And it made him appreciate the young lord even more.

“…Thank you”, he whispered. “…Thank you so much. I… I love you too.”

 

That night, Sherlock had a good night’s rest for the first time in ages.

Chapter 10: Birdsong in the morning

Summary:

Henry is very excited after sleeping with Sherlock for the first time.

The birds were chirping outside.

It was one of the few things Henry noticed as he slowly began to wake up from a deep, peaceful sleep. He could not quite remember the last time he had felt so well-rested. His mind had been plagued with many worries as of late. And they tended to disturb the young lord the most right when it was the most unfortunate moment to be suffering from them.

When he was trying to sleep.

Right when his mind was at its most vulnerable, the terrors seemed to come. The fears. The memories. They would play themselves out in front of his closed eyelids, making him feel as if he was experiencing it all again. And it terrified him. He had taken to lighting a candle in his room at night, simply because being alone in the dark frightened him too much. It made him feel childish, but better childish than horrified, he supposed. He needed some semblance of comfort. Of warmth. Of light in the darkness.

He had forgotten to light it yesterday evening, though. And to his surprise… it had not mattered at all. To the contrary… he could not recall feeling even remotely afraid last night. He had felt… so safe. So comfortable. So… so loved.

And then Henry’s eyes opened, widening themselves in surprise as he made his second observation of the day.

…Which was the fact that he was laying on his side with Sherlock Holmes in his arms.

The detective had his back pressed against his stomach, comfortably laying in the young lord’s arms as he kept his eyes closed. The nobleman immediately began to blush furiously. He… he had slept with Sherlock last night. He had actually done it. He had mustered up the courage to ask him if he would like to lay in bed with him… and the detective had said yes. And he had pulled him towards the bed. And he had put his arms around him. And he had kissed him. The memories sent Henry’s head in a whirl. All he could do was stare at the gorgeous, sleeping man he was holding in his arms as he felt his face getting redder and redder. As his breathing was becoming heavier and heavier.

He still could not quite believe it. That he was holding a sleeping Sherlock Holmes in his arms. That… that this had all actually happened, and that it had not merely been a dream. It was all too good to be true. Even now, the young lord had to pinch himself in order to be absolutely certain that he was not dreaming. Having determined that he indeed wasn’t, he felt a tingly feeling spread through his limbs as he wrapped his long, lanky legs around the detective.

Sherlock was quite a bit shorter than him – multiple inches at least. It made Henry want to envelop the man’s body with his own. He felt as if he was melting into the detective, both of their bodies becoming one together. And it felt right. It felt so right. The nobleman wished that he could wake up like this every day. That he and Sherlock could spend every night together. That he would not have to be afraid when going to sleep anymore. It was all he could think of as he affectionately nuzzled the back of the detective’s head, planting little kisses every now and then and feeling this wild sense of excitement that he had never experienced ever before.

“Hmm…?” Henry heard Sherlock softly murmuring as he slowly began to move in the young lord’s arms. The nobleman’s body immediately tensed up. The detective let out a yawn, groggily opening his eyes as he turned to face Henry. “Wha… what’s going on…?”, he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. The young lord looked away bashfully. “…I’m sorry”, he uttered quietly. “It was not my intention to wake you.” Sherlock gave him a soft smile. “There is no need to apologise, my dear Henry”, he said. “If anything, I do find myself rather surprised by the fact that I was not awake… I must have fallen back asleep.”

Henry felt the butterflies in his stomach flaring up again as he stared at the detective’s smile. It… it was a beautiful sight to behold. A very rare sight… but beautiful nonetheless. If anything, the fact that Sherlock did not smile like that very often made it even more captivating. More bewitching. It really made the young lord appreciate the moments when he did smile. He just hoped that he would be able to make the detective laugh more in the future, if only so that he could look at that beautiful smile of his more often.

He was so besotted by the sight of his dear Sherlock all sleepy like this that he completely did not notice that last statement the detective had made just then at first. It took him a while for him to fully process what he had just said. “…What do you mean by that?”, he eventually asked, tilting his head to the side. “Have you been awake all this time?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not entirely, no. Allow me to explain.” He let out another yawn, pushing his dishevelled hair away from his face. Henry quietly wished that he had kept it like that. He had always seen the detective having his appearance neatly taken care of. Everything would be where it was supposed to be. All so… perfect. There would not be a single loose strand of hair or even one undone button to be spotted. Seeing Sherlock like this… it was completely different from how the young lord was used to seeing him. And he looked so adorable. In all honesty, it was rather endearing to the nobleman to see him in this more… messy state. It felt more like him. Not perfect… but still beautiful. Always so… so beautiful.

“I am quite the early riser, you see”, the detective began, lovingly snuggling up to Henry and gently stroking his cheeks. “…I think I woke up quite a bit earlier than now.” The young lord raised his eyebrows. “Really…? Why… why did you stay here, then?” He paused as he began to blush furiously, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “N-not that I… did not… appreciate that, m-mind you… It’s just… W-well, you… do not seem like the person who would… stay in bed for long… After having awoken, that is.”

Sherlock blushed softly, his lips slowly curving upwards into a shy smile. “…Because I wanted to stay in your arms for longer, Henry”, he admitted. “…Because I could not bear the thought of breaking out of your embrace and waking you up.”

Those words sent the nobleman’s head in a whirl. All he could do was stare at the detective’s gorgeous face with a starstruck look in his eyes, his mind in too much of a state of awe to respond properly.

Chuckling softly, Sherlock gently ran his fingers through Henry’s hair. “…You seem surprised by that”, he said. The young lord felt the detective’s fingers tenderly brushing against his skin and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Oh god, it felt so good. He embraced Sherlock excitedly, affectionately nuzzling him, before kissing him on the forehead. “…I just… I just love you so much, Sherlock… And… and this all feels so amazing… I- I feel like I can barely contain my excitement anymore…”

The detective smiled. “Tell me, Henry… Why exactly should you contain your excitement?” The nobleman blushed. “I- I don’t know… I suppose it is what I have always done…” Sherlock slowly reached forward, holding the young lord’s face in his hands and softly kissing his cheek. “If I may…”, he whispered quietly, “…I believe that you have a very good reason to be excited… I must admit that this is all… rather exciting to me, as well.”

Henry stayed silent for a while, frowning. “…It makes me feel ashamed”, he confessed after a while. “…I know it’s… foolish… b-but… Whenever I get excited about something, I… I look back at it and just feel… embarrassed. I- I don’t know… it’s… strange.” He scratched the back of his head, smiling at the detective clumsily. “…I’m sorry. It’s… difficult for me to explain. I… I doubt that that description made any sense.”

To the young lord’s surprise though, Sherlock stared at him with raised eyebrows as he gave no reply. There was… a strange look on his face. Henry could not quite place it. But then again, he had never been the best at placing other people’s emotions. He had gotten a bit better at it with identifying the detective’s emotions specifically, but his skills were still far from perfect. It seemed as if Sherlock was deep in thought. That was all he could tell from the detective’s face. The nobleman wondered what he was thinking about. What about his last statement had sparked his interest. He was about to open his mouth to ask him that very question, but Sherlock spoke before him:

“…No, Henry… It… it did.” He paused for a while, sighing melancholically. “…I recognise that feeling… I experience it as well.”

The young lord raised his eyebrows in surprise. It kept astonishing him… how despite the fact that him and the detective seemed like very different people on a surface level, they were both suffering from very similar things. “…You do…?”, he asked curiously, wrapping his legs around the detective again as he stared into his gorgeous eyes. Dear god. Those eyes of his. Henry truly could stare at them for an eternity. They were so dreamy. So… captivating. Each and every time the nobleman looked at them, he was once again reminded why he was so besotted with Sherlock. The nobleman let out a longing sigh as he stared at the detective. He truly was lucky to have him.

Suddenly, Henry’s hairs rapidly stood on end as his entire body froze. He could have sworn he had heard a noise just then. Something that was coming from the outside of his room.

…He was hearing footsteps.

An awful, nauseous feeling arose in his stomach as he promptly turned away from Sherlock, tugging his knees up to his chest as he felt a horrid sense of shame spreading through his entire body. It made him shiver. He had completely forgotten about that. The possibility of someone walking in on them. It was very unusual for the Barrymores to enter his room in the morning before he had gotten out of bed, but the thought of it happening still terrified his very soul. All he could do was lay there, his lips quivering as he prayed that no one would enter his room. That no one would discover their shameful secret. “P… please…”, he cried softly, his eyes starting to get watery, “…d-don’t… don’t let them see us like this…”

“Shh, Henry.” The nobleman felt the detective’s hand softly stroking his back. “It’s all right. No one is going to walk in if we stay quiet.” The nobleman squeezed his eyes shut, feverishly shaking his head as tears began to stream down his face. “Don’t… please… w-what if someone s-sees us…” He covered his face with his hands in shame, his whole body trembling. “I- I should have never suggested this… oh god… I’m… I’m an idiot… Why… Why does it have to be like this-”

“Henry.” Sherlock’s hand firmly gripped the young lord’s shoulder. “Henry, look at me. Please.” The nobleman hesitantly turned around again, staring at the detective with tearful eyes. “Take a deep breath, my dear friend”, Sherlock urged him. “Keep looking at me… and simply breathe.” Henry did exactly what he said. He kept his eyes locked on the detective, staring at his face as he took slow, deep breaths. Surprisingly… it worked quite effectively. It managed to make him feel slightly less panicked, at least. “There we are”, Sherlock said, giving the young lord a compassionate smile as he gently put his arms around him. “…Isn’t that better…?”

The young lord nodded meekly, pressing his face against the detective’s chest. He wished that he could hide. He wished that he could hide away from the entire world by being held by Sherlock. And for a short moment, it actually felt like that. The detective began to make shushing noises, softly running his hands over Henry’s back and pressing his lips against the top of his head. “It’s all right, Henry”, he quietly whispered into the nobleman’s ear. “It’s all right. No one is going to see us like this.” He paused for a while, silently listening as he and the nobleman both heard the footsteps getting fainter and fainter. “…See?”, he continued. “They went away again.”

The young lord curled himself up as his lips began to quiver again. It was strange. He was so much taller than Sherlock, yet he did not feel anything like it in the moment. If anything, it felt more like he was a scared little boy, crying in the detective’s arms. It felt… good, in all honesty. To be able to be small. To not have to live up to all these expectations and responsibilities. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, sniffling as he looked up to Sherlock. “I’m sorry…”, he whimpered quietly. “It… it still… frightens me…”

“There is no need to apologise, Henry.” The nobleman felt his face getting warmer and warmer as the detective gently ran his finger over the bridge of his nose. “…I understand why you would be afraid. Of getting found out, I mean.” He sighed, looking away as a melancholic look spread across his face. “…The prospect frightens me, as well.”

The young lord raised his eyebrows. Something about the way Sherlock said those words was… surprising to him. It almost seemed like he was ashamed to admit it. Henry needed to know more about it. He wanted to know more about what was going on in the detective’s mind. About why he struggled with this as well. Every time he got to know a bit more about the workings of Sherlock’s mind, he understood him so much better. And he wanted that. He wanted to understand Sherlock more and more. He wanted that so badly.

“Do… do you also feel like you cannot, well… show it to anyone…?”, he asked quietly. The detective nodded. “Well, yes…”, he admitted. “…Most likely because of similar reasons as you, no doubt.” He paused, closing his eyes before slowly opening them again.

“…Because it is socially unacceptable.”

Henry frowned. “Yes… Yes, I suppose so…” He let out a miserable sigh, frowning as he pressed his face against the top of Sherlock’s head. “…Why do we get shamed for being the people that we are, Sherlock…?”, he asked mournfully. “…Why can’t we live the way we want to…?”

The detective scoffed, grimacing. “Believe me, my dear Henry…”, he said bitterly, “…if I knew the answer to that question, I would have done something about it.” The young lord began to sniffle. “…I sometimes feel like I am suffocating, Sherlock”, he whimpered. “Sometimes, I am afraid that I am going to die because of it… a-and that no one will have… will have known me as the person that… that I really am… I- I’m so sick of it… I wish that I could just… like myself… instead of being so frightened all the time…”

He would have said more, but he felt Sherlock’s lips on his own before he could do that. His eyes widened in surprise, but he soon found himself fully melting into the detective’s kiss, holding his face in his hands and stroking his cheeks. Sherlock’s kiss felt greedy. It was wanting. Needing. Hungry. And yet, it was delicate. It was everything Henry wanted this very moment. The young lord faintly tasted the salt of his own tears in his mouth as he kept kissing the detective, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt himself getting dizzier and dizzier.

“I know you, Henry”, Sherlock said, breaking out of the kiss and letting his forehead rest against the nobleman’s. “…I know you. And I love you very dearly.” He paused, staring into the young lord’s eyes. “…I do hope that you will remember that, should you worry about that again.”

Henry nodded meekly. “…You do”, he whispered softly. “…You do… and I could not be… m-more grateful for that…” The detective closed his eyes, softly caressing the young lord’s face with his lips. “…The world might not accept us for who we are, Henry…”, he muttered under his breath, “…but we have each other, at least… Do you remember…? We… we said that we could be different together… that we could find comfort in each other… I want to offer you that solace, Henry. I want to be there for you… because you have been there for me countless times already.”

The nobleman blushed. “…I could say that very same thing to you, you know…” Sherlock smiled. “Well, isn’t it perfect that way? I would say that it works quite efficiently, really.” Henry nodded, smiling softly. That wording was so… typically Sherlock. The young lord doubted that ‘efficient’ was the right word to use in a situation like this, but coming out of the detective’s mouth, almost anything seemed to make sense. “…I suppose so”, he said, letting out a yawn.

The two of them stayed silent for a while after that. Henry had closed his eyes. He just wanted to savour the moment. He wanted to stay in bed for just a little longer. Just for a little while. Just a short moment before he would have to face the responsibilities of the day. As he laid in Sherlock’s arms, and Sherlock in his, he realised just how at peace he felt. It was all perfect. Their bodies fitted together perfectly. Henry belonged in the detective’s arms. He had made this realisation the first time they had kissed, and ever since then, he had only come to believe it even more intensely every passing day. He hoped that Sherlock had come to realise that he belonged in his arms, as well.

“…Sherlock…?”, he whispered quietly after a while. The detective looked up at him. “Hm?” The young lord began to blush. “Do you…”, he began to stammer, sweat dripping down his forehead from all the nerves he was experiencing. “…Do you think that we could… do this again, sometime?” Sherlock smiled, giving the nobleman a soft peck on the cheek. “I thought that that was a given, my friend”, he chuckled.

A wave of excitement rushed through Henry. “R-really?”, he asked excitedly. “Do… do you really mean that?” The detective smirked. “My dear fellow, I thought that you would know by now that I usually do not say things when I do not mean them.” The nobleman’s grip on Sherlock’s body tightened, his eyes seemingly sparkling with joy as he began to lovingly nuzzle the detective. “Oh my god…”, he whispered. “You… you make me the happiest man on earth, Sherlock… you really do… I- I’m so happy to be with you…”

Sherlock smiled. “…I’m very glad that I make you feel that way… You deserve it.” “You deserve to be happy too”, Henry replied. “…I… I can only hope to help you with that… if only even slightly.”

Suddenly, an idea shot across his mind. An idea that made him feel all giddy and warm inside. It was too good to ignore. “Sherlock…?”, he whispered quietly. “Yes?”, the detective responded. Henry blushed again. “Will… will you meet me at the stables this afternoon…?”, he asked. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “…What for?”, he responded, a confused look on his face. The young lord let out a few giggles as he began to blush. “…Will you?”, he simply said, grinning cheekily. “…I’ll explain then.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “…You know, I find myself quite surprised by saying this… but I have no idea what you are getting at.” A warm, tingly feeling ran over the surface of Henry’s skin as he heard those words. He could not help but find the sight of Sherlock all confused like this both incredibly endearing and amusing. He ran his hands through the detective’s hair, staring at him with pleading eyes.

“…Please…?”, he begged, pouting. He had slowly come to realise that Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to deny him anything when he looked at him like that, and he fully intended to make use of that fact. The two men stared into each other’s eyes like that for a while, until the detective eventually let out a defeated sigh. “…Of course I will, Henry”, he admitted. “…Anything for you… Though you had better explain yourself by that time.”

The young lord blushed, grinning from ear to ear as he could barely contain his excitement any longer. He kissed his beloved on the forehead, before letting his head lean against his chest.

“…Don’t worry, Sherlock”, he said. “I will… All you will need is just a little patience.”

Chapter 11: Idiocy at the stables

Summary:

Sherlock finds out why Henry asked him to meet him at the stables.

“There you are…” Henry softly smiled as he tenderly brushed through the soft hairs of his horse’s mane, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he whispered terms of endearment to it. “Is that feeling better?”, he continued quietly. “I’ll get out those tangles for you… Here we go…” He began to stroke the creature’s neck, letting his head lean against its body as he continued to take care of his horse. “We can go for a ride again soon… just a little more patience, now. I know it, it has been a while… I was not doing all too great. But it will all be fine now, I’m sure. Sherlock won’t take long, I promise.”

The nobleman continued whispering those soft, calming words for a while like that. Watching from a distance, Sherlock could not help but smile to himself as he kept observing the young lord. It was… truly fascinating to look at. The detective began to blush furiously, his head feeling lighter and lighter as he watched Henry bond with his horse. He was… absolutely perfect. So… kind. Every single little movement he made radiated so much compassion and adoration. It mesmerised Sherlock completely. He had never really seen Henry like this before. Him asking Sherlock to meet him at the stables had greatly puzzled the detective, but now he quietly thanked the nobleman for suggesting it. If he hadn’t, Sherlock might have never been able to see his sweetheart like this. And he would not have wanted to miss out on that for anything in the world.

Henry truly was amazing. The detective only wished that he would be able to see it himself, as well. How wonderful he made Sherlock feel. If only he could understand just a slight fraction of the joy that he brought into the detective’s life… perhaps then, he would not have to deal with all these insecurities about himself. He did not deserve any of that… to hate himself so intensely. To be so afraid to show his true self. The thought of his misery… it broke Sherlock’s heart. Even now, all he could think of was how much the young lord had cried in his arms this morning, bitterly weeping like a scared child. Only because he was so horribly afraid of anyone seeing him with the detective like that. If Sherlock had not been of such a stoic mentality, it would have been enough to make him cry, as well.

“…I sometimes feel like I am suffocating, Sherlock…”

When the detective had heard those words coming from Henry, he could have sworn that they pierced him right through his heart. They sounded… too familiar to him. Too… personal. Sherlock did not quite know how he was supposed to handle it. All these visceral confrontations with these intense emotions he had been feeling all his life… even though he had only begun to unravel them all very recently. It seemed… unfair. How so many people seemed to just be put on earth and just… get all of this. All these feelings.

It made the detective feel rather spiteful, in all honesty. He envied those people. He envied all of them for not having to deal with all this... miserable confusion. He knew that that was ironic. He was well aware of how many people would like to stand in his shoes. How couldn’t he? Almost every stranger he spoke to would mention something about them wanting to know what it would be like. To be able to remember so many things. To think so quickly. To be hailed as a ‘genius’. And every time Sherlock had to listen to these sentiments, all he could do was quietly nod and smile.

They knew nothing. They knew nothing about how… horrifically hard it was to be like him, sometimes. To have to live up to all these expectations. To only be accepted because of your talents, and not because of the person that you really were.

…To feel absolutely horrified by the prospect of people finding out who you really were.

It was strange, really. How the detective was only now slowly beginning to realise just how… unhappy he had been in his life. It had not all been misery, of course. Far from it, actually. He knew that he was a very privileged man. Still, it was… harrowing to only now make the realisation that there had been… something missing in his life. That there was some part of him that was suffering greatly.

…A part of him that he was only getting to know now.

Sherlock sometimes wondered what would have become of him, had he not met Henry. He did that… far more often than he would initially like to admit. Would he have been a happier man, not knowing about this suffering he had been enduring all his life? Or would he have quietly succumbed to his misery, all the while not knowing what was causing it? The answer to that question was one of the few mysteries that the detective found himself unable to solve, no matter how long he pondered over the conundrum.

There was not much use to keep dwelling on that question though, he supposed. He had met the nobleman. He had solved the case surrounding his uncle’s death and his planned assassination. And then… he had been unable to put the man out of his mind. That one, simple fact had changed both him and the young lord… significantly. And if Sherlock had to guess, they were far from seeing just how much it would change the two of them.

So much had happened already during the past few days. They had kissed. A lot. They had held hands. They had been there for each other, giving the other comfort. They had grown to understand each other like no one else did. And the detective was thankful for that, in all honesty. He was glad to have found someone who shared his struggles. He did not think that that would ever happen. To his joyous surprise though, he had been wrong in that assumption. And even though this was not a very common occurrence, the detective was glad that this one time, he had been thinking too rashly.

It was interesting, really. How, despite their differences, they understood each other so well. Sherlock had been feeling like he could understand Henry without him needing to say anything more and more frequently, as of late. He supposed that that was not a totally new thing for him. His mastery of the art of deduction had allowed him to estimate very accurate guesses as to how someone was feeling in the past.

This felt different, though. It was no guesswork. It was more like… he simply knew the young lord. Better than anyone else. He knew him so well that words would become completely obsolete sometimes. And the detective… quite liked it. If there was anything he was not fond of, it was unnecessary conversation. With Henry though, it felt as if everything that was said between them mattered. And even the things that weren’t said did.

It was truly magical to Sherlock. How he was so lucky to have this man in his life. How… how much he loved him. Even now, as he was quietly watching the young lord from a distance, he kept realising that every day, he loved him more and more. Every day, he learned a new thing about him. Be it big or small… everything made the nobleman even more perfect than he already was. And he was perfect. The detective could not imagine a better man in the world. He could not help but let out a swooning sigh as he kept watching his dear Henry. He could do this for an eternity. And he would do it happily.

“Hm?” The young lord turned around, a bashful blush spreading across his face as he spotted Sherlock. “H-how…”, he began to stammer, his body tensing up as his eyes widened in surprise. “…How long have you been standing there?” The detective went red in the face, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he realised that Henry must have heard him. “...N-not... very long”, he stuttered, before letting out another sigh. “...Forgive me. It was not my intention to seem like I was... spying on you.”

The nobleman smiled softly, looking at the ground as he fidgeted with his suit’s sleeve. “It’s fine, really... I suppose something must have caught your attention.” He looked back at Sherlock, his eyes twinkling with delight as he happily rocked back and forth on his feet. “Well?”, he asked giddily. “...Was I right in that assumption?”

The detective took another good look at Henry. Of course, something had caught his attention. The young lord always caught his attention. Without failure, as well. No matter what it was he was doing... or what he was wearing... there was always that little something about him that managed to make Sherlock absolutely besotted with him.

And this time was no different. He was wearing his usual checkered brown suit, though he had switched out his usual shoes for his horse riding boots. The detective could not remember the last time he had seen the nobleman wearing them. Now that he saw them though, he wished that he would have paid better attention to them in the past. Dear god, he looked absolutely captivating with them. They perfectly accentuated his legs, truly pointing out just how tall the man was. The sight of them aroused an intense, tingly feeling in Sherlock’s entire body that he had never quite felt before. But it felt good. Dear god, did it feel good. It wildly excited the detective. He wanted to feel it more. He wanted to understand this sensation better.

...He wanted Henry.

“...Sherlock...?” The young lord’s hesitant voice snapped the detective out of another one of his thinking bouts. Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise, his lips slowly curving upward in a clumsy smile as he looked up at the nobleman. “...Did I say something strange?”, Henry nervously asked. The detective shook his head. “No, Henry...”, he said, getting up on the edge of his toes in order to give the young lord a kiss on his cheek. “...Not at all... it’s just... you’re so beautiful.”

Sherlock could feel the surface of the nobleman’s skin getting warmer as he kissed it. It made him smile. “It... it’s just me...”, Henry stuttered, blushing furiously. The detective stared at him, a besotted look in his eyes. “Exactly”, he nodded, before softly kissing the young lord on the lips. “...And I could wish for nothing more.”

Henry’s entire body began to tense up. “Sherlock...”, he asked, wiping a drop of sweat away from his forehead as he looked around himself anxiously. “D-don’t... don’t you think that someone might... well... see us... like this...?” The detective raised his eyebrows, moving away from the nobleman’s face. “...Forgive me”, he immediately said. “I... thought that you had asked me to come here because you would be less afraid of people passing by here... but I see that I was apparently wrong there.”

He paused and narrowed his eyes, one of his usual signature frowns spreading across his face as he looked at the young lord’s face intently. “...Speaking of...”, he quietly muttered. “...Why did you ask me to meet you here, then?”

Henry lowered his head, smiling shyly as he let out a longing sigh. “…Well, you were partially right, I suppose”, he mumbled. “…But not entirely. I- I would like to go somewhere people won’t see us with you… but that place is not here.” He took a deep breath, his legs shaking from the nerves as he bashfully reached out to hold the detective’s hand.

“…Sherlock, I… I would like to take you out on a ride across the moors.”

The detective’s eyes widened in surprise. It should not have been that unexpected to him, he supposed, but the idea had not even crossed his mind for a single moment. “O-on your horse, you mean?”, he enquired, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. The young lord nodded excitedly. “Yes, why not?”, he replied. “I mean, Watson himself said it, did he not? He had advised light exercise… and this just so happens to be one of my favourite things… So, I thought… I- I thought we could… share the experience together… I really enjoy doing it… so… maybe you would, too…?”

Sherlock was still completely taken aback by the question. “I- I do not know how I am supposed to ride a horse”, he stammered. Henry smiled. “You will not need to”, he explained. “I can just… put you on the saddle in front of me.” The two men’s gazes met each other as those words came out of the young lord’s mouth, and they both immediately began to blush. The idea made the detective’s heart beat like never before. “I-if you would be a-all right with that, of course…”, the nobleman immediately began to mutter as soon as he saw the redness that had spread across Sherlock’s face. “I understand if you w-wouldn’t-”

“Henry.” The detective held the young lord’s hand in his, leaning against his body as he pressed his face against his chest. “…I would like nothing more.” Sherlock felt Henry’s breathing shortly spiking due to excitement. “…R-really?”, he heard him ask. The detective softly chuckled, putting his arms around the nobleman as he closed his eyes. “Of course, you silly man”, he whispered. “…I would like to do almost anything in the world… as long as we are doing it together.”

Henry’s body seemed to relax as he heard those words. “I… I’m glad…”, he sighed out in relief. “…You know, I was… really nervous… about asking that of you, I mean.” Sherlock grinned, making a ‘tch’ noise as he broke out of their embrace. “Really, now?”, he teased, a sarcastic tone coming from his voice. “If you had not said that, I would not have been able to tell, you know.” The young lord blushed furiously, looking at the ground in embarrassment as he began to pout. “H…hey…”, he protested, trying to sound certain of himself but absolutely failing in the process, “n-not everyone here is a deductive genius, Sherlock.”

Henry’s horse snorted loudly, beating its hooves against the ground in impatience. The nobleman immediately turned around as soon as he heard the sounds. “See?”, he huffed, crossing his arms. “…Even she agrees with me.”

The detective simply stayed silent, putting his pipe in his mouth as he stared directly into the young lord’s eyes with his piercing gaze. He could not help but be extremely amused by Henry’s attitude. He could tell that the young lord was merely playing along. He just wondered how long it would take for the nobleman to drop that indignant facade of his.

“Sherlock…” Henry tried to keep a straight face, but he was soon beginning to have trouble keeping up his eye contact with the detective. Eventually, he let out a defeated groan, rolling his eyes before letting out a warm, hearty laugh. “It’s not fair, Sherlock!”, he complained, putting his arms around the detective as they both began to chuckle. “How come you always see right through me with those eyes of yours?”

Sherlock grinned smugly. “You said it yourself, my dear fellow”, he responded. “Not everyone here is a deductive genius.” The young lord pressed his palm against his face. “…Dear god, I should have never said that”, he giggled. “This is your own fault, my Henry”, the detective laughed. “One must always be cautious when choosing their words.” The nobleman let out a chuckle. “All right, all right…”, he sighed. “I see now that trying to argue about this with you is a completely hopeless endeavour.” He leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against Sherlock’s as he softly stroked his jaw. “Now that we have established that… will you still go riding out with me?”

The detective slowly closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of his face being close to Henry’s as he softly nuzzled his cheeks. “…Of course”, he replied. “Just… please forgive me if I do not know what to do… I’m not great with animals.” 

The young lord raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t?”, he asked curiously. “That is rather funny, you know. I sometimes find myself being… much more at ease around animals, in all honesty.” He scratched the back of his head, chuckling shyly. “…I feel far less judged by them.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, frowning thoughtfully. “…I suppose that is a way to look at it”, he responded. “…I doubt that it works like that for me as well, though.” He paused, fidgeting with his pipe as he looked down at the ground. “…I cannot predict their behaviour, unlike humans. I do not know what to expect of them. Everything with them comes as a surprise to me… and it makes me nervous.”

“…Even with Cinnamon over here?”, Henry asked gently. The detective looked up at him. “…Is that your horse’s name?”, he said, tilting his head in confusion. The young lord nodded. “Why, of course”, he said, tenderly running his fingers through his mount’s auburn mane. “…I chose the name myself”, he said, blushing. “…I thought it matched her colour.” He softly stroked the creature’s nose, guiding its gaze towards Sherlock. “See?”, he assured the detective, smiling kindly. “She just wants to say hi.”

Sherlock gulped. “…And what am I supposed to do with that, exactly…?”, he asked hesitantly. The young lord let out a laugh. “Just let her get to know you”, he replied. “Here… let me help you. She’s friendly, I promise… there is no need to be frightened.”

As he said those words, Henry gently took the detective’s hand in his, guiding it towards the horse’s mane. Sherlock went red in the face as soon as he felt the tender, yet firm grip of the nobleman’s hand. He had never held his hand like that ever before. Henry had always held his hand because he needed comfort up until now. Because he needed reassurance. His grip had always been… shy. Frightened. Uncertain. It was not like that now. The young lord knew what he was doing, and the detective could tell just by the way he was holding onto his hand. It mesmerised him.

His eyes started to glimmer with adoration as he hesitantly looked up at the nobleman’s face, blushing bashfully. Henry simply smiled. “There we are…”, he muttered calmly, guiding the detective’s hand along the creature’s neck. “Look at you… you’re a natural, Sherlock.”

The detective was only vaguely registering what the young lord was saying. His head was in too much of a whirl to give a proper response. His heart was beating in his chest as a tingly feeling spread through his fingers, the warmth of the nobleman’s hand making him feel butterflies in his stomach. If magic was truly a thing that existed in this world, it would certainly have to be the sensation that he was feeling right now. There was no other way Sherlock could explain it.

It all just reminded the detective of how dear Henry was to him. How much he wanted him. How intensely his soul cried out for his company during almost every waking moment of his. He heard the young lord softly whispering more affirmations to him, but it was all going past him. All that he could focus on was that look in the nobleman’s eyes.

He was suddenly snapped out of his state of dreaminess as Henry rather abruptly lifted him by his torso, gently yet steadily helping him sit down on the front of his horse’s saddle. His eyes widened in complete astonishment as he let out a shocked yelp. “I- I did not know that you were going to do this!”, he exclaimed. The young lord could not help but giggle. “Were you not listening, then?”, he asked teasingly. Sherlock shook his head, going red in the face. “…No…”, he admitted, before staying quiet and fumbling with his fingers for a seemingly very long time. “…I just… could not take my eyes off of you.”

The nobleman blushed shyly. “I… I see…”, he mumbled, scratching his cheek. “…You really flatter me, you know… I… don’t really know how to react to it.” He chuckled softly, looking up at the detective as he let out a longing sigh. “…I really am an idiot, aren’t I?”, he asked, climbing up on the saddle rather nimbly before embracing Sherlock. It made the detective feel all dizzy as he noticed the young lord’s legs wrapped rather tightly all around him. He wished that they could stay sitting like this forever.

“…Perhaps…”, he said, looking behind him to face the nobleman. “…But I love that about you. I… I like being able to be an idiot… together with you.” Henry gently nuzzled his neck, kissing it lovingly every now and then. “…I like being an idiot with you as well”, he whispered. “…I like it more than anything in the world. It’s… quite amazing, really…”

Sherlock smiled. “…It really is.” A tingling feeling ran down his spine as he shivered from excitement, blushing as he sat down comfortably and leaned against the young lord’s body. “Well, then…”, he uttered quietly. “…where are you so excited to take me, if I may ask…?”

Henry kissed his cheek, taking his horse’s reins in his hands and getting ready to flick them. “…Somewhere no one will be able to see us”, he whispered.

“…Somewhere we can truly be ourselves… without having to worry.”

Notes:

I PROMISE the horse riding date will happen next chapter these chapters keep going places I am not expecting them to helpppp XDDDD

Chapter 12: Gone from Prying Eyes

Summary:

Henry takes Sherlock out for a ride across the moors and has some revelations.

For the first time in what felt like ages, the sun was shining again.

It almost seemed like it was all meant to be like this in Henry’s eyes. Everything just… seemed to make sense right now. They were outside. Away from people. Rays of sunshine were cascading down on their skin. And it was beautiful.

The young lord let out a cheerful laugh as he felt the wind rustling through his hair, the steady clattering of his horse’s hooves on the muddy paths of the Dartmoor mires making him feel a calm sense of certainty. He looked around himself with wonder in his eyes, admiring the beauty of the lands that his family had called theirs for so long. Words could not accurately convey the things he was experiencing. No language would be able to do the sheer beauty of nature justice. It was overwhelming. It was… liberating.

The nobleman still could not believe that this was actually happening. That he was taking Sherlock out on a ride across the moors with him. Every time he thought about it, he felt more excited. And he thought about it a lot. That was probably why he constantly noticed this elated, warm feeling coursing through his limbs, he thought. It made the most sense in his eyes. But if he had to be honest, things making sense did not really matter to him all that much in the moment. He just knew that this… felt good. And that was everything he needed to know right now.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”, he asked, smiling giddily as he leaned forward to gently nuzzle the back of the detective’s neck. Sherlock’s entire body tensed up as he clung onto the saddle they were sitting in, his eyes wildly darting from place to place. “I- I suppose so…”, he stammered, a shaky tone coming from his voice. “But I cannot help but feel like I’m… going to fall off if I move… even slightly.”

Henry laughed, pressing his legs up against the detective a bit more. “You won’t”, he assured him. “I’ll make sure of that, I promise. Besides… isn’t it wonderful to see everything from a higher vantage point like this?” He looked out over the moors, letting out a swooning sigh. “…I find it to be a small difference, but a significant one, nonetheless.”

Sherlock seemed to ease up somewhat as he felt the young lord supporting his body. He sat up a bit straighter, holding on to his deerstalker in order to avoid it from falling off his head, and looked around himself. “…It is quite different”, he quietly remarked after a while, having spent some time in contemplation. “…I suppose it is quite similar to investigating, in that regard… Perspective is always crucial.”

The nobleman could not help but smile fondly at the detective as he heard him say that. Of course, that was where his mind was going. Henry had not really expected any differently, in all honesty. And he adored him for it. Dear god, he adored him. So much. “Well, what are your observations then, mister investigator extraordinaire?”, he asked, gleefully wrapping his arms around him and kissing his cheek. Sherlock immediately tensed up again. “Y-you’re going to make us both fall off like that”, he shuddered. Henry blushed softly as he let go of him again, a bashful smile spreading across his face. “I’m sorry”, he said. “…I’m just… so excited to be doing this with you.”

The detective leaned back a bit, his body resting against the young lord’s as he looked out over the moors. “…So am I”, he eventually said. “…I am… very happy to be here with you.” The nobleman felt butterflies in his stomach like never before as he felt Sherlock leaning against him. It made him want to kick his feet in excitement.

“I feel a bit silly, really”, he admitted after a while, a bit embarrassed. “…I tend to feel like such a sentimental young lover whenever I think of you. It’s… all so new. And so exciting. I… I did not think that I would ever get to experience this in my life.” The detective let out a soft smile. “…You know, I have worked on many a case in which feelings were involved”, he said. “I remember being so… confused by how unreasonable people would act because of their emotions. I could not understand it. And so, I brushed it off as nonsense. But, well…” he sighed, shaking his head as he chuckled at himself. “…I think that it is starting to make sense to me now. A bit, at least.”

“I’m glad it is”, Henry replied. “…I am really glad. I…” He paused, gulping as he felt his heart beat in his chest from excitement. “…I’m glad that we are figuring this out together.” Sherlock laughed. “Believe me, my dear fellow,” he replied, “I have no idea what would have become of me if we weren’t.”

“But you don’t need to know”, the young lord whispered. “…Because we are doing this together.” He slowly put one arm around the detective as he held him close. “…And I hope that we can continue to do that.”

And he meant those words. By god, he wanted to figure out so much more with Sherlock. It felt like he had just stepped into a brand new world that was entirely foreign to him, and he wanted nothing more than for him and the detective to explore it together. In so many ways that Henry himself probably did not even know about yet. It frightened him. It frightened him to his very core. There was also a part of him that seemed to be emboldened by this promise of the unknown, though. And the nobleman wanted to get to know it better. Even if it would be frightening. They were going to have to take small steps. Henry knew that. But he was going to do it regardless. And the idea made him… absolutely delighted.

As they began to approach a grassy hill, the young lord slowly held Cinnamon to a halt, gracefully dismounting her before offering Sherlock his hand. “…We’re here”, he muttered quietly. “…I really wanted to show you this place.” The detective took Henry’s hand in his, holding on to it firmly as the nobleman helped him get down. “…It’s quiet here”, he observed after a while. “…I rather like it.”

The young lord blushed, not letting go of Sherlock’s hand. To the contrary, he gripped onto it even more intensely as soon as the detective had gotten to the ground. “Right? I… came across this spot while out riding a while back… I became fond of it ever since.”

He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he took in the fresh air. “I like being away from prying eyes here”, he sighed. “It can be… very hard to truly be alone back at the hall… Well, feel alone, that is… I just always feel watched. Judged. Berated. I… I just need an escape sometimes. And then I come here. To truly be alone.”

He looked back at the detective again, a warm, bubbly feeling rising up in his chest as he stared into his eyes. “Now, though…”, he muttered shyly, slowly raising Sherlock’s hand up to his lips. “…Now I’m here with you.” The detective’s eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement as he let the nobleman kiss his hand. “So from what I can gather, you feel less on edge like this?”, he asked, stroking the young lord’s hand with his thumb.

Henry nodded, averting his eyes to the ground. “…Yes”, he replied. “I do not know why, but it makes me less nervous. Less nervous about… this.” He gently cupped Sherlock’s face, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “…And this…”, he repeated, pecking him on the cheek, before letting his forehead rest against the detective’s. “…And this.” He closed his eyes, tenderly kissing Sherlock on the lips.

The detective smiled faintly. “…Do you have any idea how much you have been making me wait for this, Henry?”, he panted, greedily grasping onto the young lord’s shirt collar as he leaned in to kiss him back. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to feel those lips of yours against my skin, back when we were at the stables?” He seemed to be even more eager for physical contact than Henry was (which was something that the nobleman had deemed quite impossible before), pulling his body towards his as he hungrily planted little kisses all over the surface of the young lord’s face.

Henry felt his heart beat in his chest as he let the detective caress him like that, goosebumps appearing on his skin. Sherlock’s lips tasted like tobacco. The same tobacco he had smelled when he had found the detective calmly lounging and awaiting him back at the hall. It was very quickly becoming one of the young lord’s favourite scents. “…I wanted it too”, he whispered under his breath, letting his forehead rest against Sherlock’s. “I… I really did…” The detective stared into his eyes. “You try my patience, Henry. You really do.” The nobleman gulped, looking away. “…I know… and I’m so-”

Sherlock cut him off, pressing his finger against his lips and making shushing sounds. “…Hush, my boy. Hush.” He gently tucked a loose strand of hair away from Henry’s face, staring into his eyes. “…That is a good thing”, he said, softly kissing the young lord on the forehead. “…God knows that it is a good thing… because you make the waiting worth it. Each and every time.”

Henry was left starstruck, gazing at the detective’s face with a besotted look in his eyes. He did not know how to process all that had happened. “Hush, my boy.” The young lord did not quite know why, but it immediately made him quiet down and listen. There was something soothing about the way Sherlock said it. He wanted to hear it more. And he wanted to hear it coming from the detective. He wanted to be his. Completely. “Sherlock…”, he stammered, reaching for the detective’s jaw with trembling fingers. “I… I missed this… It… feels like it’s been so long…”

Sherlock grinned. “Yes, you are entirely correct”, he mused. “I estimate that it must have been at least six hours and thirty-seven minutes since our last kiss. Far too much time, if you ask me.” The young lord pouted, trying to seem indignant in spite of the all too apparent flushing of his face. “It… does sound rather silly when you put it like that, doesn’t it…”, he mumbled bashfully. The detective gave him a smile. “Fret not”, he assured him. “I was merely teasing. I… I feel the same way.” He paused, staring at Henry’s lips before letting out a longing sigh. “…I have missed the taste of your lips on mine like this for… a very long time.”

The young lord could not help but let out a giggle. “You are getting rather fond of that taste… aren’t you…?” Sherlock grasped onto the nobleman’s dark hair, twisting his fingers through it as he leaned in to kiss him again. “It’s not my fault”, he panted. “I cannot help but fall victim to it. Your lips taste too good. You… you just draw me in.”

He paused, staring into Henry’s eyes. “…It really is quite mesmerising to me, I must admit”, he uttered. “…This… grip you have on me. I… do not quite understand it yet.” The nobleman let out slow, shaky breaths, gulping as he let his fingers run through the detective’s soft, brown hair. “D-do… do we need to understand it…?”, he asked quietly, slowly sitting down in the dewy grass and guiding Sherlock with him. “…Do we need to understand it… in order to enjoy it…?”

The detective reached out for Henry’s shoulder, letting his hand rest on it as he stroked the young lord’s cheeks with the other. “N… no…”, he whispered, slowly shaking his head. “…No, we… we don’t.”

And with those words, he bent forward, pulling away the nobleman’s shirt collar to expose the surface of his throat’s skin and pressing his lips against it. Henry let out a gasp as he felt that sensation again. That same feeling he had noticed the last time Sherlock had kissed his neck like that.

He… did not quite know how to describe it. It almost felt like it was too much for his body to handle. To contain. It felt good. It felt so good. Between the sounds of the detective’s greedy breathing and the touch of his tongue against his skin, all that he experienced was a wild sense of bliss. It made his eyes widen in sheer ecstasy as all he could manage to let out was faint, incoherent ramblings. It made his skin crawl with excitement.

…It made him feel a warm, pulsing sensation in between his legs that he had never experienced quite so intensely ever before.

“Sh… Sherlock…!”, he cried out loudly, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a whimpering moan. He immediately froze in place as he heard the noise escaping him. He had no idea what had possessed him to make such a sound like that. It felt… vulgar. It frightened him. It all did. He did not know what was happening to him. What all these things that he was suddenly experiencing all at once were. It was… overwhelming. And he had no idea how he was supposed to react to it.

“…Sherlock…”, he gasped breathlessly, moving away with trembling limbs as he stared at the detective with a frightened look in his eyes. “M-my… my god…”

The detective’s grip on the young lord’s collar softened as he immediately stopped, breaking out of the kiss and staring into Henry’s eyes, worried. “Do you want me to stop, Henry?”, he asked him urgently. The nobleman began to tremble, wiping some sweat away from his forehead as he let out shaky breaths. “N-no…”, he sniffled, staggeringly shaking his head. “No, this… this is all I could h-have dreamed of… It’s just… I…” He looked at the ground, his face getting redder and redder as his lips began to quiver. “…You make me want you with such an intensity that I… I do not know how to react to it… and that frightens me.”

He looked back at the detective, a guilty look on his face. “…I’m sorry…”, he muttered. “…It’s not like I don’t… want you to do this… I- I want it. I want it so badly. I just…” He covered his face with his hands in shame, letting out a quiet sob. “I just wish I would not feel so… so horribly ashamed…”

“…Henry…” Sherlock gently put his hand on Henry’s shoulder, allowing the young lord some space while still bringing him comfort. “…Is this all right with you?” The nobleman looked up at him, sniffling. All he could do was nod. “If I am going too far, all you need to do is tell me”, the detective continued, softly stroking Henry’s shoulder. “…I want you, Henry. I want you… a lot. But that should never make you uncomfortable in any way. I… I would never forgive myself for doing that to you.”

The young lord stayed silent for a while, staring down at the ground as he absent-mindedly plucked some grass with his fingers. “…How am I supposed to handle it…?”, he eventually asked, a sombre tone coming from his voice. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Handle what, exactly?”, he enquired. Henry looked at his hands, before staring back at the detective. “…This desire”, he simply responded. “This… this burning feeling that I experience whenever you touch me. I feel like it's eating me alive… but I do not want it to stop. B-but I cannot just… do nothing with it, either.”

He paused, frowning. “…It’s why I yelled out your name just now. Or at least… that is what I think. I- I do not know how else I am supposed to explain it. W-why… why I would do such a thing.” He took a deep breath, his blush getting more and more intense with every passing second as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I- I want your lips, Sherlock… I always do… B-but I felt something that could not be quite satisfied by only kissing just now. A-and I don’t know what is happening to me-”

“Henry…” The detective’s began to make shushing noises, his soothing voice calming Henry down somewhat again. “Henry, listen to me… Are… are you perhaps… desiring me sexually…?” The young lord froze in place, his eyes widening in astonishment as he stared at Sherlock. “A-am I…?”, he stammered, a sense of fear coming from his voice.

The detective shrugged. “While I am quite qualified at deductions concerning various subjects, I am afraid that I cannot figure that out for you”, he said. “…I cannot decide for you how you are feeling.” Henry began to tremble, a chill running down his spine as he began to panic. “O-oh god…”, he stuttered, breathing heavily. “What… what if I am… Oh no…”

“Easy there, Henry”, Sherlock urged him, gently stroking the young lord’s back. “Easy. Deep breaths. We wouldn’t want you to faint again.” The nobleman did as he was told, trying to stay as calm as possible as he tried to keep his gaze fixed on the detective. Sherlock gave him a smile. “There we are”, he assured him. “It’s all good now. You have nothing to worry about… it’s just us here.”

Henry nodded, still shaking a bit as he kept staring at the detective. “Sherlock…”, he asked quietly, his hairs still standing on end from all the nerves. “What… what if I am desiring you sexually…? What then…?” The detective closed his eyes, thinking. “…Well, I suppose we would eventually act upon those desires”, he eventually said. “Just like we do when we want to kiss… when no one is around to see us, that is.”

The young lord gulped. “…It feels like so much more than kissing to me, though”, he muttered. “It… it seems like… a huge step.” Sherlock gently stroked his cheek. “If you do not want to do it, then we won’t”, he said plainly. “Simple as that. If it does not make you happy, then I do not want to do it. No matter how much I may want you.” Henry blushed bashfully, looking up at the detective meekly. “…Are… are you sure…?”, he asked. “…Are you sure that you are fine with that…?” Sherlock nodded. “I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life”, he said confidently. “I know that you are new to this, Henry. I know that it is daunting. I… I would not be able to live with myself if I forced you into anything you were not ready for.”

The nobleman stayed quiet for a while. He simply stared into the detective’s eyes, once again amazed by his compassion. His patience. How willing he was to give Henry the space he needed. It made him love him even more. It made him want to show him just how much he loved him even more intensely. And he would get to do that. Whenever he would be ready.

“…Sherlock…”, he whispered, blushing. “I… I would like nothing more than for you to… to b-be the one to take my virginity.” The detective’s eyes widened in surprise, before he became red in the face as well. “H-Henry…”, he stammered, being left absolutely speechless. The young lord nodded shakily, a sudden jolt of boldness rushing through him. “I- I would really like for you to be my first time, Sherlock”, he repeated. “When… when I’m ready, that is. I… I could not have my first kiss with you… so I feel like you do at least owe me this favour… if… if you would like that, as well…”

The detective rushed forward, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. “I would love that, Henry”, he whispered before excitedly kissing him on the cheek. “I… I would really love that… whenever you are ready.” Henry smiled, blushing furiously as he let himself be caressed by Sherlock. This… this felt good too. It felt very good. For perhaps the first time in ages, he let himself be held by the detective without any worries of being caught. A wave of relief washed over him as he made this realisation. He was with Sherlock. He was safe. And everything was going to be all right.

“…Whenever I’m ready.”

Chapter 13: A Mark

Summary:

Sherlock makes a rather startling observation.

The last day had been heaven.

It was all that was going through Sherlock’s mind as he sat in the main hall, having his breakfast and glancing over at Henry every now and then. The young lord would sometimes meet his gaze. They both blushed shyly every time that happened, words not necessary to explain the silent, hidden excitement both men were experiencing. Excitement that they could not completely show at the moment, but it was there regardless.

Even now, the detective was feeling butterflies in his stomach as he thought back to all the things that he and Henry had done together yesterday. Their conversation at the stables. The ride out on the moors. The nobleman’s legs firmly pressed against his body, making sure that he sat securely in his saddle. Sherlock had been very frightened back then, the prospect of riding on horseback always having seemed like a precarious undertaking to him, but Henry’s comfortability and confidence with the situation had been so wonderful that he would not mind having to experience it all over again. Not only that, but the young lord whisking him away from the prying eyes of all those people that would judge them and showing him this place that truly meant so much to him… it had all been so magical to the detective. He truly could find no words for it.

“Now, though… now I’m here with you.” Goosebumps went down Sherlock’s skin as he remembered the sound of Henry’s voice saying those words. As he remembered the things that had followed them. The young lord truly drove him insane. He made him absolutely delirious with desire. He made him want to rip off every single piece of clothing that sweet, innocent boy was wearing, hold his body and greedily kiss all of its bare surfaces.

…He made him want to do so much more.

And yet, he did not do any of these things. Not yet. No matter how desperately he craved them. No matter how many times Henry made him think the most vulgar things whenever he looked at him with those puppy dog eyes of his. No matter how much restraint it took. Sherlock absolutely refused to do it. Not until the young lord was ready for it as well.

He had seen the look of absolute horror in his eyes when he came to realise that the things he wanted to do with the detective might be starting to become more than just kissing. That he may be desiring him… physically. Henry had been terrified. Absolutely, completely terrified. And while Sherlock hoped that he had managed to explain to him that there was no reason to feel like that, he also understood that he was going to have to be extremely careful and delicate with the young lord when it came to these things. Patient and considerate. Just like he had tried to be when working out the nobleman’s problems before.

He hoped that he had made it clear to Henry that he should not feel bad for wanting to take things slowly. That he was not making him feel as if they needed to rush things. The idea of him doing that to the nobleman revolted him. It was wrong. It was vulgar. It was disgusting.

…He knew that all too well himself. He knew it… much too well.

The detective managed to tear his train of thought away from that subject. There was no use dwelling on it. From what he could tell, he had managed to assure the young lord that there was nothing wrong with doing this in small steps. That is what he deduced, at least. Henry had been comfortable the entire rest of the day, after all. And he had been happy to just keep it at kissing. As had Sherlock. He had been more than happy to keep it at that. Every excuse he got to feel the nobleman’s lips against his skin was an excuse that he took all too eagerly. And every time, it still felt as amazing as the last time. Perhaps even better.

Henry’s kisses were somewhat hesitant. They were clumsy. Sometimes even a bit messy. It was not very difficult to tell that he was not very experienced. And yet, they were soft. They were… so full of love. They made the detective feel more wonderful than any previous kiss in his life had ever managed to. Not that he knew much about kisses. He not really received them that much in his life. And when he had, they had not been proper ones. Not ones that made him feel the way the nobleman’s kisses did. Now that he had discovered the way they made him feel though, he never wanted them to stop. Ever.

Luckily for him, it seemed like Henry also very much enjoyed giving them. Once he would not have to worry about being seen by others, that is. Funnily, he seemed to enjoy receiving Sherlock’s caresses even more. And the detective was all too happy to fulfil all of his desires in that regard. In so many more, as well. Eventually.

It worked out quite well for them, really… once they were able to get away from others. Once they escaped away to their special place that only they knew of. Their safe haven. And by god, they had spent a lot of time there yesterday. Just them. Together. Lying in the grass. Telling each other secrets. Kissing each other’s hands. Their faces. Their lips. They must have been gone for multiple hours at least, but Sherlock would not have minded it if they had stayed for days. They could have stayed there for an eternity, and he would not have minded it at all.

When the nobleman had helped the detective back up on Cinnamon again, the sun was beginning to set again. It made the moors even more beautiful than they already were. It truly was a shame that he could not sit backwards in the saddle, because Sherlock would have spent the entire duration of their ride back to the Hall staring into Henry’s eyes sparkling in the sunset if he could have. But he had been forced to settle for just the eventual glance backwards every now and then. It would suffice, he supposed. The moors were also beautiful. But not as beautiful as his darling when he sat atop that horse of his.

It had become dark when they snuck back into the hall, silently giggling to each other like young schoolboys who were in love for the first time. They kind of were, Sherlock supposed. At least, it sure felt like that. He quietly smiled to himself as he made the comparison. They had walked up the stairs together, the young lord too distracted by the detective holding his hand that he did not even have time to anxiously glance at the portraits of his ancestors like he usually did as they walked past them. It had made Sherlock very happy to see him like that. He only hoped that he would be able to continue to help Henry break free from these shackles that chained him to his predecessors’ pasts.

They had walked into the young lord’s bedroom together without even uttering a single word or sharing one glance. They just both knew. They knew what they wanted and they felt no need to discuss it. It had truly felt amazing. The detective was starting to get tired at this point and so the two of them had sleepily stepped into Henry’s bed together, both of them needing sleep after their little adventure. Sherlock only vaguely remembered being held tightly by the young lord, feeling his arms lovingly wrapped around him before sinking away into a deep, peaceful sleep. And they had both slept until the morning.

So now, they were sitting here again, breakfasting. The detective was quite delighted to find that they also had a copy of the daily paper here, newspaper reading being a rather important part of his morning routine that he hated to be tampered with in any sort of way, and so he calmly read through the headlines as he ate his toast under the watchful eye of Mrs. Barrymore.

Despite his insistence that there was no need for it, the Hall’s housekeeper had not stopped her habit of making sure that Sherlock was taking good care of himself. Luckily, she had not made any comments about him going to bed recently, but he supposed that Henry had that part well taken care of. Instead, she had now begun to keep a close watch on how much the detective was eating, and not being afraid of letting him know when he was being ‘neglectful’ of himself.

Sherlock still did not fully fathom why she was so hellbent on ensuring this, and he would not pretend to understand it. Thanks to the nobleman’s words, he could at least tell that she was doing this because she was worried, though. And while that very fact still puzzled him, it at least made it a bit easier to tolerate Mrs. Barrymore constantly fussing over him, even if he still did feel like he was being patronised sometimes. Besides, her cooking was absolutely amazing. He did not mind having to take a few extra bites of it if it would mean that she would be less worried about him.

Henry covered his mouth before letting out a sleepy yawn, groggily rubbing his eyes. “You know, Holmes…”, he mumbled, “I still do not understand how you can manage to wake up so quickly each and every morning.” Sherlock smiled, putting down his newspaper and looking straight at the young lord. “My dear fellow,” he replied, smirking slightly, “rising early is of vital importance when practicing my profession. And a whole lot of others as well, no doubt. The early bird gets the worm, as they say.” The nobleman let out a soft groan, stretching his limbs before taking another bite of his breakfast. “Well… I think I am very happy that I practice none of those professions, then”, he replied. “I would have been in quite a lot of trouble, otherwise.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. Something was off. Something about Henry. He had mostly seen the man from the corner of his eye up until now, having mostly focused on his newspaper, but now that he was looking straight at him, he could definitely spot something that had not been quite there before. If only he could see what.

He took a good look at the young lord, making a note of every single detail that he noticed. Henry’s hair was messy and it was parted a bit more to the left than usual, most likely due to him not having properly brushed his hair yet. His shirt sleeves were somewhat wrinkled. He had some bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth. None of these things were peculiar enough to warrant this odd feeling that Sherlock was experiencing. They deviated from the norm, but these were all easily explainable.

And then the detective realised what was off. His eyes widened in astonishment as he made the realisation.

…There was a small bruise mark on the left side of Henry’s neck.

Sherlock let out a sudden, sharp inhaling noise, his entire body freezing in place as he saw it. A furious blush began to spread across his face as he felt himself getting warmer and warmer. The young lord and both the Barrymores all turned to look at him. “Is something the matter?”, Henry immediately asked, raising his eyebrows in alarm at the detective’s rather abrupt reaction. “Is… is everything all right?” The housekeepers did not say anything, but both of them looked at him with concerned looks on their faces.

Sherlock simply took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure before turning to look at his paper again. “…Something in the stop press”, he lied, sweating. “I- I found something that might be of significance to a mystery I am working on back in London.” That reply seemed to calm the nobleman down somewhat. “Ah, I… I see”, he said, nodding. “Dear god, you frightened me there, Holmes. I thought you were going to faint on the spot there.”

“Rest assured, there is no need for that”, the detective replied. He glanced over at the Barrymores, but they seemed to have been satisfied with his reply as well. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. They did not seem to have noticed Henry’s love bite, either. Thank god. It was not hidden very well, though. Sherlock doubted that it would take long for them to see it. He had to let the young lord know. Somehow.

He pretended to go back to reading his newspaper again, but he promptly kicked the nobleman’s leg under the table, giving him a quick, discreet glance. The young lord let out a short, quick wincing noise, a cross expression spreading across his face, but he quieted down as soon as he saw the look in the detective’s eyes. He understood that there was something going on that they could not talk about openly. Not right now.

Sherlock continued to eat the rest of his breakfast, but he could not help but feel a restless feeling creeping up his back all the while doing so. He was not at ease at all. He needed to get away from here. At once. And so did the young lord. The idea of the Barrymores finding out about what they had been doing the day before worried him extremely. He did not even know how poor Henry would react to it. He would most likely be terrified. But the detective did not like thinking about all those possibilities. It simply could not happen. It was the only solution he could think of. He needed the nobleman to go back to his room with him as quickly as possible. He quickly finished his breakfast, folded up his newspaper, and stood up. “…If you’ll excuse me”, he simply mumbled, before promptly walking out of the room.

***

“What… what’s wrong, Sherlock?” Henry stood in front of the detective, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he definitely seemed to have become worried after Sherlock’s odd behaviour during breakfast. “Was… was there really something in the paper?” The detective simply shook his head. He did not quite know how he was supposed to explain himself to the young lord. He did not even know if he would realise just what this whole situation meant. “No, that was a lie”, he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Henry, I… I do not know how to put this. Um… I would simply advise you to take a look at your neck in the mirror.”

The nobleman raised his eyebrows. “My… neck…?”, he asked, somewhat confused. “All… all right…” He walked over to the washing room, looking at himself in the mirror in front of which he usually tied his tie in the morning. “…I don’t know what you are talking about, Sherlock”, he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “I cannot spot anything out of the-”

He took a long pause, slowly turning his neck so that he could fully see the small bruise that blemished it. His fingers began to tremble as they shakingly brushed over the love bite. “…o-ordinary…”, he finished, his words suddenly not sounding as confident as they were mere seconds ago at all.

Sherlock stepped into the room as well. “Do you understand what I mean, now?”, he asked. Henry turned to look at him, a look of panic on his face. “Sherlock, h-how …”, he stammered, his eyes widening in fear, “how did this… g-get here…? I… I don’t recall ever being… hurt here…”

The detective could not help but grin as he heard Henry say those words. The young lord truly seemed like he had no idea how he could have ended up with a love bite like that. Not even after the countless greedy kisses he had received last night. His cluelessness was… absolutely adorable. It was too much for Sherlock to be able to contain himself. He simply couldn’t.

He took a few steps towards the young lord, grabbing him by the shirt collar, pulling him down and kissing his throat right where the bruise had appeared. “…Does this bring back any memories, my dear Henry?”, he growled softly. “Does this… explain anything?” The nobleman let out a gasp. “Do… do you m-mean to say…”, he stuttered, his face turning redder and redder, “…that y-you did this…?”

“…I suppose you could say that”, Sherlock hummed, gently nuzzling Henry’s neck. He could feel the sweat that was slowly starting to drip down the young lord’s skin from the nerves. It drove him completely wild. “Mind you, I had no intention of leaving behind such a mark. I… I suppose I might have gotten a bit too excited while kissing you yesterday.” He moved away from the nobleman’s throat, tenderly running his finger over the bridge of Henry’s nose. “…It’s called a love bite… have you ever heard of it, Henry?”

The young lord blushed. “L-love bite…?”, he gasped. “N-no… I had never heard of such a thing… but…” He covered his face with his hands, though the detective was able to notice that he was softly smiling underneath. “…it feels exciting, somehow…” He softly ran his fingers over the bruise again, giggling bashfully as he stared into Sherlock’s eyes. “…It makes me feel like I belong to you even more…”

The detective raised his eyebrows, Henry’s reaction surprising him. He had expected the nobleman to be having a full-on panic attack as soon as he had explained what this bruise meant to him. This did not appear to be the case, though. No, he… he was absolutely thrilled to have gotten this love bite, from what Sherlock could tell. In all honesty… it astonished him.

“N-no one else has noticed… right…?”, Henry asked. He was basically trembling with excitement at this point, though there was also definitely an underlying tone of nervousness that the detective was picking up on. “It… it can stay our little secret…?” Sherlock nodded. “If anyone else would have seen it, you would have known, believe me”, he said laconically. “…But that is why I wanted you to get away from breakfast as soon as possible. It’s… not especially well-hidden.” Henry gulped, his excitement seeming to die down somewhat as he realised the situation they were in. “R… right…”, he stammered, looking down at the ground. “…Are… are we going to get into trouble, Sherlock…?”

The detective looked at the young lord’s face. Henry was becoming scared again. Sherlock could see tears slowly building up in those gorgeous eyes of his, as his lips were starting to quiver. The detective could not stand to see him like that. Especially not after yesterday. “…No, Henry”, he assured him, taking the nobleman’s face in his hands and turning it to look at him. “No, we are not. Not if we are smart about this.” The young lord let out a sniffle. “But h-how…?”, he asked. “…How are we going to be able to hide this…?”

Sherlock took the collar of Henry’s shirt in his hands, pressing it up against his neck and narrowing his eyes. “…It won’t be as noticeable if you properly close the top button of your shirt”, he observed. “Especially if you wear a tie with it.” The young lord gulped. “R-really?”, he asked. “Do you really think that that will be enough…?” “If I won’t be able to notice it, I would not worry”, the detective said plainly. “Most people are far less observant, my dear fellow.” Henry nodded. “V-very well then”, he said. “I- I’d better go grab a tie, then-”

“Henry.” Sherlock stopped the young lord from walking out of the room by pressing his hand against his chest. “…Please...” He walked back into the young lord’s bedroom, grabbed one of his black ties, and walked back up to him. “…Allow me.” The nobleman’s eyes widened in surprise as he began to blush. “…All right…”, he muttered quietly.

“…Thank you.” The detective tenderly ran his fingers over the surface of Henry’s neck, softly caressing his love bite and looking at it fondly. He could not help but feel very pleased with himself, now that he saw it properly. He had left that there. That was his doing. A tangible mark of his fiery passion and affection for the young lord.

The nobleman began to chuckle softly. “…What are you smiling at…?”, he asked, blushing clumsily. Sherlock gave him a smug smirk. “Oh, it’s nothing”, he said. “…Just the fact that you have officially been marked as mine now, and there is no escaping it.” He could feel the surface of Henry’s skin getting warmer as those words came out of his mouth. It only aroused him even further. He leaned forward and kissed the love bite again. “…It drives me insane, you know”, he softly growled.

The young lord gulped, twisting his fingers through the detective’s auburn hair. “Sh… Sherlock…”, he gasped, scratching his lover’s scalp. “Sherlock, I wish that you could mark me more like that… I wish that everyone could be able to see it without having to ostracise us… I- I just wish that I could let the entire world know that I want to be devoted to you… and you alone…”

The detective smiled approvingly as he heard those words, letting out low, soft hums as he began to nuzzle Henry’s neck again. “You know, you are really tempting me to leave another mark like that with those words of yours”, he said smugly. “…Perhaps I’ll do it again if you continue to be a good boy.” The nobleman’s breathing was starting to get shaky. “…Please do…”, he whimpered. “…Please… I want nothing more…”

Sherlock pressed one last kiss against Henry’s bruise, before managing to tear himself away from that angelic body of his. “It seems like we share the same opinion then, my dear fellow”, he said. The young lord pouted slightly. “…Why’d you stop…?”, he asked timidly. The detective gave him a smirk as he began to close the top button of the nobleman’s shirt. “If I do not practise self-control, you’re going to end up with dozens of those love bites in no time”, he teased. “Even I can see that some restraint would be wise in this case.”

Henry let out a sigh. “…I wish all the caution would not be necessary”, he said melancholically. “…It just pains me that we have to hide everything… But I suppose that that is part of living in Devonshire…” Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he began to delicately tie the nobleman’s tie. “…In what way?”, he enquired.

The young lord shrugged. “A better question would be to ask in what way it isn’t part of living here”, he sighed. “It’s not a big village. Everyone knows each other. Rumours spread like wildfire here. I remember the first few weeks after you solved the whole case with the Stapletons… Believe me, you do not want to hear what nonsense they were spouting about what had happened. None of it was true. And yet, it seemed as if everyone had heard at least one story about what had happened. I… I cannot even imagine the things they would say about me once word gets out that someone gave me… well, this.” He pointed at his neck to illustrate his point.

The detective frowned, still busy ensuring that the knot he had tied was absolutely perfect. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that”, he said, adjusting the tie. “If there is anything that I hate, it would be gossip. While it is a great way to pick up on clues while investigating, its unfactual nature infuriates me. There we go…” He let go of Henry’s tie, scratching his chin as he looked at the fruits of his labour. “…All hidden. Nothing to worry about.” The young lord blushed. “…Thank you…” He took Sherlock’s hands in his, kissing them softly. “…I just hope that we won’t have to hide ourselves one day… That we’ll be able to escape all this personal judgement we would receive here…”

The detective raised his eyebrows. “…Well, that can be achieved quite easily, can’t it…?”, he asked, tilting his head. “I do not see how that would be difficult at all. That last part, at least.” Henry let out a hopeless sigh, frowning. “…Please, tell me how, then”, he said desperately. “…Because I don’t know how to escape this… and I feel like I am going to slowly die away if I keep having to deal with it.” Sherlock put his arms around the young lord, letting his head lean against his chest. “…It’s quite simple, really”, he said, looking up at him.

“…Let me take you away to London.”

Chapter 14: Sherlock's Plan

Summary:

Sherlock explains his little proposal to Henry.

“L-London?!” Henry practically yelled out the words, his eyes widening in astonishment. Sherlock looked up at him, pressing his finger against his lips. “Hush, Henry. The whole house is going to hear you before I’ve properly explained myself.” The young lord scratched the back of his head, blushing furiously. “…Right…”, he mumbled, twiddling his thumbs. “I- I’m sorry…” The detective gave him a smile. “It’s quite all right, my boy. Quite all right indeed.”

The nobleman gulped again. He did not know why, but every time Sherlock would call him ‘boy’, it sent shivers down his spine… but in a good way. He knew that this term of endearment was not just reserved for him. The detective had used similar words to refer to his friend Watson, for instance. Still, it… it felt really special to him. Sherlock was right. Henry was his boy. His and his alone. And the fact that they both knew it made the young lord’s heart go all aflutter. “…All right, then…”, he mumbled hesitantly, smoothing his hair down as he looked down at the detective. “What… what are you proposing, exactly…?”

Sherlock’s grip on the nobleman tightened, a devious smile spreading across his face as he let out a chuckle. “…I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, you know”, he began, before letting out a sigh. “…As much as I would like to, I cannot stay here indefinitely… I have my work as a consultant detective to return to. Sadly, I cannot rely on my family’s income like you to guarantee my meals.” Henry looked away, a melancholic frown spreading across his face. “…Right… I… I almost forgot about that…” He nervously tugged at his shirt’s sleeve, a guilty feeling rising up in his chest. “Sherlock, I… I haven’t gotten you into any trouble, have I…?”

The detective shook his head, reaching for the young lord’s jaw and gently stroking it. “No Henry, you haven’t… please don’t distress yourself over that. I chose to come here and stay with you myself. Besides, it has not been disastrously long. I will be able to manage, somehow. I am afraid that I will not be able to stay in Devonshire for that long anymore, though.”

Henry let out a disappointed sigh as he heard those words. He knew that it was very unrealistic to think that Sherlock had as much free time as he had. Not everyone was as privileged as he was. He knew that. He knew that very well. He had always been very self-conscious about how unfair it all was. And in all honesty… most of the time, he did not feel like he even deserved all the privileges he had as an aristocrat. There were so many wonderful people in the world that would have deserved it so much more. But he… he was just Henry Baskerville. A disappointment in many ways. How it came to be him out of all people that would benefit from this unfair system was still a mystery to him. But he supposed that fate had a tendency to be unexpected like that.

“However.” Sherlock snapped his fingers, the sound of which alerted Henry enough for his train of thought to be distracted from this bout of gloominess. He looked back down at the detective, somewhat startled, and saw him having raised his pointer finger at him. Sherlock only gave him a soft smirk, seeing that he had managed to grab the young lord’s attention. “That’s were my proposal comes into play”, he continued.

He took the nobleman’s hands in his, squeezing them tightly as he took a deep breath. “…I want to take you with me to London, Henry…”, he uttered quietly. “…I want to whisk you away from Dartmoor’s prying eyes. From the feeling of your ancestors constantly judging you. From the expectations placed upon you because of your position as the Hall’s new lord.” He leaned against Henry’s body again, softly whispering as he began to nuzzle the young lord’s hands. “I want to show you the big city, Henry. I want to show you all my favourite places and the bustling city life… I want to make memories with you there, Henry… Please allow me to do that…”

The nobleman began to blush furiously as he heard Sherlock’s gentle words. He could feel his love bite burning ever so slightly under his shirt’s collar as sweat dripped down his forehead. What… what the detective was proposing almost sounded like a fairytale to him. It sounded like everything he could possibly want. It almost sounded too good to be true.

“…Where would I be staying…?”, he asked shyly. Sherlock let out a chuckle. “Why, isn’t that obvious, my dear fellow?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow somewhat amusedly. “Baker Street, of course. Whyever shouldn’t you stay with me?” Henry’s eyes widened in excitement as he heard that. “Y-you mean that…”, he stuttered, his entire body tensing up as he felt his heart beating loudly in his chest. “…You mean that I- I’ll be able to… to stay at your home?”

The detective nodded. “Why, of course”, he replied. “Mind you, I do not have the luxury of owning a spare bedroom. So we are going to have to share a bed… but I doubt that you are going to have issues with that, aren’t you?” As he asked that last question, he cheekily flicked the young lord on the nose, smirking mischievously.

Henry’s head was in too much of a whirl for him to properly respond for a while. Sherlock… he had just asked him to stay with him at his place of residence… and for them to sleep in his bed together… It… it was too amazing to be true. Entirely too amazing. He shakily reached for his face with his hand, pinched his cheek and winced as he felt the pain. He… he was not dreaming. This was actually happening. My god. This was actually happening. The young lord almost felt like he was going to burst apart from sheer excitement.

“I… I’m not…”, he stammered eventually. “…I’m not going to have issues with that at all… Oh my god…” He squeezed his eyes shut, giggling delightfully as he wrapped his arms around the detective’s body and passionately kissed him all over his face. “I- I would like that so much, Sherlock… You have no idea how much I would like that…” Tears of joy were slowly starting to roll down his cheeks as he let his forehead rest against Sherlock’s, smiling softly. “Loving you is like a dream come true, Sherlock… It really is… You manage to astound me each and every day with how amazing you are… Oh my god…”

The detective let out a slight snort as he smiled to himself wistfully. “…You flatter me too much, Henry”, he sighed. Henry shook his head. “No Sherlock, I’m not. You are a wonderful person. It’s not your fault that most people are unable to see that. That most people make you feel the need to put on a mask, because they would be unable to appreciate the man that you truly are. I love that man, Sherlock. I love him very dearly.” He ran his hands through Sherlock’s hair, before kissing him on the forehead. “…I love him more than anyone else in the world… And I would love to go to London with him.”

The detective looked up at him. “…So you think my plan is a good one, then…?”, he asked hopefully. The young lord smiled, affectionately nuzzling the top of his lover’s head. “Of course I do, you silly man”, he said lovingly. “How am I ever supposed to say no to you?” Sherlock chuckled, getting up on the tips of his toes to give the nobleman a peck on the cheek. “Perhaps I am just too charismatic…”, he sighed dramatically, smirking as he stared into Henry’s eyes. “It cannot be helped, I suppose. What other choice do you have?”

The young lord laughed loudly as he observed the detective’s antics. “Oh my god, you are actually insufferable”, he said, rolling his eyes. “…And yet, you are right…” He paused, blushing bashfully. “…I really do have no choice but to fall for you.” Sherlock gave Henry a soft smile, staring into his deep, dark eyes fondly as he let out a swooning sigh. “…I can say the same about you”, he admitted after a while. “…As much as I would like to say otherwise, I cannot deny you anything, my dear Henry. I have fallen victim to that look of yours. You are too precious to say no to…” He closed his eyes, pressing his face against the young lord’s chest. “…I do hope that you will not make ill use of that information.”

Henry giggled mischievously. “No promises, Sherlock.” The detective grinned as he looked up at him. “I am going to have to quiet you down by locking lips with you if you continue like that, my dear fellow…” He gently pushed the young lord up against the washing sink, an impish smirk on his face. “You have been warned.”

The nobleman gulped, his face getting redder and redder as he leaned against the sink. Sherlock was already completely dressed. He himself was only in his blouse. He could not quite put his finger on it, but something about the situation made him feel dizzy. The detective had not properly brushed his hair yet, so his hair was still a bit dishevelled in some places. It made him look… strangely attractive. In all fairness, Sherlock was always attractive. But Henry had not seen him like this quite that often just yet. And something about that felt… wildly excited.

“…What if I want that…”, he asked timidly. “Wh-what if I want you to kiss me… right now…” The detective raised his eyebrows. “Even after I kissed you just a few minutes ago?”, he asked, teasingly. “Oh dear, you are growing quite fond of the touch of my lips, aren’t you?” Henry squeezed his eyes shut, sweat dripping down his forehead as he felt that strange sensation in between his legs again. “Yes, I- I am… Please, don’t tease me like this, Sherlock… I want you… I want you so much that I do not know what I am supposed to do with myself… Just… just kiss me… please… I- I don’t care if you leave behind a thousand marks on my skin for everyone to see, just…” He paused, whimpering softly as tears began to well up in his eyes. “…Just kiss me…”

He did not hear any reply coming from Sherlock for a while. He did not know how he should expect him to react to this request of his, in all honesty. He knew that it was not a very smart idea to ask the detective to kiss him right after he had gone through all the effort of covering up the love bite he had received yesterday. He did not care about that, though. He did not care about things being rational. He did not care about things making sense. He did not care about things being acceptable. All he knew was the things he was feeling right now. And he felt such a strong desire for Sherlock that he simply had to feel his physical touch.

He opened his teary eyes again, staring at the detective, expecting him to be hesitant about the request he had just made. That did not seem to be the case, though. Sherlock simply looked into his eyes, a strange look on his face. It was one of adoration. Of devotion. Of… of love.

“Henry…”, he whispered, slowly reaching out to the young lord and playing with his soft, dark hair. “My dearest Henry… My sweet boy… My darling… Of course I’ll kiss you…”

The young lord felt goosebumps going down his skin as he heard the detective call him those things. “D-did…”, he stammered, his breathing becoming shaky as Sherlock was inching closer and closer to his face. “Did you just… call me ‘darling’?” The detective stopped and blinked multiple times, almost as if he did not even fully realise what he had said just now. “…I did… didn’t I…?”, he asked, smiling clumsily. Henry nodded, his eyes sparkling with delight as he began to blush furiously. “Yes… yes, you did… oh my god… ‘darling’… I- I don’t know how to contain myself…”

Sherlock smiled, his lips inches away from the young lord’s skin at this point. “…Then don’t”, he whispered. “…Because I certainly won’t.” And with that, he grabbed onto Henry’s face, pulled him down and kissed him on the lips.

The nobleman squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his lover as soon as he felt the touch of his lips brushing against his. He whimpered softly, clumsily caressing the detective with soft, gentle strokes as he let him kiss him as much as he wanted to. Sherlock forced him back further and further, bending his back more and more as he kissed every bare inch of Henry’s body. He began to pant heavily as he let out a soft growl, kissing the nobleman’s throat and nipping ever so gently at it.

The young lord let out soft, shaky breaths as he felt the detective’s teeth brushing against the surface of his neck. He had expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. At all. To the contrary, he… he felt amazing. There it was again. That feeling in between his legs. It made his eyes roll back in pleasure as he clenched his jaw, not quite sure how he was supposed to handle all these sensations he was experiencing. “Sherlock…”, he moaned, unconsciously spreading his legs ever so slightly as he clung onto the detective’s body, rubbing his erection against him. “Sherlock, what… what are you doing to me…”

Sherlock paused. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”, he asked somewhat anxiously. Henry shook his head, whimpering as he felt his face getting sweatier and sweatier. “No, it… it feels good, but…” He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Dear god, I… I’m afraid that you are going to make me scream out in pleasure if you continue like that… It’s… it’s too much for me to just… sit quietly and take it… I- I’m not sure how… h-how I should… properly react to it without… people noticing…”

The detective gently stroked the nobleman’s face, playing with his hair before softly pressing his lips against his forehead. “I do apologise”, he said, smiling clumsily. “…I sometimes forget that there are other people in the house with us.” Henry sighed, smiling wistfully. “…I sometimes wish that it was just us in here”, he admitted. “Then we could kiss everywhere in the Hall, without a care in the world… wherever we wanted… whenever we wanted…” Sherlock pushed a lock of hair away from the young lord’s face, twirling it between his fingers before smoothing down his hair. “…You know, you’ll have less worries about that in London”, he murmured.

Henry raised his eyebrows. “…You think so…?”, he asked. “How?” The detective smiled, taking the young lord’s hand in his and leading him back to the bedroom. “London is much larger than, say, Devonshire”, he explained. “Back here, everyone knows each other, just like you said. It’s particularly difficult to keep secrets. You won’t have those problems in London.”

He sat down on the nobleman’s bed, interlacing his fingers and pressing them against his chin as a thoughtful look spread across his face. “There is such a multitude of people that you will not stand out. There’s a bit more… anonymity, I suppose. Less personal gossip that spreads around. Surely, you might have experienced it a bit already, when you were there during your stay at the Northumberland hotel?”

Henry scratched the back of his head, looking down at the ground before sitting down next to Sherlock. “…Didn’t get to experience the city that much, really”, he admitted, shrugging. “I was only there for a few days, and I did not really leave my room much, given the amount of people that were telling me that my life was in danger. I…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “…I was a bit scared to go out into the streets of London by myself, really. Especially after that…” He scowled, a horrid feeling creeping up his back. “…that encounter with the… tarantula. In all honesty… I have always regretted the fact that I was not able to properly see the city by myself back then.”

The detective gave him a kind smile. “Well, we’ll be able to go there together, now”, he said, holding onto the young lord’s hand. “…I cannot wait to show you around…” He leaned forward, whispering into the nobleman’s ear: “…I think it might also help you with, well… figuring out your desires, if you know what I mean.” Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he heard that, his heart skipping a beat as he began to feel butterflies in his stomach. “Y-you mean… sexually…?”, he asked, saying that last word as if he was going to be struck down by God himself for even daring to utter it. Sherlock nodded. “Well, yes”, he replied. “There would not be anyone around to judge you, you know… it’d just be us. And no one would be any the wiser about it.”

The young lord blushed, looking down and staring at the bulge in his trousers that was slowly starting to ebb away again. “I- I hope so…”, he mumbled. “…I really hope it will…” He sighed, dreamily staring out of the window. “You know, Sherlock… It really surprises me just how much you have… opened my eyes… Just a few weeks ago, I did not even know about… well, the possibility that two men could… love each other… the way we do… It really showed me… just how sheltered my upbringing has been.”

He held onto the detective’s hand with both of his, blushing furiously as he stared into at his face with an excited sparkle in his eyes. “…And while that is a hard realisation to make, you’ve… you’ve shown me so much already, Sherlock… You have taught me so much.. a-about what this is that we are figuring out together… I really cannot thank you enough, Sherlock… I truly can’t… A-and I can only hope that you can continue to teach me things… for a very long time… Thank you, Sherlock… thank you for… for opening my eyes…”

Sherlock kissed Henry’s hand, nuzzling it fondly. “This is nothing, Henry”, he muttered, closing his eyes. “This is nothing compared to the things I want to show you once we get to London. Once I whisk you away from these chains that bind you that your ancestors laid upon you.” He paused, staring into the young lord’s eyes as a blush began to spread across his cheeks.

“…Please let me whisk you away, Henry… Let me show you the real world.”

Chapter 15: Before I was ready

Summary:

A conversation about boundaries makes Sherlock share a detail from his past to Henry.

Notes:

Disclaimer: this chapter contains mentions and detailing of a toxic relationship.

“So, how many of these checkered suits do you own, exactly?” Sherlock looked over at Henry as he was looking through his clothes, a teasing smirk on his face. They had both begun to pack their things for their venture to London tomorrow, and the repetitiveness of the young lord’s wardrobe was something that had begun to stand out to the detective. Henry looked up at him, seemingly having been snapped out of his thoughts. “Sorry, what did you say just then?”, he asked. Sherlock let out a chuckle. “I asked you how many checkered suits you own, my dear Henry”, he repeated. “If I did not know any better, I would say that they are about the only thing you wear.”

Now that he thought about it, it surprised him that he did not even feel the slightest hint of annoyance as he repeated himself. If there was anything he hated more than anything else in the world, it would be having to repeat his words. Especially when explaining something. Lately, it seemed that he found himself unconsciously extending leniency to the nobleman, though.

It was not that surprising, he supposed. The young lord was too precious to him. How could he possibly find himself frustrated with someone as sweet as his darling Henry? And especially for such a small thing as well… The detective softly scoffed at himself as he thought this over. He was starting to get soft as of late, whenever he was around the nobleman. But perhaps, that was to be interpreted as a good thing.

Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise as a soft blush spread across his cheeks. “I… don’t know, really…”, he mumbled, looking over his clothes. “…I suppose I just like wearing them. If it works, it just… works, you know… I am not particularly fond of having to think too much about what I am going to wear for the day. And the texture of these suits is really nice as well… Not to mention the fact that when you are as tall as I am, your choices are… a lot more limited.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “…It’s funny, really… It never really stood out to me until you mentioned it… I guess that’s yet another testament to your observation skills, Sherlock.” The detective laughed. “My dear fellow, you know by now that I pride myself on my perception. It is only natural that I should pick up on such a detail. Besides…” His grin changed into an even more devious one as he walked over to the nobleman, embracing him from behind and pressing his face against his back. “I never said that it was a bad thing, my dear… To the contrary… you look exquisite in them.”

Sherlock could feel Henry’s entire body tensing up. “Wha- Sherlock, I-”, he stammered, but his objections soon simmered down as he leaned into the detective’s embrace and his muscles relaxed again. “…You startled me there, Sherlock…”, he muttered, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Am I wrong though?”, Sherlock retorted, cocking an eyebrow as he nuzzled the back of the young lord’s neck. The nobleman shyly scratched the back of his head. “I- I suppose not…”, he hesitantly admitted. “I mean, you are very rarely in the wrong… but it feels a bit… weird to be saying that about myself…”

“Allow me to tell you, then”, the detective replied, pressing Henry closer to him and softly pressing his lips against his neck. “You are so beautiful, my darling. You are absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with you sleeping in my arms, and I wonder what I could have possibly done to be lucky enough to receive the affection of such a captivating young man as you are. I have found you to be beautiful ever since I first laid eyes upon you, and that belief has only further cemented itself into my consciousness as time has passed.” He paused, closing his eyes and pressing his face against Henry neck, inhaling his scent. “…I hope you realise that.”

Sweat was starting to run down the young lord’s skin. “Sherlock, I- I don’t know what to say-” Sherlock smiled, tracing his finger down the nobleman’s neck as he made shushing noises. “That’s all right, my dear Henry. Words are not always necessary.” Henry gulped, his breathing starting to become shaky as he hesitantly looked behind himself. “M-Mrs. Barrymore said that she would come to help us pack soon…”, he muttered. “Please… be careful… I… I don’t want her walking in on us…”

“Is this too much, Henry?”, the detective asked, raising an eyebrow and staring directly into the young lord’s eyes. “If so… just tell me, and I won’t pursue this matter any further.” The nobleman took a deep breath, a conflicted look on his face. “…I don’t know what I want…”, he whimpered. “I- I like the way it feels, but…” He paused, looking at his bedroom door and sighing melancholically. “…The thought of being walked in on terrifies me… E-especially now that we are about to go to London together… They’ll immediately know what we intend to do there if they see us like this…” He clenched his jaw, his eyes full of longing, though Sherlock could also see bitter tears welling up in them. “…It’s not like I am not enjoying this, Sherlock… I- I’m just… scared…”

The detective immediately broke his embrace and stepped away. “Very well. I’ll stop, then. I do apologise if I caused you… any discomfort.” A mournful frown spread across Henry’s face as he looked down at the ground in shame. “…I don’t want to seem like I am rejecting your advances, Sherlock…”, he mumbled guiltily. “…I want them… God, I want them… My heart feels like it is crying out for your touch, it’s just…” He covered his face with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. “…Damn all this secrecy…”

“Henry.” Sherlock let his hand rest on the young lord’s shoulder, his piercing gaze directed straight at him. “Henry, look at me. I want you to listen very carefully.” The nobleman looked up at him, sniffling. “Your boundaries are of vital importance to me, Henry”, the detective continued. “I would much rather have you tell me that you do not want me to do something than see you in discomfort, all because you wanted to satisfy me.” He paused, frowning as he looked away. “…I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”

Henry sighed, his shoulders slumping down. “I- I know that you told me that I should not feel bad for not wanting to rush things…”, he sighed. “…But I want this. I want to feel your touch. I-it’s not that I am not ready for it… it feels more like others are not ready to accept… well, what we do together. As two men. And that is why I am afraid. Not because I do not want this… I do not want you to get the wrong idea… A-and I want to satisfy you. I want to be good for you. And I… I feel like I am failing at that…”

Sherlock took the young lord’s hand in his and gently kissed it. “Rest assured, I am not getting the wrong idea, my darling. Nor do I think that you are doing a poor job at satisfying me. I understand. I understand it very well. I… I just want you to know that your boundaries are important… and that they should be respected.” He let go of the nobleman’s hand, letting out a sigh. Turning to look away, he felt a horrible, anxious feeling building up in his chest as he frowned. “…I do not want to rush things too quickly with you. At all. Only bad things will come from it.”

They both stayed silent for a while after that. Henry sat down on his bed, staring down at the ground as he let his hands rest in his lap. “…You speak as if you have experience with that”, he eventually remarked.

The detective grimaced, glancing back at the nobleman. “An astute observation, my dear fellow”, he said. “I must commend you on your deduction… That is because I do.”

He frowned, rubbing his forehead as he let out another sigh. He did not want to be thinking about this at all. It had been quite a while ago by now. He thought that he had gotten over it. But ever since he had kissed Henry, he realised that that was not true at all. And he did not know how he was supposed to feel about it.

The young lord raised his eyebrows in surprise, a worried look on his face as he just stared at Sherlock. “Would… would you like to talk about it…?”, he asked hesitantly. The detective gulped. He had not anticipated this conversation going in this direction. Henry was asking him questions about a subject that he would have ideally buried deep within him, never to see the light of day ever again. He supposed that the nobleman had a right to know, though. If he was to be with him… it would be better if he came clean about this.

He sighed, sitting down besides Henry and running his hands through his hair. “…Before I begin, it is a rather convoluted tale”, he muttered. The young lord gave him a kind smile, letting his head rest against his shoulder. “I don’t mind”, he said. “It’s the least I could do for you, after all the things you have done for me.” Sherlock gave him a wistful smile, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he realised once again just how much he loved his dear Henry. “Very well then…”, he sighed, tapping his fingertips against each other anxiously. “…But don’t say that I did not warn you.”

He closed his eyes, frowning as he tried to remember where it all began. “…I was still very young when it all happened”, he said. “Even younger than you are now… I was twenty-two years of age, if memory serves, which it usually does for me. I was still starting out as a private investigator. I did not have the reputation I enjoy nowadays back then. I suppose law enforcement simply saw me as an amateur back then… someone who had no idea what he was doing and merely spouted nonsense. Well, I suppose some members of the police force still think that about me, but I digress. What I mean to say is that I was still a beginner in every sense of the word’s meaning. I was young, I was inexperienced and the whole world was still one giant mystery to me… not unlike yourself, I suppose. No offence, of course.”

“Now, there was… a certain inspector working in the police force during those days. I frequently ran into him while working on cases. He was multiple years older than I was at least. He… well, I would be lying if I said that the man did not intrigue me. I suppose he could have been considered attractive, as well. I could tell that something about me had interested him as well, and… well, it did not take long before we started to meet up outside of our investigation work.”

He paused, looking to his side to see if Henry was still following, and he could spot a confused look on his face. “I see this story confuses you”, he said, smiling melancholically. “Well, what is it that puzzles you, pray tell?” The young lord scratched his cheek, staring into the distance as an embarrassed blush spread across his face. “I… I thought you had told me that you had never been in love before…”, he muttered bashfully.

The detective nodded. “Ah, I see. That was no lie. I know, I know… you are about to ask me why I met up with that… man, then…” He sighed, running his hand through his hair as he shook his head. “…In all honesty, I don’t fully know. I suppose that it might have been exciting for me… in the beginning, at least. All my life, I had never really… felt any attraction towards women, you see. I thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that I was unable to feel love.

“Now, I was disastrously wrong in that assumption, of course… even if I still did not feel any attraction towards anyone… but try to tell that to a young, inexperienced man. It just felt… lonely. I’m assuming that you know that feeling very well, too. Feeling like no one else is like you. Like you are ‘different’. I have grown to accept that about myself eventually, but… that was still a struggle for me back then. And I suppose that that man made me feel… a bit more normal. Perhaps that made me feel a bit better… but I soon realised that I did not feel comfortable with some of the things he wanted me to do. To, well… pleasure him. And I found myself unable to say no. I thought that by refusing him, I denied him his way of showing me that he loved me. That this was his way of showing me that he cared for me. That it was rude to even consider saying that I was not ready. And so, well…” He paused, closing his eyes as he felt the anxious feeling in his chest getting worse and worse. “…Let’s just say that I lost my virginity when I… was not quite ready for it. I lost it much sooner than I would have liked to, in hindsight.”

He rubbed his temples, groaning. “…The worst part was that I could not talk to anyone about it. I was terrified. I did not have anyone I could confide in back then. Someone like you or Watson, for example. I… was all alone. And I knew that if I told anyone about the things that this man had made me do, I’d… be in a lot of trouble. I was not too fond of the idea of getting charged with sodomy, as you will understand. And he knew it… used it to threaten me once he realised that I was not on board with pleasuring him anymore, as well. He held the fact that he could socially ruin me with one simple accusation over my head as a looming threat if I did not comply to his wishes. It… it soured my view on love as a whole. I suppose that that is why I thought it was all nothing but nonsense until I met you.”

He held onto the young lord’s hands, staring into his eyes. “…And I am so glad that I have met you”, he whispered. “…I am so glad that you were able to show me that what I had with that person… that it had never been love at all. And I am so glad that I am… finally able to experience it with you, now.” He paused, closing his eyes and leaning against the nobleman. “…I don’t think I can even accurately convey just how happy I am with that.”

Henry put his arms around him, his voice all choked up after hearing Sherlock’s tale. “…A-am I the first person you ever told this to…?”, he stammered. The detective nodded wistfully. “…Yes, you are”, he admitted. “…And I had originally intended to take this secret to the grave with me, as well.” “My god…”, the young lord quietly whispered, his grip on Sherlock tightening. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock… I’m so sorry that you had to go through that…”

The detective scoffed, grimacing. “It’s fine, really.” Henry shook his head. “No, Sherlock. No, it is not. I… I cannot even imagine how that must have felt for you. A-and…” He sniffled, his lips beginning to quiver as tears started to sting in his eyes. “…And I am so happy that you are not making me go through the same thing… I really am… Oh my god, Sherlock… you… you didn’t deserve any of that…”

“Well, naturally”, Sherlock replied. “…Of course I would respect your boundaries after that experience…” He paused, a mournful look on his face as he stared down at the ground. “…I cannot help but see myself in you whenever I see your hesitance and inexperience regarding all this. I… I see you all scared and uncertain, and I am constantly reminded of the frightened boy that I used to be. I… I could never do something like that to you, Henry. I know how much it hurts. I… I will do anything in the world to keep you from having to experience that.”

The young lord squeezed his eyes shut, gulping as he pressed his face against the detective. “Th… thank you…”, he sniffled. “Thank you so much…” He kissed Sherlock on the forehead, before staying silent for a while.

“…How did you… break free of him?”, he eventually asked. The detective sighed. “…He got a promotion and moved to another district”, he said sombrely. “I’m certain that he found another young impressionable man that he could make use of there.” The nobleman put his arms around him protectively, squeezing his eyes shut. Sherlock could tell that he was upset. It was funny. Henry almost seemed more distraught than he was. “…Do you still remember his name?”, the young lord continued to ask. The detective shook his head. “No”, he said. “I must have forgotten… but then again, it was very long ago.”

That was a lie. He never forgot a name. And especially not his name. But he did not want to utter that man’s name ever again. Nor did he want to tell Henry who it was that had forced him through all this. From what he could tell from the look on the nobleman’s face, he did not fully believe him, either. He did not ask any further questions, though. He could probably tell that Sherlock did not want to talk about it anymore.

“Well, I am glad that you are giving love a second chance with what we have together now”, Henry said after a while to change the subject, lovingly nuzzling the top of the detective’s head. Sherlock closed his eyes, smiled softly and leaned into the young lord’s caresses as soon as he felt them. The nobleman was right. He should be happy that he had given love a second chance. He had finally found out where he belonged now. In Henry’s arms. He held the young lord’s face in his hands, softly cupping his cheeks before kissing him on the forehead.

“So am I, Henry. So am I.”

***

Despite both Sherlock and Henry wanting the day to be over as quickly as possible so that they could go to London already, the rest of the afternoon had felt like an eternity. Mrs. Barrymore had indeed helped Henry with the final packing, as well as offering the detective unsolicited advice on his suitcase, and then they had all shared dinner together. After that, they had all gone to their respective bedrooms. Well, Sherlock had gone to the guest bedroom, as was expected of him. Even though he knew perfectly well that his true sleeping space was not there. He was about to do something about that, though.

“…Hello there.” The detective stealthily slipped through the door opening leading to Henry’s bedroom, a huge smirk on his face as he saw the young lord sitting in his bed, longingly awaiting him. The nobleman blushed as soon as he saw him. “H-hey”, he bashfully muttered. Sherlock closed the door behind him, before raising an eyebrow as soon as he looked back at Henry. He was not in his sleeping clothes. To the contrary, he was still fully dressed.

“What’s the occasion?”, he asked curiously as soon as he saw the young lord stepping out of his bed. “…I thought you said that you wanted to go to bed early, in order to be well-rested for our journey tomorrow?” The nobleman let out a mischievous giggle, blushing furiously as he ran a hand through his hair. “…I lied. That was because I wanted us to have as much time as possible this night”, he admitted. “I… I have an idea, seeing that it’s our last night here together...”

The detective tilted his head, a curious spark lighting up in his eyes as he narrowed them. “…Well?”, he urged the young lord. “What is it?” Henry seemed as if he could barely contain his own excitement as he took a few steps towards his bedroom window, opening it and looking outside, before turning back to Sherlock again.

“Let’s sneak out tonight, Sherlock… I- I think I’m ready.”

Chapter 16: Burning up Alive

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry get sexually intimate for the first time.
(art in this chapter was once again made by me :>)

Sherlock let out a gasp. As much as he was trying to hide it, Henry noticed it extremely quickly. It made him feel all giddy inside. “You… you want to…”, the detective stammered, his eyes widening in astonishment, “…Right now…? You feel comfortable with… not waiting…?” The young lord nodded. “Yes, I want this. Tonight. I… I’ve never been more certain of something my entire life.”

He stepped towards Sherlock, taking his hands in his and staring into his eyes as he began to blush. “…I’ve… been doing a little thinking. And I have decided that I want my first time with you to be at our little spot together… Where…” He looked away a bit bashfully, his face getting even redder. “…Where you made me realise that I might want to do things with you that go further, than… well, just kissing. Where… where I told you that if… if I was to do it with someone for the first time…” He looked back at the detective again, his eyes sparkling with excitement and adoration. “…That I want it to be with you.”

Sherlock’s cheeks were starting to become red as well now as he stared at the nobleman with a look of both disbelief and untameable excitement on his face. “That…” He gently stroked Henry’s face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “…That is… a terrific idea, my dearest Henry… That is everything I could possibly want right now.” The young lord blushed, leaning forward and excitedly putting his arms around the detective. “Well?”, he whispered softly, nuzzling his beloved’s face. “What are we waiting for, then?”

The two had rushed outside immediately, making sure to stay as quiet as possible so that the Barrymores would not notice them sneaking out of the Hall. This was, admittedly, a bit of a hard task, as Henry could barely keep himself from giggling excitedly whenever his gaze met Sherlock’s. Not only that, but he could not even watch where he was stepping most of the time, his mind too preoccupied with looking at his sweetheart.

Holding the detective’s hand, the young lord immediately ran to the stables as soon as they had gotten outside. A strange sense of courage soared through his entire body as he felt the wind rush through his hair, emboldening his spirit and making him feel even more excited than he already was. He felt like he was finally breaking free a bit. Free from his fears. From his worries about his ancestors. From the judgement of everyone around him. It felt… so liberating. Henry could not be more enthusiastic about it. And it would only get better from here on out. It would only get better as soon as they would get to London.

When the two lovers walked into the stables, the young lord immediately spotted that Cinnamon was still awake. She stood in the corner, calmly observing him and Sherlock as they entered the room while munching on some hay. It almost felt as if she knew that her owner was going to require her services this night. In all honesty, Henry would not have been surprised if she did. She had been his faithful steed for a long time by now.

“Hello, my beautiful…”, the nobleman softly whispered as he approached her, gently brushing his fingers through her mane as he patted her on the nose. “Fancy going out for a ride tonight? Do you think you could still do that?” Cinnamon whinnied quietly before letting out a snort, taking a few steps towards Henry and raising her head up at him. The young lord smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes…”, he said, chuckling softly before turning to face the detective. “Well then… No better time than now to get into the saddle, I’d say.”

He lifted Sherlock up and placed him down onto Cinnamon’s back, feeling even more butterflies in his stomach than the previous time he had done this. He then swiftly hopped into the saddle behind him, pressing a soft kiss against the back of the detective’s neck before taking his horse’s reins in his hands. “Ready?”, he whispered quietly. Sherlock nodded. “I have never been more ready in my entire life”, he responded. Henry smiled, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “…Me too”, he agreed. “…Let’s get out of here, then…”

And with a quick flick of the reins, they were gone.

***

The ride was swift. It was a quiet night, and the glimmering from the stars made it so that the two of them could still see where they were going. Henry smiled as he saw just how much calmer the detective sat in the saddle, compared to their last ride. It made him very happy to see him like that. Not only because Sherlock was seemingly getting more comfortable with something he himself enjoyed very dearly, but also because it meant that he trusted him. And that meant so much to the young lord. It meant more than anything in the world to him.

He smiled, feeling the cold evening air brush against his skin and letting out a deep sigh of relief. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this with you tonight, Sherlock…”, he muttered. “…I’ve been thinking about it so much lately… I- I don’t know how to describe this sensation I’m feeling…”

“Are you feeling ever so slightly dizzy?”, the detective asked. The nobleman nodded. “Are you feeling all warm inside?”, Sherlock continued. “Like you are going to burst from excitement if you do not release it somehow?” Again, Henry could only answer all of his question with an affirmative nod. “Yes… Oh, yes, Sherlock, I… I feel like I need to scream it all out… I can’t, of course… We’d get noticed… B-but that is how I am feeling…” The detective smiled, closing his eyes and leaning back against the young lord’s body.

“…Good… Because I am feeling that way, too.”

***

It did not take long before they arrived at their special little spot. A look of awe and amazement spread across the young lord’s face as he held Cinnamon to a halt, the place looking even more beautiful than last time now that the stars were out. The soft, cascading moonlight made their surroundings look absolutely magical. It was as if it was straight out of a fairytale book. Even Sherlock was visibly amazed by it. “I never knew that something could be of such magnificent beauty ever before”, he quietly remarked, before turning around and facing Henry with a smirk on his face. “Something that isn’t you, that is…”

A furious blush spread across the young lord’s face as he dismounted his horse, offering his hand to the detective to help him get to the ground as well. “I- that’s- well-”, he stammered, absolutely uncertain of how to respond to that. “That’s… entirely subjective”, he eventually settled on. Sherlock gave him a smile as he got off the saddle, not letting go of Henry’s hand and pressing his lips against it instead as they walked up the grassy hill, passing mossy rocks and the eventual tree every now and then. “You are right, my dear fellow,” he responded cheekily, “it is entirely subjective. And I am of the subjective – and correct, as I usually am – opinion that you are the most gorgeous man that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting…” He inched closer to the young lord, letting his head lean against the other man’s shoulder as his grip on his hand became tighter. “…I just hope that I will be able to return that pleasure to you tonight, my sweet boy… in more ways than one.”

Henry’s eyes widened as he felt his heart beating in his chest, sweat running down his forehead as he stared down at the detective. “Sherlock, you- I-” He paused, gulping as his body began to tense up. “…You certainly have a way with words, don’t you… I still do not understand how you can twist sentences together so elegantly like that…” Sherlock let out a chuckle, stroking the nobleman’s hand with his thumb as he looked up at him. “Elementary, my dear fellow. Eloquence is of vital importance when dealing with my cases. Though…” He stopped walking and narrowed his eyes, a hungry glare starting to simmer in them. “…I do intend to use it for entirely different purposes tonight.”

The young lord stopped in his tracks as well, his entire body feeling all warm and jumpy from all the excitement as he stared into the detective’s eyes. He could see the starlight reflect in his pale, icy irises. It made them even more gorgeous than they already were. “…R-right…”, he stammered nervously. “Are… are we out far enough, do you think…?” Sherlock nodded. “I do believe that you have managed to find quite a lovely spot, my dear”, he responded. “I see no reason to keep on walking.”

Henry gulped as he nodded enthusiastically, rocking back and forth on his feet as he gave the detective an adoring smile. “Me… me neither…”, he muttered, before awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “So… um… what do I… do now, exactly…?”

Sherlock stared at him for a while, blinking repeatedly as he seemingly did not quite understand the nobleman’s question. “…What do you mean?”, he asked eventually. The young lord stared at the ground, twiddling with his thumbs as he got red in the face. “…Well…”, he mumbled, “where do we… start? I- I’m sorry, this must seem like a foolish question, but this… this is all so new and daunting to me, and… I just don’t know where to, well, begin…”

The detective let out a soft chuckle, running his fingers through Henry’s hair. “Oh, my dear, sweet, innocent boy…”, he affectionately whispered, pressing his forehead against the nobleman’s, “do you trust me? Do you trust me to guide you through this? To ease you into it?” The young lord nodded, goosebumps still going down his skin just like they did every time Sherlock used such a term of endearment for him. “Y-yes…”, he stammered, trembling. “Yes, I do… Please ease me into it, Sherlock… I… I don’t really know what to do myself… just yet…”

The detective smiled, running his fingers over the bridge of the nobleman’s nose as he slowly began to sit down in the mossy grass, guiding his lover with him. “That is completely fine, my dear Henry”, he said, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it down onto the ground. “It’s only natural. You’ll learn eventually. Just follow my lead… just follow my lead, and it’ll all be all right.” He softly ran his hand over Henry’s chest, caressing him and looking at him fondly. “And if you feel uncomfortable, you know that you can tell me, right? I would like you to remember this night fondly, Henry… and I want you to tell me when I am doing things that would make you do the exact opposite.”

The young lord’s breathing began to get shaky as he felt Sherlock’s fingers gently brushing against his torso. The sensation sent shivers down his spine. He would follow his darling’s lead. He would let him guide him through all this. He trusted him enough to do that. He wanted to completely surrender himself to the detective. He was his already. Completely. He still felt the love bite burning under his shirt collar to remind him of that. And he so desperately wanted to fully show it to Sherlock tonight. He had never felt the need to feel his body against his quite as intensely ever before, and the thought that all these desires were going to be satisfied tonight sent his head in a whirl.

“I… I want to kiss you, Sherlock…”, he gasped, leaning forward to the detective ever so slightly. “…I want to kiss you so badly…” Sherlock smiled, closing his eyes and softly nuzzling his forehead. “What’s keeping you?”, he asked. “If anything, I… I think it would be a great way to begin, you know… Starting with what’s familiar, and then expanding from there…”

He would have probably given a much longer, theoretical and rational explanation of the process if he had been given the chance, but Henry already threw off his suit jacket, bent over, grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. He felt his hands tremble as he did so. He could barely contain the excitement anymore. It did not take the detective long to start kissing him back. He breathed heavily, pressing his lips against the young lord’s as if his life depended on it and kissing him like never before. The nobleman had always noticed that Sherlock’s kisses were hungry, but this felt like an entirely new level. It felt as if the detective was intending on fully devouring him. And Henry was fully willing to let him.

The young lord clung onto Sherlock’s body, his face getting sweatier and sweatier as he noticed the detective pushing him down against the ground. “My… my god…”, he whispered, feeling Sherlock getting on his knees and leaning down. He scrambled to get up a bit and lean on his elbows, breathing heavily in anticipation as he saw the detective looming over him. He did not quite know why, but it aroused him beyond belief. Sweat ran down his forehead as he realised that this desire that he was experiencing was finally going to be satisfied this night.

“Sherlock…”, he whispered shyly. “…Sherlock, will you let me take your clothes off?” The detective gave him a soft smile, nodding. “Yes, you can, my sweet boy. I… I would very much like that.” A furious blush spread across the young lord’s face as he reached for the buttons of Sherlock’s face, clumsily undoing them with trembling fingers. He still could not fully believe that he was doing this. He… he was undressing Sherlock Holmes. And while he was doing it, the detective was planting little kisses on his face. Henry still thought that he was being a complete degenerate for even wanting this. But he did want it. Oh, he wanted it so badly. Every time he saw a bit more of the detective’s exposed skin as he undid another button, his heart skipped a beat. He did not quite know how to deal with all this arousal. In all fairness though, he did not really want to do anything about it. It felt much too wonderful for that.

Slowly taking off Sherlock’s shirt, the young lord’s eyes widened in amazement as he saw the detective’s bare upper body for the first time. This reaction only intensified as he took off his darling’s trousers. He tried to say something, anything to convey the way he was feeling, but he found himself at a loss for words. Dear god. Henry had always known Sherlock to be absolutely gorgeous, but seeing him like this… nothing he could have even imagined came close to it. And oh, he had thought of seeing the detective undressed. Many more times than he would have liked to admit.

Despite the relative thinness of Sherlock’s body, there was still something surprisingly athletic about it. His fair skin was absolutely magnificent, some sporadic scratches blemishing its surface every now and then, but never taking away from the man’s beauty. His movements seemed to be even more graceful than they already were, now that he was not wearing any clothes to get in the way. He… he was sheer perfection. Sherlock was sheer perfection. There was no other word for it.

“…Well?”, the detective asked, fondly nuzzling the nobleman’s neck where he had left behind his love bite but a few days ago. He wrapped his naked arms around the young lord’s body, pressing his torso against his. It made all of the hairs on Henry’s skin stand upright. It… it felt amazing. It was absolutely riveting. The nobleman wondered why they even slept in their nightwear together, while they could have been lying together like this all this time. He was snapped out of his thoughts, though, as Sherlock continued his question.

“…Would you do me the honour of letting me return you this favour?”

The young lord gulped, a chill going down his spine. He had been nervous about this for quite a while now. The detective seeing his naked body. Most of all, his upper body. He had never thought of himself as an attractive man, and while Sherlock had assured him multiple times by now that he did not share that sentiment, he could not help but feel nervous about… disappointing him. And it would have been bad enough on its own… but then that hound had to come along and ruin it even more, as well.

“W-well yes, but…”, he stammered, looking away shamefully. “…I am afraid that you should not expect… well, much. I… I do not want to set you up for disappointment.” The detective leaned forward, softly pressing a kiss against his face. “…My dearest Henry…”, he whispered, a concerned look on his face, “how could I possibly be disappointed by you…?” The young lord squeezed his eyes shut, tears welling up in his eyes. “…Because I have been blemished”, he muttered softly, a tone of self-loathing coming from his voice. “…You… you’ll see what I mean when you take off my shirt.”

Sherlock did so, all the while softly stroking his skin in the gentlest of ways. His movements made Henry feel butterflies in his stomach. He felt them abruptly coming to a halt though, as the detective fully uncovered the nobleman’s torso.

As he fully uncovered the claw mark that had been permanently embedded into his skin by now.

“…Henry…”, Sherlock stammered softly. “…Did you get this from-” “Yes, this is a memento from… that night”, the young lord admitted, sighing. “…From the time that accursed dog almost mauled me to death. You… shot it before it could do much, luckily, but… well, it did manage to scratch me right across the chest.” He looked down at the scar in disgust. It was not even that big, but he hated it. He hated everything about it. “…I was scared about you seeing this…”, he admitted. “It signifies that I am weak… It only serves to remind me of that horrible night… It… it’s just so ugly, Sherlock… And it’s never going to go away… ever again… I- I just hate it… so much-”

He cut himself off, gasping for air as he felt the detective bending over, wrapping his arms around him, pressing his lips against his scar and planting kisses all over it. “Sh-Sherlock!”, he cried out, completely not having expected that reaction. “I- I…”

Sherlock paused, pressing his cheek against the young lord’s bare chest. “…Did you think that I would be deterred from you after seeing this, my boy?”, he asked. “…Did you really?” Henry gulped, feeling himself getting dizzy as he felt the detective’s naked torso brush against his. “I- I suppose so…”, he muttered. Sherlock’s embrace tightened. “I am all too delighted to say that you were wrong in that assumption, my dear”, he assured the nobleman. “If anything, I would say that this little scar right here makes you even more beautiful than you already are.” He gently ran his fingers over it, looking the young lord straight in the eyes.

“…It means you survived.”

Henry sniffled. He did not know what to say. Or what he was feeling, for that matter. All he knew was that a wave of relief washed over him as the detective said those words. He had been so nervous about Sherlock seeing that scratch of his. He had been so unsure of how he would react. But he… he did not seem to care. If anything, he seemed to think his scar was… beautiful. It surprised the young lord. He had never associated that word with his scratch ever before. Now that he heard the detective’s explanation though, it… it almost made sense. And it made him want Sherlock’s affection even more.

Tears streamed down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward and clinging onto the detective’s body. He felt his skin rubbing against Sherlock’s and it just felt… right. “Sherlock…”, he whimpered. “Sherlock, I want you so much… Even more now… My god, you… you are so good to me… I love you, Sherlock… I love you more than anything in the world… P-please…” He began to let out incoherent sobbing noises, but those were soon silenced as the detective gently took him in his arms, kissing him on the forehead before pressing his lips against his. Tenderly nuzzling Henry’s face, he affectionately twirled locks of his thick, dark hair between his fingers, staring into the nobleman’s eyes with that icy, piercing look of his. 

“It’s all right, my dear boy… It’s completely all right. You do not need to feel bad for it… That’s why we are here tonight, aren’t we?”

The young lord nodded, sniffling. “Y-yes…”, he shuddered, his lips still quivering. “Yes, we… we are…” He then pressed his face against Sherlock’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut and embracing him tightly.

The detective began nuzzling the top of his head, but he soon began guiding Henry back towards the ground as he leaned over him, like a herding dog guarding a lamb. Breathing heavily, sometimes bordering on growling, he started to kiss Henry’s face before swiftly moving down to his neck, nuzzling him affectionately. Breathing in his scent. Feeling the sweat that was covering the nobleman’s skin by now and not even caring remotely. “You are so beautiful when you let me kiss you, Henry…”, he panted. “Do you know that? Do you know how beautiful you are, my sweet boy?”

The young lord did not know how to respond to that. All he could do was whimper as he felt Sherlock going down even further than he had ever done before, now feeling his lips brushing against his chest. Then against his stomach. All the while softly caressing his body with his fingers, trailing them over his bare skin and making him feel like the most loved person in the world. It made shivers go down his spine. It made him completely delirious with pleasure. “A-ahhh…”, he let out, clenching his jaw as he felt himself getting erect again. It was a sensation with which he had become slightly more familiar with as of late, but it was still so overwhelming, even now. He just hoped that Sherlock would know what to do with it. To satisfy all these intense desires for physical contact that he had been too afraid to give in to up until now.

The detective paused for a moment, before letting out a hearty chuckle and running his hand over Henry’s forehead. “I take it that you are enjoying this, then?”, he asked cheekily, his gaze fixed on the bulge that had appeared in the young lord’s trousers. The nobleman gulped. “Well… y-yes…”, he stammered, breathing shakily. “Is… is this something normal that happens?” Sherlock gave him a kind smile, kissing his cheek. “It means you are experiencing pleasure, my dear Henry”, he said. “It is completely normal. In fact, it is rather useful, considering what we intend to do tonight. Which causes me to move on to the following question…” He paused slightly, slowly moving one of his hands towards the young lord’s legs and softly stroking him in between his thighs. “…Are you ready, Henry?”

Henry let out a cry of pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut as the sensation Sherlock’s movements were making him feel drove him absolutely wild. “Ah… yes… Yes, please…”, he sobbed, his hands bawling up into fists and gripping onto the damp grass as he felt the detective undoing his trousers. “I- I trust that you will know what to do, Sherlock… I… trust you… I want you to know that…”

Sherlock smirked to himself, a pleased look on his face as he fully undressed the nobleman, leaning forward, closing his eyes and gently kissing his forehead. “That means so much to me, my dearest. Now… just lay back… Relax your muscles… You won’t have to do anything if you do not wish to. Just let me pleasure you… Let me pleasure you, and just… let it happen, my sweet boy…” And with those words, he moved away from the young lord’s face, his fingers gently trailing down his body before they found themselves softly stroking his sex.

“Ah- Ahhh…” Henry’s eyes widened in pure shock as he felt the detective touching his cock. His breathing was starting to become faster and faster as he stared down at Sherlock, the man’s grip on his length tightening ever so slightly. “Who could have known that such an intensely handsome creature was hiding under all those clothes?”, the detective murmured softly. It sounded more like he was speaking to himself than anything. He brushed his legs against the young lord’s before he began to pleasure him with slow, repetitive motions, his grip on the nobleman’s sex never faltering. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and wiggling his naked body against the mossy grass, gasping for air as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy behind closed eyelids. “My… my god…”, he whimpered, a tear slowly rolling down his cheek. “…Oh my god…”

The detective smiled, leaning forward and kissing the young lord’s legs. All the while, he kept on touching him. “Yes… yes, that’s it, my beautiful Henry…”, he purred, running his free hand all over the nobleman’s body. “My god, you are captivating to look at while you are like this… You are doing amazing, my dear…” He kept on whispering praise to him, but Henry was in too much of a state of bliss to understand it all. He could only hear snippets. He was experiencing too many things to focus on it.

The things he could hear sent his head in a whirl, though. Sherlock was telling him that he was doing well. That he was beautiful. That the detective loved him. It made him feel… amazing. The praise, and all of Sherlock’s caresses in places where no other person had ever touched him ever before, made him absolutely delirious. He was no longer sure of where he was. He was no longer sure of what time it was. Or what he had been doing before this. There was just Sherlock. Sherlock and these… bewitching hands of his, that were making him feel like they were not even on this earth anymore. It drove him absolutely insane. 

“Ah… Ahhhhh, yes…”, he moaned, his back arching up as he felt the detective’s hand moving faster. He opened his eyes, looking up at the starry night sky as tears began to stream down his face. All he could think of was how he had described this feeling that he was experiencing right now, back when he had felt it for the first time.

“I feel like it's eating me alive… but I do not want it to stop.”

That sentiment still rang true. Even though he was experiencing this burning passion so much more intensely than back then. He was being eaten alive. Sherlock’s hands were devouring him. His pleasure was tearing him apart. He was burning up completely. At least, it felt that way.

…He did not mind it, though. If anything, he welcomed it.

“Henry?” The detective’s soft voice brought Henry somewhat back to reality again, his calm, soothing tone sounding like music to his ears. “Wh… what is it…?”, the young lord asked nervously, his voice still shaky, as even now Sherlock was still touching him. “Is this… is this good enough for you?”, the detective asked, an underlying, yet unmistakably devious tone coming from him. “Or would you… like to feel it even more?” Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise, astonished by the fact that this was apparently not even the furthest one could go in these situations. He had to admit that that prospect made him… wildly curious, though.

“…What do you have in mind, exactly…?”, he asked, hesitant, yet eager to find out. Sherlock blushed. “I… think it would be better for me to demonstrate”, he said, smiling clumsily. “…Will you let me?” The young lord gulped. He looked down at his erection and took a deep breath, before giving the detective a meek look and nodding. “Yes…”, he whispered. “Please, Sher-”

He found himself unable to finish that sentence though, as he let out an astonished gasp, seeing Sherlock rapidly bending down and taking his cock in his mouth.

“Sh… SHERLOCK!”, he cried out, moaning loudly as he felt his lover’s lips around his length, gently taking him further and further in his throat. “My- my god- Ahhh- I-” His ramblings soon turned into completely incoherent noises, as he started to whimper. To sob. To moan. It was all becoming so much. He felt like his body was going to burst from pleasure. He could not just stay silent anymore. He had to release all this pleasure somehow.

The detective let out a muffled hum, pausing his movements and looking up at the young lord, his penis still in his mouth. There was a questioning look in his eyes. As if he wanted Henry to tell him whether he should stop or not. The nobleman could tell that that was what he was trying to ask. He did not quite know how or why. He just did. “N-no…”, he stammered, shaking his head. “No, don’t stop… Please don’t stop… Oh my god…”

A mischievous sparkle lit up in Sherlock’s eyes. He bent over even further, moaning softly as he worshipped Henry’s cock with those sweet lips of his. The young lord had always known the detective to be extremely talented when it came to caressing the nobleman with his mouth, but he could have never known that it would be able to pleasure him to this extent.

Now that his hands were free again, Sherlock used them to gently stroke Henry’s body. His stomach. His legs. His butt. He softly pushed the young lord’s hips up somewhat, before bringing them back down again. Tenderly guiding them along with the movements of his mouth. Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he realised just how good it felt. Every time, he just kept thinking that this must be the most bliss one could ever hope to experience. And every time, he was proven wrong by the detective yet again. He began to make the movements without Sherlock’s help, hesitantly thrusting into the detective’s mouth and letting out a soft moan as he gasped out in pure bliss.

“L-like this…?”, he asked nervously. “Does… does this feel good…?” Sherlock let out an approving hum, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Henry could feel the detective’s erection rubbing against his body as Sherlock pressed his hips against him, low, guttural moans coming from him, sounds that the young lord was not even aware that the man could make. It made him blush even more than before. He… he was… pleasuring Sherlock. He was making him feel this blissful sensation that he had been feeling all this time, as well.

It… it was an amazing realisation to make. It all felt so magical. Their bodies entwining together, feeling as if they were one. Both of them making each other feel so… so wonderful. Henry thanked himself for asking the detective to be the one to have his first time with. He could not have imagined a better person to spend a night like this with. Oh, it made him feel so close to Sherlock. It made him feel like he was totally his. Even more than he already was. And it was amazing.

…And then his eyes widened in surprise, as all this pleasure that had been building itself up this entire night felt like it was coming to an absolute peak. He felt his cock throbbing like never before, almost violently. His breathing was becoming faster and faster as he grasped onto the detective’s hair, twisting his fingers through his auburn locks as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. “Sherlock, I… I think I… Oh my god, I-”, he whimpered, before screaming it out, feeling himself spilling into Sherlock’s mouth as he reached his climax.

“SHERLOCK!”, he ejaculated, gasping for air as he felt himself getting dizzy, lowering himself down to the ground again and just… laying there for a moment. Breathing slowly. Recollecting himself again, even if it was just for a little bit. He looked down at the detective, who slowly moved his ever so slightly swollen lips away from his length after what seemed like an eternity. Sherlock just stared at him with an adoring smile on his face, wiping a drip of the young lord’s release away from his lips with his hand, swallowing and lying down beside the nobleman. “Well…”, he rasped, breathing heavily as he wiped some sweat away from his forehead, “…did I do a good job, my dearest Henry?”

Henry stared at him with a perplexed look on his face, absolutely bewildered by the fact that the detective had managed to keep all of him in his mouth, save for one single drop. And even more by the fact that he had swallowed it all. “Y-yes…”, he stammered, panting. He still felt dizzy. “You… you did more than a good job, Sherlock… You were… amazing…” Sherlock smiled, putting his arm around the young lord and snuggling up to him. “…Good”, he responded. “…I’m glad. You… you were amazing as well, Henry. And I mean that… wholeheartedly. You are a natural at this, my dear boy.”

The nobleman felt goosebumps go down his skin as he felt the detective’s embrace. He leaned into it, closing his eyes and enjoying the touch of their bare bodies against one another. He should have felt extremely cold. It had been night for quite a while now, after all. Not to mention the winds that were soaring over the moors. He was not cold at all, though. He was… so warm. Not only because of his own body heat… but primarily because of Sherlock’s. It was as if the detective was shielding him from any discomfort. He had never felt safer ever before.

“…Isn’t it a beautiful night?”, he muttered softly, closing his eyes. Sherlock quietly hummed, running his fingers through the young lord’s hair. “…It is, Henry. You could not have chosen a more perfect moment for us to do this for the first time.” Henry blushed. “…I hoped you would feel that way. I… I’ll treasure this forever, Sherlock. I really will.” The detective kissed him on the forehead, smiling softly. “So will I, Henry… So will I.”

The young lord held Sherlock in his arms, his lips slowly curving upward as he felt himself getting tired. This night had been everything he could have possibly dreamed of and more. It truly had been. And it was only going to get better from here on out. It would all start tomorrow.

It would all start when they would begin their journey to London. 

Notes:

THEY. HAVE. FINALLY. DONE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SO LONG OMFGGGG AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Hope this was a satisfactory first time scene for these boys haha <3

Chapter 17: Home

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry travel to London.

The train’s whistle rang out loudly as its wheels rode swiftly over the rails, loud puffs emerging from its locomotive as the train rode away from the moorland fields. Sherlock stared out of his compartment’s window, getting one last look at the rolling hills and murky mirelands that graced Dartmoor’s nature. While he was happy to be returning to London, he did have to admit that such stellar views could not be found anywhere near the great foggy city. And so, even though he had never really been one to spend too much time simply glancing at the view and doing nothing, he still kept looking outside the window every now and then. The sights were too beautiful not to.

The landscape was not where most of his attention was directed towards, though. Far from it, actually. There was something far more precious that the detective could focus on. Something that was much closer to him, as well. And that was his dear Henry, sleeping soundly as his head rested in Sherlock’s lap. He looked to be extremely peaceful, his mouth opened ever so slightly as every now and then he let out soft murmurs while changing his position a bit. He was absolutely adorable. The detective could not help but smile fondly every time he glanced down at him, gently playing with his hair and making sure that the young lord slept peacefully.

And Henry deserved to sleep peacefully. He had been absolutely drained of all energy this morning, and had fallen asleep almost immediately after they had settled in their train compartment. And, well… in all honesty, Sherlock could not blame him. He doubted that the nobleman was very used to staying up as long as they had last night. He was delicate like that. It had also been why the detective had been so surprised at his proposal the night before. He did not regret the fact that Henry had suggested to sneak out together, though. Oh, he most definitely didn’t. The last night had been… heavenly. There was no other word for it. Absolutely heavenly. Sherlock would not have wanted to miss out on it for anything in the world.

It was all he could think of as he looked at the young lord sleeping. As his fingers softly trailed over his sweetheart’s scalp. As he felt his own heart beating more and more intensely.

He had seen that sweet boy naked last night.

He had seen that gorgeous man in all of his nude glory. He had taken off all of his clothes and pleasured him until he could do nothing but scream out the detective’s name out of pure ecstasy. He… he had taken Henry’s virginity.

Sherlock smirked to himself as he thought of that. It made him feel… wildly proud of himself. It felt as another way of claiming Henry as his. Not necessarily ‘his’ in the sense of property. More… in the sense of devotion. The nobleman was his to care for. To protect. To adore. And the detective was absolutely certain that he was going to do all of those things so much in the future. Even more than he had already been doing.

While strictly speaking, Henry was not Sherlock’s client anymore, and he technically was not responsible for his safety in anyway, the detective still felt the obligation to keep him safe. To protect him. To keep him away from any danger. He had felt it ever since he had returned to Dartmoor, and this firm belief had only gotten stronger, now that they were to go back to London together. It had gotten so much stronger. Henry would not have the Barrymores or anyone else to take care of him now. He only had Sherlock. And while the detective was completely fine with that, he did feel the responsibility weighing heavily on him. But he would manage. He would not fail. He had been protecting the nobleman all this time… and he would not stop doing it anytime soon.

Sherlock was absolutely certain that the Barrymores felt similarly about the situation. At least, that was what he deduced from their goodbyes to the two of them at the train platform. The young lord’s faithful servants had come with them to see them off, and especially Mrs. Barrymore had spent a lot of time urging Henry to be careful, and that he should stay away from any danger. Even the detective had been told by her to stay safe and take proper care of himself. This one time, Sherlock had decided not to get cross with her about it. It took an exceeding amount of patience from him, but he had managed to do it in the end by remembering that, as the nobleman had told him, this was simply her way of showing she cared. He had given her a polite nod, and then he had boarded the train, right as it began to drive away. If he had been only a few seconds later, he would have missed it.

So here they were now. On their journey to London. At last. It had felt like an eternity ever since the detective had made the suggestion, but the time was finally there now. Sherlock felt… relieved. Somewhat nervous, as well. But most of all, he was excited. So, so excited. Excited to show Henry the city that he himself called his home. Excited to sleep with him in his apartment at Baker Street. But most importantly… he was excited for Henry to finally feel safe when making love with the detective. For him to break free even further of all the fears that he had been shackled with for almost his entire life… For him to finally be… himself. Just the thought of it all made Sherlock feel wildly excited like never before.

“…Hmm?...” The young lord let out a soft groan as he started to stir in the detective’s lap. Sherlock smiled at him fondly. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead”, he said affectionately, ruffling the nobleman’s hair. Henry blushed, rubbing his eyes before letting out a yawn. “…It’s still morning, then?”, he asked. “How long have we been travelling already, if I may ask?” The detective checked his pocket watch, narrowing his eyes. “One hour and fifty-three minutes”, he eventually settled on. “I believe we should arrive at Baker Street just before lunchtime if we are lucky, which will suit admirably. But, for the time being, I believe that we will have to sit in here for a little longer.”

“A-all right…”, the young lord mumbled, stretching his muscles as he stared out of the window. Seeing that they were far away from Devonshire by now, a blush spread across his face as he looked up at Sherlock excitedly, smiling happily. “We’re… we’re free…”, he gasped, a starstruck look in his eyes. “…We’re finally free, Sherlock…” The detective smiled, stretching out his thin legs and looking fondly at the nobleman’s beautiful face. “We are, my dearest Henry”, he said, inching closer to his sweetheart and taking his hand in his, staring into his dark brown eyes. “…How does it feel?”

Henry stared at the ground, giggling softly. Sherlock could spot somewhat of a bold, excited look in his eyes, a look that infatuated him with the young lord even more. He had observed it coming from the nobleman for some time since yesterday evening, but it became especially apparent now that they were finally alone. The detective could not help but smirk as he saw it. He had an inkling as to why Henry had that look about him this particular morning. And that inkling made him even more pleased with himself.

“I… I feel wonderful, Sherlock…”, the nobleman muttered quietly, shyly fidgeting with his fingers. “…My god, I feel wonderful… Thanks to so many things… I feel like… like I can finally breathe again… like I have finally escaped from my ancestors’ judgement… Oh my god, I… I never knew that I could ever feel free like this ever again…” He smiled cheerfully, his entire body tensing up with excitement as he held onto Sherlock’s hand with both of his own. “And I- I’m here together… with you…”, he continued, blushing furiously. “A-after we… well… spent the night on the moors together… After I had the pleasure of spending the best night of my life with you… It… oh, it makes me so happy, Sherlock… You make me so happy…”

His cheeks got even redder as he stared at the detective’s lips, before looking away bashfully. “Do…”, he mumbled, nervously hiding his face, “…do you think it would be inappropriate if we kissed right now…?” Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise as he heard that question. He had not expected it at all. After his astonishment had died down though, he looked at Henry fondly, his cheeks starting to feel warm as well as he stood up and closed their compartment’s curtains. “Tell me, Henry…”, he said, turning around to face the young lord again with somewhat of a devious smirk on his face. “…Why should we worry about our behaviour being inappropriate if no one can see us?”

The nobleman smiled softly. “That’s… a very good question…” The detective sat down next to him again, gently cupping his face with his hands as he grinned somewhat smugly. “I have to say, it is an uncharacteristically bold move of yours to want to kiss immediately right after having woken up… But I have to admit that I rather like this sudden change, my dear boy.” Henry laughed. “Perhaps it is because I do not have to be so afraid about everyone within a five mile radius gossiping about me if we kiss anymore?”, he asked cheekily. “Most likely”, Sherlock replied. “And you know… I think that that deserves a little celebratory kiss… don’t you agree?” And almost immediately after he said those words, he leaned forward slowly and gently kissed the nobleman on the cheek.

The surface of Henry’s skin immediately became warmer as soon as the detective’s lips brushed against it. “And another one, because the other side should not feel left out”, Sherlock whispered, before pressing his lips against the nobleman’s other cheek as well. The young lord squeezed his eyes shut, blushing furiously. “I… I love you, Sherlock…”, he whispered breathlessly, letting his forehead rest against the detective’s. Sherlock smiled happily. “I love you too, my dear”, he responded, before kissing him on the forehead. “…I love you very much indeed…”

“A-and we’re going to have to worry less about it now…”, Henry sighed dreamily, looking at the detective with a besotted look in his eyes. “We’ll… we’ll finally have a place to stay together where we’ll truly be on our own…” He passionately embraced Sherlock, squeezing his arms around him until it almost became hard for the detective to breathe. “Doesn’t… doesn’t that sound absolutely thrilling?”, he asked, tears of happiness glinting in his eyes. “…Isn’t that amazing…?” Sherlock wheezed, his eyes widening in surprise as he had not expected such a tight embrace from the young lord. “It… it is…”, he coughed, his body tensing up. “It is truly wonderful…”

Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise, his grip on the detective loosening as he began to realise just how firmly he had been holding on to him. “S… sorry…”, he mumbled, blushing bashfully. “I didn’t mean for that to happen… It seems like I forgot myself a bit there.” Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he regained his composure. “Do not worry, my dear fellow”, he said, waving his hand around dismissively. “It’s all right, really. I understand why you are so excited… and it is all the more lovely for me to see. I don’t mind it, really.” The young lord gave him a cheerful smile. “Good”, he said, “because I highly doubt that my excitement for today has died down already.”

The detective let out a soft laugh. “I sure hope it hasn’t, my dear Henry”, he responded. “We have not even gotten to London yet, after all...”

***

The platform at Paddington station had been an absolute chaos. Sherlock, carrying both his and Henry’s suitcase, as he had already observed earlier this morning that the young lord had trouble carrying his himself and still worried for the man’s heart, had swiftly navigated them through the loud swarms of people that were all rushing to get to their destinations as quickly as possible. All the while, the young lord had clumsily followed behind him, clinging onto his arm for his dear life, terrified to lose his companion amidst the crowd. Luckily, the detective was somewhat skilled at manoeuvring himself through large masses of people, and they had escaped the chaos fairly quickly. All that was left to do for them was walk to Baker Street.

“That was… something…”, Henry said, scratching the back of his head as he let out a sigh of relief. Sherlock laughed. “City life certainly has its charms, hasn’t it?”, he chuckled, taking a good look at him. The young lord looked… absolutely adorable in the clothes he was wearing. The detective had never seen him sporting them before. Henry called them his ‘travel clothes’. They consisted of another one of the young lord’s plaid suits, which Sherlock was hardly surprised by, a soft, grey tweed coat, a set of brown gloves and a matching brown hat.

Especially the hat looked… so good on him. Sherlock had never really seen the nobleman wear a hat before. Now that he saw him in one though, he silently wished that Henry would sport one more often. He was so beautiful… even more than he usually was. If it had not been for the fact that they were out in the open, the detective would have wrapped his arms around the young lord and planted kisses all over his face and neck until he was completely out of breath.

But he could not do that. Not yet, at least. They were out in public now. Once they got to Baker Street, though… then, the circumstances would entirely change.

“You’re thinking about something”, Henry remarked, letting his hands rest behind his back as he tilted his head while looking at Sherlock. “What is it?” The detective flashed him an innocent smile. “Patience, my friend”, he simply replied. “I shall tell you all about it when we get inside.” That was all that he would say on the matter as he simply kept walking, tapping his fingers against each other as he looked around himself. He would have to have patience, too. A lot, in fact. It was getting harder and harder to keep himself from showering the young lord with all of his affection and kisses. He knew that it would be best if he waited, though. And so he stayed silent.

It was not a very long walk, and Sherlock knew the route from Paddington to Baker Street like the back of his hand at this point. He had walked the distance so many times by now. When, at long last, they finally arrived at Baker Street, the detective pointed Henry towards one of the many houses that stood amidst all the buildings. “Number 221”, he said, as he entered the house and walked up the stairs. “I have the honour of calling apartment B my home.”

As he stood in front of the apartment’s door, he inserted his keys into the lock. “Of course, it is much less spacious than I assume you are used to, but I hope that it will do, nonetheless.” Opening the door, he gestured towards the young lord graciously. “After you, my dear Henry… Make yourself at home. Ah, it seems like Watson is out at the moment, so we’ll have the apartment to ourselves for a good while.”

The nobleman let out a soft, but audible gasp as he stepped into the room, looking around himself with a starstruck look in his eyes. Sherlock followed him soon after, observing the entire room and quickly taking note of everything he saw, wanting to make sure that everything was still where it was supposed to be after his leave of absence. It most definitely seemed that way. His case notes, all compiled in neat little piles, were still where he had left them, none of his chemical equipment had been touched, and, maybe most importantly, his precious violin still lay undisturbed on the table. The detective let out a sigh of relief as he saw all of these things, before directing his attention back towards the young lord.

“Well?”, he asked, taking his pipe out of his suit’s pocket, lighting it with a match, and putting it in his mouth. “What are your thoughts, my dear fellow?” Henry seemed to be somewhat snapped out of his thoughts as he turned around to face him, smiling excitedly. “It’s… it’s wonderful, Sherlock… It’s… so quaint… And I mean that in the best way possible…” He looked around again, marvelling at all the curiosities that the detective had managed to collect over the years. “It all feels so… so cosy… This feels more like a home than Baskerville Hall ever did.”

Sherlock smiled. “Good. I’m glad”, he said, nodding. “You will find that everything is far more cluttered in here, seeing as we have considerably less space, but I do think that it… adds to the charm, in a way.” He let out a sigh, putting his hands behind his back as he rocked back and forth on the tips of his feet, looking at all the things that stood in the living room and adorned the walls. “Oh, all the memories I have with all these objects… You know, I’m certain that if objects could talk, they’d have quite the fascinating stories to tell. Especially the ones that I have managed to collect while out on cases…”

Henry let out a giggle. “Well, why don’t you tell me some of those case stories yourself sometime?”, he asked curiously. The detective chuckled. “You know, Henry… perhaps I will one day. But I suppose now is hardly the time for idle chatter… We have your possessions to take care of, after all.” He put down the suitcases he was still carrying, breathing a sigh of relief as he flapped his arms to relieve the straining of his muscles a bit. “…You don’t mind sharing a closet with me, do you?”, he asked, tilting his head.

The young lord shook his head, his face getting red. “No… No, I don’t…”, he said somewhat shyly, looking at the ground with a soft smile on his face. “I’d… rather like that, in all honesty…” Sherlock smiled. “Good,” he said, pulling the suitcases towards his bedroom, “because we would have been in quite a bit of trouble if you did have a problem with it. But I suppose I should not be surprised… you were quite excited about the prospect of having no choice but to share beds, weren’t you?” As he asked that question, he passed Henry and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The nobleman began to blush even more furiously. “Y-yes, I was…”, he stammered bashfully. “But don’t act like you weren’t, Sherlock… we both know that that is a lie…”

The detective paused, staring at the young lord with a devious look in his eyes. Now that he thought about it, perhaps there was something more important right now than Henry’s luggage. He did say that he would tell the young lord everything about what had been on his mind, after all. “You are completely correct, my dear Henry”, he said, stepping towards the nobleman. “And I am not going to pretend like I was not excited about that… or that I am not excited still, for that matter.” He fell silent for a while, slowly reaching out for the young lord’s face with his hand and gently caressing it. “…Because why would I?”, he asked after a while, completely mesmerised by his lover’s captivating features. “…Isn’t that why we came to London for the first place?”

Henry’s blush became even more intense as those words passed Sherlock’s lips. “It… it is…”, he stammered, goosebumps appearing on his skin. The detective smiled, a pleased look on his face as he saw them. He had seen those appear on the young lord’s skin last night as well. Over his entire body. His naked, gorgeous body. Even the thought of the sight aroused him. He remembered the sounds he had heard the nobleman made. His little nervous movements before complete and total surrender to his desire. His voice. Crying out just one word.

“Sh… SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock could only hope to make Henry feel like that more often in the future. To make him feel more comfortable about it. To make him feel comfortable… with himself. He put his arms around the young lord, gently nuzzling his neck, his chin fitting in the space between the nobleman’s throat and his shoulder perfectly, almost like pieces of a puzzle. They were supposed to be this way. Together. Their bodies linked to one another. He could feel Henry’s body getting warmer and warmer as the young lord ran his fingers through his hair, gently caressing him with trembling fingers.

“There’s… there’s no one to judge us…”, the nobleman gasped softly, saying the words almost as if he did not fully believe them himself yet. “There’s… no fear of being walked in on… of our secret getting out… Oh my god…” The detective began to plant soft kisses on the surface of the young lord’s skin, smiling contently. “Do you see why I suggested we do this in the first place, now?”, he asked softly. Henry nodded quietly. “Yes…”, he responded. “Yes… Oh my god, it feels… so relieving…” He began to sniffle slightly, softly laughing to himself with a choked up voice before moving away a bit and staring at Sherlock’s face, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. “Th… thank you, Sherlock… thank you… so much… I- I feel like I owe the world to you, you know…”

The detective gave him a kind smile, gently tucking a strand of hair behind the young lord’s ears. “Not at all, my dearest Henry. Not at all… This is where you belong, after all. Free from judgement. Free from fear. Free to have your own space and privacy… It is merely what you deserve, my love.” He leaned forward, tenderly kissing Henry’s forehead, before looking into his eyes affectionately.

“…Welcome home, my boy.”

Chapter 18: A Job Well Done

Summary:

Henry processes everything that happened the night before.

Rain softly trickled against the windows of Sherlock’s bedroom as Henry sat there on the bed, his back slumped down and his hands resting on his lap as he looked out over London’s grey, foggy streets. He just sat there and observed everything for a while. He was not really thinking about a lot of things. He just needed a moment of quiet to himself.

So many things had happened in such a short span of time. And the young lord had barely even gotten the opportunity to process it all. So that was what he was trying to do, as he just… sat. And listened. He listened to the gentle, comforting sound of the rain. He listened to the distant, muted sounds of all the bustling city life that was going on down in the streets. He listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his own breathing. Everything was relatively quiet. And Henry liked that. He was in desperate need of some quiet right now.

After Sherlock had showed the nobleman around the entire apartment and helped him with the rest of his luggage, he had, profusely apologising, said that he would have to go out on his own for a while. He kept insisting that he would not be long, but that the young lord would have to stay on his own for a while.

He almost seemed to be feeling… guilty for it. Or perhaps he was just saddened by the prospect of having to be separated from Henry after they had spent so much intimate time together, even if he would only be gone for a very short while. The young lord had not been able to fully tell. Regardless, he had assured the detective that it was completely fine. And in all honesty… while he was eager for Sherlock’s return, he did have to admit that this short moment of peace and quiet was… something that he had been in desperate need of.

He still could not fully believe it, in all honesty. He was at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes’ place of residence. And he was going to stay here. With Sherlock, the man he loved. He… he finally felt like he could truly admit that to himself, now that he was not at Baskerville Hall anymore. Now that he did not feel the judgemental glare of his ancestors peering into his very soul during each and every waking moment of his. Now that he was… free.

Henry felt as if new life was breathed into him. Sherlock had breathed new life into him. He had ever since his sweet lips had met the young lord’s back at the abbey ruins, during that one, fateful evening. Even now, the memories of that kiss sent goosebumps down the nobleman’s skin. This renewed passion for life had been raised to entirely new levels as of late, though. Henry could not quite explain it. It was as if, for the first time in ages, he truly felt… alive. He felt like a completely different person. Well, not exactly, perhaps. It was more like… he felt like he was finally becoming himself, instead of the person he was expected to be.   

Perhaps it was because he did not feel so anxious about all of the expectations laid upon him while he was still in Dartmoor. Because he felt like the ghost of his family’s past did not haunt him wherever he went anymore. Because he was finally with a person who saw him for who he was, not for the family he came from. Perhaps it was that. It most likely was… partially, at least. But it could not be the entire reason. The young lord had another sneaking suspicion about this all. About why he had been feeling… so wonderfully different as of late.

…And that was the fact that Sherlock had taken his virginity last night.

Even as he thought of just that one simple fact, Henry felt his heart beating in his chest. He felt himself getting warm. He felt his hairs standing on end. He… he and Sherlock had had sex with each other last night. For the first time. And by god, had it been an amazing first time. The young lord was still completely overwhelmed by it all. He had experienced the best night of his entire life up until now. He had felt things that he thought were entirely impossible to feel until then. He had done things that he would have never expected to be doing in the slightest. The detective had completely shaken up his entire world during that single night, and Henry was thankful for it.

It… it had been life-changing. It had been completely overpowering. And yet… it had been so amazing. A bashful blush spread across the nobleman’s face as he thought back to it all, his lips slowly curving upward into an embarrassed smile as he raised his knees up to his chest, hugging himself. His first time… it had been with Sherlock. At their special place on the moors. Where no one had been able to see them. It had been everything Henry could have wished for and more. He was happy. He was so happy. He could not have wished for more.

The strangest part was that after this night, during which his entire world had been turned upside down, he had been forced to act… like nothing had ever happened. He did not blame anyone for that. It was simply bound to happen with all this obligatory secrecy. That did not take away from the fact that it had felt very strange, though.

He had packed his final things with Sherlock. Him and the detective, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Barrymore, as well as Perkins, the coach driver, had all gone to the station, with the Barrymores coming to the platform with them. He had boarded the train to London with Sherlock and they had arrived at Baker Street together. And during almost all of this, he… had been acting as if the detective and him were merely good friends. Not only that, but he had not gotten even a single moment to properly process the events of the night before. Even though he desperately needed that.

Henry wondered if Sherlock felt the same. If, perhaps, he had said that he needed to go out on his own because he was in need of some time to himself. If that was indeed the case, the young lord perfectly understood it. He was in need of that as well. Luckily, this quiet moment allowed for the perfect opportunity to spend some time in contemplation. And that was exactly what he was doing. Just processing it all. Remembering everything that had happened. And realising just… how happy it all made him feel.

He remembered all the kisses he and the detective had shared together today. How much less afraid he had felt back then. And all the sweet things Sherlock had whispered to him. It all made him blush. It made him lay down on his back, stare at the ceiling and just… sigh in adoration. The detective’s kisses were a gift from heaven. They were so pleasant. So passionate. So… loving. Henry always felt like the most loved person in the world whenever Sherlock caressed him with those lips of his, and perhaps he was. He liked to think so, anyways. His kisses brought him more comfort than anything else in the entire world. They… they made him truly feel like he… belonged.

“…Welcome home, my boy.” The young lord softly smiled to himself as he remembered those words passing the detective’s lips. Sherlock was right. He was finally home. But he had found his home some time ago by now. It was not Baskerville Hall. Nor did it necessarily have to be Baker Street. No… Home was wherever Sherlock was. It was in his arms. There was no other place in existence where Henry felt safer. Home was where they had kissed for the first time. Home had been where they truly told each other about their true feelings for each other.

…Home had also been where the detective pleasured Henry for the very first time.

“It’s all right, my dear boy… It’s completely all right. You do not need to feel bad for it… That’s why we are here tonight, aren’t we?”

The young lord squeezed his eyes shut as those words echoed through his mind.

“You are so beautiful when you let me kiss you, Henry… Do you know that? Do you know how beautiful you are, my sweet boy?”

His breathing began to get shaky as he somewhat unconsciously reached out for his trousers, feeling that throbbing sensation in between his legs again. Before he even fully realised what he was doing, he began to hesitantly touch himself, his eyes widening in ecstasy as he felt his fingers softly stroking his shaft. “A-ahhhh…”, he whimpered quietly, his legs spreading ever so slightly as he tried to remember the movements Sherlock had made to the best of his abilities.

“Yes… yes, that’s it, my beautiful Henry… My god, you are captivating to look at while you are like this… You are doing amazing, my dear…”

His back arched up, only slightly at first, but as he found himself quickening his motions, desperate for that fiery pleasure, it bent more and more. His skin was starting to get sweaty. His face was feeling warmer and warmer. He was starting to get dizzy. He almost felt as if he was going delirious as he kept stroking himself, using his other hand to pull down his trousers somewhat so that he could reach his cock better. “P… please… Ahh… y-yes…”, he moaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut as tears slowly began to roll down his cheeks.

“Just let me pleasure you… Let me pleasure you, and just… let it happen, my sweet boy…”

“Y-yes…”, Henry sobbed, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he began to let out a myriad of noises that were something in between crying, whimpering and moaning. All he could focus on was imagining that it was Sherlock who was doing this to him. That it were his nimble fingers that were stroking him, caressing him and adoring him. Of course, the young lord himself was not as good at pleasuring himself as the detective had been. But he was getting somewhat close. And it felt amazing regardless. Henry had never thought that one would be able to make themselves feel this way all by themselves ever before.

He was imagining lying there on the bed, naked. Looking up at Sherlock in anticipation. The detective was leaning over him, showering him with kisses and all of his affection. All the while still touching Henry. Always touching him. Faster and faster. The young lord let out a cry of pleasure as he felt the grip around his sex tightening. “Aah… m-my god…”, he stammered, gasping for air. He felt himself getting more and more erect as that throbbing sensation was only getting more intense as time passed. He could not even focus on words anymore at this point. There was only one name that managed to pass his lips.

“Sh… Sherlock…”

With his free hand, he clasped onto the bedsheets, his fingers twisting and turning in them as the sheer bliss he was experiencing almost became too much to bear. But he did not want to stop. He never wanted to stop. His motions became even faster. And faster. And faster. He did not even know where he was anymore. All he knew was this pleasure.

“Sherlock…”

“Yes, that’s it, my beautiful darling… You are doing amazing, my love… Here… let me touch you… Let me show you how much I love you…” It was all he could hear going through his head, the detective’s imaginary voice making him feel even more aroused than he already was. He spread out his legs further as he clenched his jaw, panting heavily as he felt himself wanting more and more. He was feeling warmer and warmer. He could not stay silent anymore. He simply couldn’t. He had to let it out. He began to whimper softly, feeling his climax coming. Just a little more. Just a little more and-

“SHERLOCK!”

Henry basically yelped out the word as he came, spilling all over his hand and throwing himself back on the bed again, struggling to gasp for air. Sniffling, he cried softly as he just… laid there for a while. Keeping his eyes closed. He did not want to have to face the real world. Not yet. He… he wanted to stay with his imagination. If even for a quick moment. He felt his chest heaving up and down as he let one hand rest on it, the slow, repetitive motions grounding him back to reality again. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he felt himself calming down somewhat, moving his hand away from his trousers again and simply letting it rest on the bed. His eyes widened in surprise though, as he heard a voice calling to him. A very familiar voice. One that wasn’t imaginary, this time.

“…I must say, my dear Henry, that that was a job well done… In both senses of the word’s meaning.”

The young lord shot upright in bed as he buttoned up his pants again, his hairs standing on end as he spotted the detective standing in the room, nonchalantly leaning against the door opening. “H-how long have you been standing there?!”, he stammered, blushing furiously. “Not long”, Sherlock replied. “I had gone out to collect some newspapers, wanting to familiarise myself with any important details of things that have been going on in London that I might have missed out on while in Dartmoor, and when I returned to the apartment, I heard you whimpering out my name. So naturally, I rushed towards you, fearing that you were in danger, but as soon as I saw what was going on, I thought it best not to disturb you while you were still… well, busy.”

Henry covered his face in shame. He felt disgusting. He felt like an absolute degenerate. Why had he even done this in the first place? “I- I’m sorry…”, he sobbed. “…I didn’t know what I was doing… a-and before I knew what was going on, I… I…” He gulped, his hands trembling. “…I could not stop myself… I’m… I’m sorry… I’m so terribly sorry…”

“Henry…” A concerned look spread across the detective’s face as he sat down next to him, offering him a pocket handkerchief. “Would… would this make you more comfortable, before we talk about this any further?”, he asked, smiling a bit clumsily in an attempt to make the young lord feel better. The nobleman nodded, his lip quivering as he took the piece of cloth and wiped his seed-stained hand with it. “Th… thank you…”, he muttered meekly, before letting his hands rest in his lap and staring down at them. “…I don’t know what possessed me to do this…”

“Henry…”, Sherlock made soft shushing noises, taking the young lord’s hands in his and staring into his eyes, a soft, compassionate look coming from him. “Henry, listen to me… there is nothing wrong with touching yourself.” Henry turned towards him a bit, still averting his eyes. “…A-are you sure…?”, he asked, his face becoming even redder than it already was. The detective nodded. “Naturally”, he said. “I am almost certain about everything that I say, after all. Of course there’s nothing wrong with it, my dear… You’re just exploring things… and that is perfectly all right… It’s all part of this, you know…”

The young lord sighed. “…A-are you sure…?”, he asked anxiously. “There’s… there’s no reason to feel so… repugnant about myself?” Sherlock shook his head, gently running his fingers through the nobleman’s hair. “None whatsoever, my dear Henry. I promise you. It’s quite all right.”

Henry sniffled, leaning against the detective’s body as he melted into his caresses. “…I wish I could be free of this shame that still haunts me”, he muttered quietly. “I had hoped that it would be gone by now… just like my worries about getting caught… or my ancestors’ judgement… but it seems that I was wrong there.”

Sherlock put his arms around him, running his hands over his back as he held him gently. “These things take time, I’m afraid”, he sighed. “I wish that I could make your shame disappear too, Henry. I wish that I could vanquish it with a simple snap of my fingers. But that is not the reality in which we live. But Henry…” He broke out of their embrace, holding the young lord’s face in his hands and looking straight at him. “…That does not mean that it is impossible. I want to help you with this, Henry. I want to help you in any way that I can. I- I may not be the most knowledgeable in this field… but I will do whatever it takes to set you free from all of this, Henry. And you will be free from all of this. I will not settle for anything less.”

The nobleman felt butterflies in his stomach as he stared at the detective. He… he truly was lucky to have him. Each and every day, he came to realise that more. And today was no exception. “Th… thank you, Sherlock…”, he whispered softly. “…Thank you so much… I- I love you…” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, letting his head lean against his chest.

“Y-you know, Sherlock…”, he stammered, blushing as he felt a bit embarrassed, “do you… do you know what I was thinking of when I w-was… well, um… doing that?” He heard the detective softly chuckle to himself as he gently kissed the young lord on the forehead. “I can hazard a few educated guesses”, he replied. “But tell me anyways… what were you thinking of, my sweet Henry?”

The nobleman became even redder in the face, looking up at Sherlock with a clumsy smile on his face. “…I thought of you”, he confessed, the butterflies in his stomach getting more and more intense as he said the words. “…I thought of you and me last night.”

The detective raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise, before blushing as well and giving him an approving smile. “Ah… so that must be why you were crying out my name, correct?” Henry looked away, scratching the back of his head somewhat clumsily. “…I suppose so”, he muttered. “…I was too much in a haze to properly tell, in all honesty.”

Sherlock leaned forward, kissing the young lord on the forehead. “Oh, my sweet, darling Henry… you have no idea just how flattering that is to me.” The nobleman blushed. “…It’s the truth”, he simply replied. “I- I was taking in everything that had happened yesterday, a-and before I knew it, well… I, um… I had my hand in between my legs. I… suppose that that is a bit of a strange way to process events, but… I, uh…” He covered his face with his hands, smiling bashfully. “…I did find it to be, well… effective in this case.”

“And that is all that matters, my sweet boy”, the detective said, smiling approvingly as he pressed his lips against Henry’s face. “That is all that matters. Though, of course, if you do find yourself feeling that same desire when I am here, I would be all too happy to help you with that, you know… even if the sight of you touching yourself is a particularly arousing one.” He said the latter sentence with a cheeky grin on his face, playfully flicking the nobleman on the nose. “You are actually incorrigible”, Henry said, giggling. “Perhaps”, Sherlock replied. “But I am merely saying the truth, my dear boy.”

The young lord rolled his eyes, but he could not think of anything to say back to the detective to make him change his mind. Noticing this too, Sherlock grinned smugly. “I see that you have realised that I was right in this case”, he said teasingly. “Good. Now that that’s settled… I did actually have another reason for coming to you immediately after getting back here… I have something to ask of you, now that I will most likely be returning to my work as a consultant detective very soon.”

“…You do?”, Henry asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise and tilting his head like a curious cat. “What is it?” The detective smiled. “It’s quite simple, really”, he said, a mischievous spark lighting up in his eyes.

“I shall need someone to assist me.”

Chapter 19: Partners

Summary:

Sherlock invites Henry to assist him with his detective work.

“M-me?! Assist… you?” Henry’s eyes widened in complete and utter astonishment as soon as Sherlock had shared his plan with him. The detective could not help but smile ever so slightly as he saw the young lord like that. He truly was adorable, like he always was. “Why not?”, he asked, his smile slowly turning into a mischievous grin. “Watson is not always there to help me, you know… and I would greatly appreciate to hear your thoughts on matters. I have observed that someone else’s perspective, faulty as it may be, has often helped me greatly when trying to figure out the root to a problem. Besides… I think it would do you lots of good, my dear Henry. You wanted me to show you the real world… Well, what better way to do it than to have you with me while working on my cases? And who knows… perhaps you may learn or even discover some skills you never knew you had in the first place.”

The nobleman listened to him with a perplexed look on his face, though Sherlock could also spot an undeniable sense of excitement and curiosity coming from him. He gulped, seemingly thinking for a while. “…Do you truly think that I would be qualified enough…?”, he eventually asked, sounding somewhat hesitant. The detective nodded. “You are exactly the type of man suited for the job, my dear”, he assured the young lord, snapping his fingers. “There is no reason to sell yourself short. Or is there something that may make you think otherwise?”

Henry sighed, looking down at the ground as a frown spread across his face. “…I don’t know…”, he muttered. “I- I fear that most things simply go past me, I suppose… I mean, I could not even see though, well… the Stapleton’s lies…” He paused for a moment, shuddering as that name passed his lips. “…I’m not like Watson, Sherlock. I’m not quick-witted. Nor am I particularly observant. I… I feel like I would just be standing in your way.”

A worried frown spread across Sherlock’s face as he saw the young lord like that. Loathing himself. Unimpressed by his own abilities. And once again… feeling like he was useless. The detective could not bear to see him like that. It made him feel horrible. It made him experience a hollow, gnawing sensation that was slowly starting to build up in his chest. He did not even want to imagine what Henry must be feeling right now, if simply listening to his words could make one feel this awful already. He had to do something about it. He simply had to.  

“Henry…”, he stammered quietly, sitting down next to the nobleman, gently putting his arms around him and holding him close. “It’s quite all right, my dear Henry… there is no need to talk about yourself like that… Just listen to me, all right?” He let his hands rest on the young lord’s shoulders, staring into his deep, dark brown eyes. “I do not need you to be like Watson, my dear boy. If I specifically needed his abilities, I would have called for his help instead. I am asking you to assist me because I… I want you to be you, Henry. You… you could do that, right?” He slowly reached out to his darling’s face with his hand, tenderly running his finger over the bridge of his nose. “…That wouldn’t be too much to ask, correct?”

Henry let out a sniffle, softly closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy Sherlock’s caresses. “I- I can try to do that, at least…”, he muttered quietly. The detective gave him a kind smile, running his fingers through his hair before leaning forward and softly kissing him on the forehead. “There’s my sweet boy…”, he whispered affectionately, nuzzling the young lord’s face. “There’s my little darling… I would completely understand it if you would not want to do this. I am well aware of the fact that detective work is not something that sounds alluring to everyone. But please… don’t say no because you doubt your own qualities, even though you want it. I would not have asked you to help me if I deemed you incompetent, my love. I promise. So… I’ll ask you again… Would you like to accompany me on any future cases, my dear Henry?”

The nobleman thought for a while, before opening his eyelids again and staring at Sherlock with those puppy dog eyes of his. The detective immediately melted at the sight. Henry truly was too adorable for his own good. How could the universe have ever decided that someone would ever be allowed to be this darling? The answer to that question was still a mystery to him. But in all honesty, he did not mind it. He did not mind it at all. Henry was his, after all. His and his alone. And every day during which he saw the young lord looking at him like that was a day well spent in his book.

“I-if you are absolutely certain that I would not just be a burden…”, Henry stammered, looking down for a short while before directing his gaze back towards Sherlock again, his eyes almost sparkling with excitement and glee. “…then yes… Y-yes, I… I would love that. It… it sounds absolutely thrilling, in all honesty…” The detective gave him an approving smile, tapping the nobleman on the shoulder with his hand as he let out a hearty chuckle. “Good lad”, he said, nodding. “Good lad. Now, I doubt that we shall be getting any visitors today, seeing as we only arrived back at Baker Street his afternoon, but it would do you well to study some of the recent newspapers in the meantime. You never know what might end up being useful…”

He was about to say many more things, but he managed to stop himself for rambling on for hours as he was distracted by all the sheer excitement that was starting to emanate from the young lord. Henry was twiddling his thumbs together, blushing furiously as he began to smile to himself, his leg bouncing up and down in excitement. “My god…”, he whispered softly. “My god, I’m actually going to do this… I’m actually going to help you with detective work… I- I can hardly believe it…”

Sherlock’s lips curved upward in an adoring smile as he observed the nobleman. He was too precious. The detective could not contain himself any longer. He simply had to shower him with all of his affections. He had silently observed Henry’s adorableness for too long for him not to do just that. He leaned forward rapidly, putting his arms around the young lord and passionately kissing him on the lips. He could feel the nobleman’s body tensing up for a while, but he soon relaxed again as Henry began to kiss him back, his long, spidery fingers entangling themselves into Sherlock’s hair as the taste of his lips became more and more prominent in the detective’s mouth.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as he grasped onto the young lord’s face, breathing heavily as he explored the inside of Henry’s mouth with his tongue. He wanted to taste everything. All of him. The sensation was slowly driving him completely wild as he let out a soft growl, gently nipping at the nobleman’s lips before staring into his eyes. The young began to blush meekly. “…It feels like you’ve been gone for hours, you know…”, he whispered quietly.

The detective let out a soft yet sharp exhale, moving down to Henry’s neck and nuzzling him there. “Was it too long?”, he murmured, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he smelled the surface of the young lord’s skin. “Did I make you miss me too much?” That last sentence had an underlying tone of teasing coming from it, and the nobleman immediately picked up on it. He shook his head, rolling his eyes as a smirk escaped him. “No, not necessarily”, he replied. “I think it was… good to have some time to myself. To, you know… process everything that had happened. To fully assess how it all made me feel, I suppose. But I… I am glad that you are back now.”

Sherlock purred softly, pressing his lips against Henry’s neck even more intensely. “Well?”, he asked. “How did it all make you feel? Good, I’m assuming, going off on the things I saw you doing when I walked into our room just now?” He felt the young lord’s skin getting warmer and warmer as he asked that question. “Y-yes…”, the nobleman eventually replied. “Yes, it did, I… could not have wished for a better first time… Not that I ever doubted that, mind you… It’s more that I had been… completely overwhelmed by the entire experience… and then I had not really had a chance to think about it all by myself this whole day… so it had more to do with that than that I was doubting whether or not I had actually enjoyed the experience.”

The detective could not help but feel immensely proud as he heard those words coming from Henry. Proud of himself, of course, for being able to take his sweetheart’s virginity, as well as giving him a very pleasurable experience, but most of all, he was proud of Henry himself. He was proud of him being brave enough to admit when he was ready. Of him knowing when he needed some time to himself. And mostly, of him allowing himself to sexually experiment with himself.

He had to admit that he had not expected to walk in upon the young lord touching himself as he had entered their bedroom, but he could not deny the fact that the sight itself had been a wildly arousing one. He still remembered the image vividly. Henry laying there in their bed. Pleasuring himself. His face dampened by sweat, his eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy as he desperately clung onto the bedsheets, being driven completely delirious by all the things he was experiencing. Crying out in pleasure. Crying out Sherlock’s name. His name. And only his name. Nothing else. The detective had never been one to forget things that easily, but he was quite certain that this particular sight was one that he was especially likely to never forget. And in all honesty, he would not have it any other way.

“See, this is why I knew that you would be an excellent assistant”, he whispered, gently running his fingers over the nobleman’s face. “You know when to take a step back, take in all these things and think it all over. That is a remarkable skill to have, especially when working in my field, my dear Henry. You are much more talented than you give yourself credit for, you know.”

The young lord blushed, averting his eyes. It was obvious that he did not quite know how to answer to Sherlock’s praise. The detective smiled. He had not expected any differently from Henry, in all fairness. “Detective Baskerville…”, he chuckled, scratching his own chin and letting out a smirk. “…You know, I rather like the ring of it. I think it could work quite well indeed… What do you think, my dear?” The nobleman raised his eyebrows in surprise, before smiling bashfully. “I have to admit it sounds… a bit strange still…”, he said, scratching the back of his head. “…But I think I could get used to it. I… I think I could very much get used to it… ‘partner’.”

They stared at each other in silence for a while after that, before both bursting out in laughter. “Oh god, it really does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?”, Henry said, giggling. Sherlock clapped his hands together in glee, looking at the young lord adoringly. “Nonsense, my dear boy,” he replied, “nonsense. If anything, I think it sounds wonderful. I think it sounds very wonderful indeed. I… I would like nothing more in all honesty.” He held the nobleman’s hands in his own, before staring into his eyes, a blush spreading across his face.

“…I would very much like to be your partner, indeed.”

***

The next morning, the two men sat together, eating breakfast. It was fairly late in the morning by now and Sherlock, already having finished eating, had started to pace around the room every now and then, his hands folded behind his back as he looked out over the street through the window shutters with narrowed eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone passing by.

“What are you doing exactly, if I may ask?”, Henry asked, tilting his head in curiosity as he finished up his own breakfast. The detective looked back at him, having been snapped out of a deep train of thought. “Trying to see if anyone walking past the house looks as if they are about to come knocking at our door”, he explained, sounding as if it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. “You see, most people that come here in search of my help have a certain… look about them. They are often nervous. Panicked, even. By trying to spot these characteristics when observing any passersby, I can anticipate them coming here, without having to be surprised by any sudden intrusions. Because if there is anything I vehemently dislike… it’s sudden intrusions.”

He sprang up, taking a few steps towards the window as an enthusiastic sparkle lit up in his eyes. “Ah!”, he exclaimed, waving his hands about, gesturing for the young lord to come towards him as his attention was shifted towards one particular woman that was walking down the street. “I think we may very well have a case on our hands, judging from that agitated look on the unfortunate lady’s face, my dear fellow! Come, come, take a look for yourself! Doesn’t that simply look like a person who is in dire need of a detective’s help?”

Henry came and stood next to Sherlock, frowning as he looked at the woman the detective was pointing at. “…I don’t know”, he muttered, scratching his chin. “She could simply be upset for other reasons, correct? I fail to see how she would specifically be here for your help…” “Ah, but then you mustn’t forget that I have seen many others before her that looked exactly the same and did walk down Baker Street because they wanted me to take on their case, my dear Henry”, Sherlock responded, pointing at his own forehead. “In fact, I believe she may be ringing for us right about… now.” Just as those words left his lips, the ringing sound of a doorbell could be heard, and the detective gave the nobleman a triumphant smile. “What did I tell you, my dear Henry? In any case, let’s go meet our potential new client, shall we?”

As soon as he had said those words, an elderly woman entered the living room. “Someone to see you, Mr. Holmes”, he said, before the young lord caught her gaze. “Oh, you have a visitor already? Shall I tell the lady waiting to see you that she will have to be patient for just a little longer?”

The detective shook his head. “There’s no need for that, Mrs. Hudson, thank you very much”, he told his housekeeper. “I apologise that I have not yet introduced you to my friend Sir Henry Baskerville, who shall be my guest for the time being. I assume that you don’t mind a representative of the House of Baskerville staying here?” Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows in surprise, before apologetically shaking her head. “No, not at all, sir”, she replied. “I shall be very honoured indeed… In that case, shall I bring the woman in to see you two, then?” Sherlock nodded, giving her a kind smile. “That would be very much appreciated, thank you.”

As the housekeeper left the room, the detective turned towards the nobleman, smiling clumsily. “…I almost completely forgot about introducing you two”, he said, sounding a bit embarrassed. “Forgive me for my manners.” Henry shook his head, having gotten a bit red in the face. “It’s no trouble at all, I promise”, he responded. “I was just a bit surprised, that’s all.”

Before the two could exchange any more words to each other, a large, pale woman walked in through the living door, her elegant way of dressing immediately giving away the fact that this person was not one to have financial troubles and her face being struck with an unmistakable look of nervousness.

“Am I speaking to the honourable Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”, she asked anxiously, not even giving either man the opportunity to say something first. “You are, and this is my friend and colleague, Sir Henry Baskerville”, Sherlock responded calmly, before gesturing towards one of the many chairs that stood in the room. “But please, sit down first before you tell me of your troubles. I will not be able to help you if you stay panicked like this, I’m afraid.” The lady eyed the chair with hesitation for a while, but she eventually sat down anyways, letting her trembling hands rest on her lap as her eyes were wrought with terror.

“Do forgive my sudden intrusion”, she said, looking up at the detective apologetically, “but I am simply beside myself. I truly am at a loss for what I should do. The police are already investigating the matter, but they do not seem interested in what I have to tell them, and I fear that my husband’s life may be in danger if no one does listen. You are the only man I could think of that could possibly help me in this situation… you see, my husband was a friend of Alexander Holder, of Holder & Stevenson, and he has been most generous in his praise of your work.”

“Ah yes,” Sherlock mused to himself, grabbing his pipe and walking towards the fireplace to light it with a piece of coal, “I remember the case well. You do not mind if I smoke, do you? If you don’t, pray tell me and my companion your story, so we can hopefully do something about it.” The woman stared at Henry with a look of distrust on her face, which was visibly making the young lord uncomfortable, before turning back to the detective. “…No, I don’t”, he eventually said. “But really Mr. Holmes, is it truly necessary that your friend should be here in the room right now? I-it is a matter of some delicacy, you see-”

“You will discuss the matter with the two of us or you will not discuss it at all”, Sherlock said sternly, sitting down in one of the room’s chairs, putting his pipe in his mouth and pressing his fingertips against each other while looking at her with narrowed eyes. “My friend over here is an expert assistant to me, even if he does not even fully realise it himself. You can confide in him just as much as you can in me. I shall not accept the proposition of him being left out on any details.” He glanced over at the nobleman, who was completely taken aback by his fiery defence of his presence. He simply gave him a kind, reassuring smile, before turning his gaze back towards the stranger. “So… what shall it be?”

The woman narrowed her eyes for a short while, thinking intently, before letting out a sigh. “…Very well”, she said. “Do forgive me, both of you. All these events have shaken me up quite a bit, you see. I- I do not know who I can trust anymore.”

“It is quite understandable”, the detective said, waving his hand around impatiently. In all honesty, he was not quite in the mood for any feeble excuses that made it so that it would take even longer for them to get to the point. “Let us speak of the matter no further, as it has no relevance to the reason why you came to me in the first place.” He gestured for Henry to come sit next to him, which he did, before blowing out a wispy puff of smoke, crossing his legs and focusing his gaze on their potential client intently.

“Now… why don’t you start by calmly telling us your story, madame?”

Notes:

For people who haven’t read the books:
Mrs Hudson is the landlady of Sherlock’s apartment. Alexander Holder is one of Sherlock’s past clients, specifically in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter 20: The Case

Summary:

Henry and Sherlock hear out their new potential client.

Notes:

Hi! Last Monday I missed an upload because I was on vacation, but I'm hoping to continue to stick with the Monday/Friday uploading schedule again. Enjoy the chapter!

Henry gulped as he sat down, his heart beating in his chest as he felt his face getting flushed. He… he still could not believe the fact that this was actually happening. He was about to help Sherlock Holmes, London’s and perhaps even the world’s greatest detective, with a case. And the man had been adamant about his assistance. He had been back when he had suggested the very idea, and his resolution had not died down in the slightest just now. Perhaps it had gotten even stronger, instead.

“You will discuss the matter with the two of us or you will not discuss it at all… My friend over here is an expert assistant to me, even if he does not even fully realise it himself. You can confide in him just as much as you can in me. I shall not accept the proposition of him being left out on any details.” Sherlock’s voice when saying those words… it had sent goosebumps down the young lord’s skin. He had spoken with a sense of determination that the nobleman had never heard coming from him ever before. The very idea of Henry being left out on anything… it almost seemed as if the detective took offense to it. He wanted to have him here… He wanted to have him here and he was not going to be satisfied with any other outcome. In all honesty… it made the young lord feel… strangely validated.

And yet, it also made him terribly nervous. It made him wonder whether he was going to be able to live up to this plan that Sherlock had in mind for him. Sure, the detective may be confident that the nobleman was going to be able to assist him perfectly, but the fact remained that Henry had no idea as to what it was that he was supposed to be doing. Perhaps that was part of Sherlock’s plan. Perhaps it wasn’t. In all honesty, the nobleman did not understand what was going on in the detective’s mind in the slightest, but he had discovered long ago by now that Sherlock had a habit of not explaining his plans while they were still unfurling themselves. He was going to have to have faith, then. He was going to have to have faith that everything was going to turn out fine in the end.

…He could do that, he thought to himself. He could trust Sherlock. No matter what might happen. No matter what could go wrong. He at least knew that he had the detective to fall back on. And that… that brought him comfort.

He sat up a bit straighter, trying to soothe his nerves by appearing more confident than he truly was, let his hands rest on his lap and looked at the woman sitting in front of them. It was fine. It was all going to be fine. Even if he could not be of significant help, Sherlock would be able to save the day on his own, anyways. In the worst case scenario, he was simply getting to see a deductive genius in his element firsthand. That in and of itself should be a treat enough on its own… there was no need to worry like this. There really wasn’t. He… he was just going to try his best at this… and that was all that he could do.

He took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes as he tried to observe their new client. It seemed like the most logical first step to take. At least, it seemed like that would be the thing that Sherlock would do. And so, Henry thought, it would perhaps be best for him to begin this all by trying to imitate his ways. Of course, his eye wasn’t as trained as the detective’s, nor was he an expert at making any deductions based on the things he saw. But he had the feeling that Sherlock hadn’t asked him to be his assistant to do everything perfectly the first time he did it.

…He had asked him to be his assistant because he wanted him to try. And so, try he would.

Despite her anxious disposition making it so that she was sitting a bit hunched over, making her seem smaller than she actually was, Henry could tell that the lady actually was quite tall, especially for a woman of her perceived age. She was starting to get older, as the young lord could tell by evident grey streaks that were starting to appear in her dark hair, as well as the laugh lines on her face. There were many. This woman must have had a lot of good things happen to her in life for her to have smiled that much.

Perhaps she was from privilege, then? Her way of dressing certainly seemed to point towards the idea. She was wearing a long, elegant coat and a delicate dress underneath it, her boots were pristinely clean and the dainty gloves she was wearing showed hardly any signs of usage. If Henry had seen her when attending a gathering of the aristocracy, he would not have thought her to stand out in the slightest. That settled it, then. Definitely someone from the higher circles of London society.

That… that was one deduction done, at least… It was a simple one… but it was a deduction, nonetheless. The young lord quickly glanced at Sherlock with a hopeful look in his eyes, almost as if he thought that the detective could read his mind, but the man kept his steadfast gaze fixed on their client, pipe in his mouth as he waited for her to speak.

That… was to be expected, Henry thought to himself. He could hardly expect Sherlock to be able to focus on two things at once. And besides… perhaps it would be better to seek out his validation after they had gotten everything they wanted from this person. That… that would be best, the nobleman thought. He was not going to get anywhere by needing reassurance every step of the way. He was going to have to do some things by himself, as well. And what he needed to do now… was listen.

“My… my name is Elizabeth Hughes”, the woman began after having stayed silent for quite some time, seemingly to recollect herself after all the nerves. “I come here on behalf of my husband, whose name I am sure you are well familiar with, as he is in charge of one of London’s most frequently used banks. He is-”

“Mr. Edgar Hughes, of the City and Suburban Bank”, Sherlock interrupted, interlacing his fingers and closing his eyes. “…Yes, I am acquainted with the name. There is no need to introduce him any further. Pray, continue.”

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise, almost as if she was offended by the detective’s interruption, but she soon swallowed her pride and regained her composure. “R… right”, she said, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiping her forehead with it. “I simply wished to stress to you, Mr. Holmes, the importance of the matter. This is not some mere street crime for which I am coming to you.”

“Whether a case is important to me or not does not depend on such factors, Mrs. Hughes”, Sherlock remarked. “Please describe the plain and simple facts of the matter, and in your own words. I have no use for trivial details used to sensationalise a tale. Now… would you care to tell me what it is your husband is dealing with?”

Henry felt butterflies in his stomach as he listened to the detective. He… he had not seen him in charge of the situation like this in a long time… and never in this context. He secretly regretted the fact that he never got to see Sherlock take Dr. Mortimer down a notch when he came to Baker Street for his sake… That would have certainly been a sight to behold. But luckily, he was catching up on all that now, as he got to see the detective do his work up this close. And they had not even done any investigating yet… The young lord felt himself starting to blush. This was becoming very exciting indeed. It was almost enough for his anxieties to quiet down.

Mrs. Elizabeth Hughes took a deep breath, fanning herself with her handkerchief. She looked to be very distressed indeed, seemingly at a loss for words. “Well, Mr. Holmes…”, she began with a heavy heart, “you are no doubt aware that my husband is a very busy man. The City and Suburban Bank is frequented by many, and they often take care of loans and other valuable possessions. Now, a couple of days ago, my husband, he… he was entrusted with one of these… ‘valuable possessions’. A-and now… he has vanished…”

Sherlock opened his eyes, narrowing them as he leaned forward. “…‘Valuable possessions’, you say?”, he asked curiously. “What do you mean by that, exactly?” The woman seemed somewhat uncomfortable with that question. “…My… my husband told me that under no circumstances I should reveal what it was, should something happen to it”, she said. “It would cause a scandal.”

The detective impatiently tapped his fingers together. “I cannot help you if I do not have your full confidence, madame”, he said pointedly. “I’m afraid that you are going to have to be more specific than that.” Mrs. Hughes sighed desperately, throwing her hands up in the air. “…It… it was a small statue”, she eventually admitted. “Made of solid gold. My husband never told me who the client was, but he said that if this person was to be displeased in any way, it could very well mean the Bank’s downfall.” She let out another sigh, rubbing her temples. “…Though I suppose it will now cause my own husband’s downfall… now that he has disappeared without a trace…”

Something about the woman’s remark seemed to grab Sherlock’s attention at he suddenly sat up straight, almost like a hunting hound that was alerted by its prey suddenly moving. He did not talk about it any further though, which Henry found to be a bit odd. “…Without a trace, you say?”, the detective continued. “…Now surely, that cannot be possible.” The woman shrugged hopelessly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Holmes”, she responded. “He was at home yesterday, now he is nowhere to be seen. I… I don’t know what to do with myself…”

“Your husband could not have simply disappeared into thin air like that”, the detective interjected, snapping his fingers to illustrate his point. “He has to have gone somewhere. Are you absolutely certain that you cannot give us any clue as to where he might have gone?” Mrs. Hughes reached for one of her coat’s pockets, before pulling out an envelope. “…Only this”, she said, handing it over to the detective. “It arrived at our doorstep yesterday afternoon. When my husband read it, he... his face became as white as a corpse… he immediately retired to his room and didn’t come out, until he went for an evening stroll… and that was the last that I ever saw of him.”

“…Interesting”, Sherlock mumbled to himself, taking the letter out of the envelope and reading it. “…‘If you value your life, stay inside and do not visit the Bank at night. You know what will happen to you if you do.’ Hmmm… Cheerful fellows, that’s for sure.” He narrowed his eyes, turning around the paper, before looking back at their client. “…That was all?” The woman nodded. “That was all”, she said. “I tried to give this letter to the police, but they did not devote much time to me… I suppose they must be busy.”

“Possibly”, the detective muttered to himself, “…but they shall regret the fact that they did not listen to you soon enough, I believe.” He put the letter back in the envelope, before putting it down on the table. “Very well, Mrs. Hughes”, he said, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “…My assistant and I shall see what we can do for you.”

The woman almost immediately rose out of her chair, gasping in delight. “Oh, thank you!”, she exclaimed. “Thank you… I say, I thought all hope had gone out of the world for a moment… until I came here, that is… You shall find me very generous in my payment, Mr. Holmes… please, just… find my husband again…”

“I strive for efficiency”, the detective simply replied. “You did well to bring the matter to me, seeing just how foolish the police were to let evidence like this slip past their fingers. Now… I have a few things to ponder over. You did all that can be done for now, madame. I shall call for you once I will be able to shed some more light on the situation. For now… I bid you adieu.”

Once they were alone again, Sherlock sprinted towards Henry, pointing towards the envelope excitedly. “Henry!”, he cried excitedly, “Do you not see the blunder that the police have made by ignoring this?!” The young lord, overwhelmed by the detective’s sudden burst of passion, scratched his head and picked up the letter. “W-well…”, he stammered, taking the letter out of the envelope and reading it for himself, “…I suppose it explains the culprit’s motive for likely kidnapping this Mr. Hughes… But why are you calling this such a blunder, exactly…? The lady said it herself… aren’t they engaged otherwise? I- I mean, if an entire sector’s so busy that they cannot listen to this… mustn’t something terribly important be going on?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he began to pace around the room, his hands folded behind his back. “It is such a blunder because this case of a missing person is directly linked to this thing that they are so preoccupied with”, he mused to himself. “The London Times, today’s issue, stop press. It should still be lying somewhere around the breakfast table, I only read it this morning.” Henry raised his eyes in surprise as he walked over to pick up the newspaper. “Surely you cannot know that much-”

“It all becomes rather obvious once you read the article”, Sherlock said. “I’m certain that Mrs. Hughes was too worried about her husband to focus on other things, but if she had read today’s paper, perhaps she would have seen how it all ties in together rather nicely.”

The nobleman picked up the newspaper, flipped the pages until he arrived at the stop press, and read it all. He instantly saw what Sherlock was talking about. It was a very short article, but meaningful nonetheless:

Last night: robbery at the City and Suburban Bank. Suspect apprehended. Police have not released any more public information.

“Do… do you think he…”, Henry mumbled, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked up at Sherlock. The detective only returned a devious smile to him. “Do I think what?”, he asked innocently. “Come on… Deduce, my dear Henry… I know you can do it… It’s at the tip of your tongue, isn’t it?”

The young lord took a deep breath, hoping that he would not disappoint his partner. “…D-do you think he disregarded the letter’s warning, went to the bank, and got abducted during the robbery?”, he blurted out eventually. Sherlock clapped his hands together, smiling from ear to ear. “Wonderful, my dear boy!”, he exclaimed gleefully. “Absolutely wonderful! Something to that extent, yes. And there is another clue to be gained from that letter. Can you tell what it is?”

Henry narrowed his eyes, taking a close look at the letter. Holding it close to his eyes. Flipping it over. Trying to discern if there was perhaps a hidden message. “…It’s typewritten…?”, he eventually observed. Sherlock snapped his fingers. “Precisely. Meaning…?” The nobleman thought for a while. “…Perhaps the person did not want their handwriting to be seen…?”, he guessed. The detective clapped him on the back. “Correct yet again, my dear fellow! I say, you are starting to get the hang of this! I knew that I made the correct decision by asking you to be my assistant.”

The young lord felt his heart skipping a beat as Sherlock said those words. “D-do… do you mean that…?”, he stammered, tears beginning to sting in his eyes. “…Do you truly… mean that…? Am… am I doing well…?” He was starting to blush. His fingers were beginning to tremble. His legs were getting shaky. And all the while, he could not help but stare at the detective and those gorgeous, piercing eyes of his. He… he had never been told things like that much in his life. And now, for Sherlock of all people to be complimenting him… at something that he was an expert at… Henry could not even fully process it all.

“I… I think I need to sit down…”, he said faintly, waving fresh air his way by flapping his hands. “Oh god… Th… this is… so exciting…” The detective sat down next to him as he kissed him on the forehead, simply radiating excitement. “…Didn’t I tell you this would be a good idea?”, he whispered softly, nuzzling the nobleman’s neck. “…Didn’t I tell you that I had the utmost faith that you would be good at this?” “I- I suppose so…”, Henry responded, wrapping his arms around him. “…But it’s an entirely different situation when that turns out to… actually be true…”

Sherlock laughed. “You know, most things I say actually end up being true in one way or the other”, he chuckled. “I thought you would know that by now.” Henry smirked. “The most annoying thing here is that I cannot refute that claim in any way”, he responded. The detective grinned mischievously. “Of course you can’t”, he teased. “Because that would mean that I am not always right… But I suppose that you do have a hands-on way of learning things… don’t you?” The young lord’s body tensed up as he began to blush furiously. “What’s that supposed to-”, he began, but Sherlock only returned him a sweet smile. “With this all, I mean”, he said innocently. Too innocently. “The detective work. What else could I possibly be talking about?”

Henry was about to protest, but the detective stood up from their chair before he could do that. “Speaking of hand-on learning though, I believe that it is time for the second stage of our first ever case together. Why don’t you grab your coat, my dear Henry?” The young lord narrowed his eyes, sulking at Sherlock’s obvious teasing, but he eventually stood up, albeit reluctantly. “…Fine…”, he said, pouting. “…What’s our next step, exactly?”

The detective smiled, pressing a magnifying glass in the nobleman’s hands and putting on his tweed coat. “Why, the investigation, of course. We’re about to head to the City and Suburban Bank, my dear Henry… the game’s afoot.”

Chapter 21: On the Hunt

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry go investigating.

“…So, what do you make of that, my dear Henry?”

Sherlock and Henry had arrived at the City and Suburban Bank, and after the necessary sweet talking, they had finally gotten access to the crime scene of this reported theft. The detective had not seen Gregson or Lestrade around, which he was quite surprised by, but then again, they were not the only Scotland Yard detectives that worked in London. He would speak to the inspector in charge of the case later. For now… it was time to look at the crime scene and uncover the secrets hidden there in plain sight.

They were two stories high, in what seemed to be an office. Most likely Edgar Hughes’, the detective reasoned to himself. It had to be. One quick search of the room’s desk should prove his suspicions, but he wanted to make sure that the young lord would also actually learn something from investigating by this, instead of just watching him do his work.

This was all proving to be much more complicated than he had initially thought, Sherlock realised. Not the case. No, that seemed rather simple to him, actually. Making sure that he was being a good mentor to his fledgeling assistant, though… that was starting to prove challenging. He was not sure how to explain it all. His process of working. Of course, he had explained things to Watson before, but that had never been… like this. Watson was not his protégé. He was his friend and confidant. He had tried to make the doctor learn multiple times on the many cases they had worked on together, but that felt… different.

This… Henry and him working on their first ever case together… it felt like so much more. And Sherlock wanted to do this right. It was what the nobleman deserved. He deserved nothing less than perfection. And so that was what the detective was going to aim for.

It was not easy. Had he been on his own, he probably would have started to look for clues without exchanging a single word with any of the police officers, but he wanted Henry to think for himself, first. Not to mention that once he got started on his investigation frenzy, it was fairly difficult to get him out of it, so if he wanted to have the young lord actually learning something from this, better to have him do some sleuthing of his own first.

Sherlock knew that the nobleman would do a good job at it. He could not quite explain it… he just would. He had that gut feeling of his, and his gut feeling was rarely wrong. He was completely confident in Henry’s abilities. He was absolutely certain that he was going to do fantastic at it.

…If only he could see that for himself.

“M-me?” The young lord’s surprised stammers snapped the detective out of his deep train of thought. He turned towards his partner and saw him looking back at him with a nervous look in his eyes, his entire body tensed up as he let out a gulp. “What… what do you mean, exactly…?”, Henry continued to ask. “What… am I supposed to make of… what, exactly? We… only just walked into the room.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise. Right… probably not a very good idea to just ask him that question immediately, without providing any context. The nobleman’s mind did not work as quickly as his did. He pressed his pointer fingers together and pressed them against his upper lip, narrowing his eyes as he tried to think of what all the steps in his investigative process were. It felt rather… strange, in all honesty. Normally, he was not even conscious of all those steps. He just arrived at his conclusions in a flash. That was it. Of course, there were always steps, but they soared through his mind so quickly that he never had time to acknowledge them. But again… this was for Henry. This was so that he could properly understand how this all worked. And so, he would try… even if it felt unnatural.

“…I suppose what I am trying to ask here is… now that we are here, what is the first thing that you think we should do?”, he eventually settled on. “You know why we are here. We are trying to uncover the truth behind the mystery of Mr. Hughes mysterious disappearance, we suspect that foul play has somehow been involved, and now, we are at a place where a theft has been committed, the very place that the man that we are after was warned not to go to the day before he vanished. We suspect that the two crimes are linked together, but we have no evidence to substantiate that claim. So, what would you do now?”

The young lord frowned, repeatedly tapping his fingers against each other as a slight pout appeared on his face. It was so adorable. The detective smiled to himself and let out a fond sigh as soon as he saw it. He knew that they could not be affectionate with each other while out in public, but damn it, the urge was getting so strong as he saw his darling like this. It was so delightful to see Henry like this, as he tried his utmost best to arrive at a conclusion.

Sherlock could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking hard. It made him feel… rather proud, in all honesty. The nobleman had come so far already, from the nervous, innocent boy he once knew to someone who was now brave enough to take on a case together with the detective. Now, it was not as if that bashful, quiet lad had completely disappeared. Far from it, actually. Henry was still a nervous mess a lot of the time. But he was Sherlock’s nervous mess. And the detective could already tell that he was already feeling much more confident. The young lord’s self-confidence still had much left to be desired, but it was getting better. And that was what mattered in the end. And it made Sherlock so proud. It was all he could think of as he fondly stared at the nobleman, patiently waiting for his answer.

“…Well, we obviously need clues…”, Henry mumbled to himself. “…But we also barely know anything about this theft in the first place. S-so… maybe we should… ask the police officers about what they know about the case first? That… that way we could also investigate more efficiently, I’d wager… I- I mean, why look for evidence when they already found it, right…? Or, at least, perhaps we can be mindful of what they think actually happened… a-and when they are wrong, we can… prove that with things we find here…?”

The longer he kept talking, the more he seemed as if he was thinking out loud. The detective beamed with pride as he heard his partner’s reasoning. As soon as the nobleman was done talking, he looked at Sherlock clumsily, scratching the back of his head. “How… how’s that…?” The detective snapped his fingers in excitement, smiling in delight. “Excellent reasoning, my dear fellow! Excellent! I say, I would think that you have been doing this for a while if I did not know any better!”

He was about to jump up and passionately embrace the young lord, but he cut himself off last minute, awkwardly bumping against Henry’s torso, which caused the both of them to blush furiously. Sherlock gulped, scratching the back of his head as he smiled clumsily. “…I do apologise… we’ll… get to that later. But that was some excellent thinking you did there. Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

The nobleman stared down at the ground, his entire body tensing up as he kept shifting his balance from one foot to the other. “…The… the prospect terrifies me”, he shamefully admitted after a while. “…I don’t know what I should ask… I don’t know who any of these people are… and I… I hate talking to strangers… I’m sorry, I… I really… don’t want to do that…”

The detective raised his eyebrows. He had almost completely forgotten about Henry’s fear of dealing with people. And while he wanted this to be a learning experience for the young lord… he could also tell that this particular fear was something deep-rooted that was not going to solve itself in the blink of an eye. And this was supposed to be pleasant for both of them, after all.

He gave the young lord a patient smile, letting his hand rest on his shoulder and giving him a nod. “That’s all right, Henry. I understand. Shall we say that I take care of any talking business for now? That way, you can simply focus on the other detective work. Would that make you more comfortable?”

Henry twiddled with his thumbs for a while, before staring into Sherlock’s eyes. Dear god, he was doing his puppy dog eyes again. Was he trying to test the detective’s restraint or was he truly unaware of the things he was making him feel right now? “I… I would really appreciate that”, the young lord eventually whispered. “…Thank you, Sherlock.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes in silence like that for a while, until Sherlock remembered that they were, in fact, out in public, and amicably clapped the nobleman on his shoulder in the hopes of disguising his loving caress as a friendly gesture.

“Of course, my dear fellow”, he assured him, speaking noticeably more quickly due to embarrassment, turning his face away as it became redder and redder. “Why don’t you go look for some clues by yourself while I speak to the officers? You have the lens I gave you, that should be enough, but if you do end up needing anything else, do not hesitate to look for me. I would advise you to be careful with touching things, but I am certain that you are well aware of that yourself. I will be with you as quickly as possible, but I trust that you will do wonderfully on your own.”

Henry’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Me? Investigate? O-on my own?”, he stammered. The detective nodded. “Why, of course”, he responded. “How else are you going to learn, my friend?” The nobleman stared at the ground, frowning. “…I’m afraid that I’ll mess up the crime scene”, he mumbled. Sherlock discreetly brushed his hand against the young lord’s, hoping to give him some confidence. “You won’t, Henry”, he assured him. “You won’t if you are careful. If you’re nervous about this all, you can just take a look at things before I’m back, correct? It’s honestly astounding how much you can learn from a mere glance sometimes. You can simply stick to that, and nothing will go wrong. And besides… I will be with you fairly quickly again.”

Henry took a deep breath. “…Do you trust me with this, Sherlock?”, he eventually asked, sounding a bit hesitant. The detective gave him a determined nod. “You are my partner in this, Henry”, he said. “Of course I trust you.” The young lord looked at him, holding onto his hand briefly before letting go again. “…Then that is enough for me”, he muttered. “…But don’t be long.”

***

Sherlock did not learn much from the police that he did not already suspect, but he supposed that it was nice to have confirmation that his conjecture had been correct. The theft took place last night, supposedly around two in the morning, as witnesses had been reported hearing the shattering of glass around that time, which did correlate with one of the windows at the crime scene being smashed. The stolen object in question had been a one-of-a-kind solid gold statue, which was completely in line with the detective’s predictions. There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

The strangest thing about this all, though, was the fact that the police had not heard of Mr. Edgar Hughes’ disappearance at all. Sherlock guessed that when his wife tried to report his disappearance to the authorities, she must have been in such a shock that she had not even mentioned his name before the men at the precinct had cut her off, because as soon as Sherlock mentioned the fact that the Bank’s director had gone missing, all of the officers raised their eyebrows in surprise at him.

There had been some discussion between them, and then they had thanked him for bringing it to their attention, as this fact apparently shed a lot of light on their case. Bumbling fools, the detective thought to himself, rolling his eyes at the ineptitude of the officers Mrs. Hughes had spoken to this morning, but he listened to the story of what the police currently thought that had happened anyway.

Perpetrators snuck into the bank at night. They must have snuck in through the window, which is why it was shattered. A struggle occurred, which knocked out one of the culprits, who was found lying unconscious in the office in the morning. Mr. Hughes must have gotten the warning to keep him from interfering with the theft, but he must have gone to the bank regardless of the letter he received, which resulted in his kidnapping. Evidence at the scene suggested that someone ended up getting hurt, as blood splatters were found on the floor. That person must have been Mr. Hughes, at least according to the police. While Sherlock still doubted it, the officers seemed fairly certain of the fact.

The suspect they apprehended was one of the Bank’s guards, a man named Jacob Harris. To the detective’s annoyance, he would not be out of questioning for today, making it virtually impossible to personally see the man this day. They would have to be patient for some time, then, but Sherlock reasoned that speaking to the man could prove to be of vital importance. He was arrested on the grounds of his boot marks being all over the office, despite his claim that he had only stepped foot into the office before being knocked out, and the fact that he was found with a ripped piece of fabric, likely from a suit, in his hands that, after further inspection, was found to have small splatters of blood on it. The only problem, the police said, was to find out who Harris’ conspirators were and where the statue was now.

Sherlock kept his eyes narrowed throughout the entire story. The story was not as simple as that, he feared. But he would keep his mouth shut for now. He did not have enough data to fully construct a case yet. But he would soon change something about that. He still had not found the inspector in charge of the case, either. That was rather strange. He would have expected someone to have spoken up by now, but that had not been the case. But the detective would worry about that later.

“Well, that proved to be less illuminating than I had hoped,”, Sherlock sighed as he walked back into the office and approached Henry. “Have you been able to find anything?” The young lord looked up at him as he leaned over the office’s desk, sifting through a pile of papers. “…Well, I did confirm that this is in fact Edgar Hughes’ office”, he muttered, scratching his chin. “There are multiple letters here addressed to him. And I found this… do you think it might be of significance?” He pointed at a burnt piece of paper that was laying on the desk. “It was stuffed under this pile over here… I did not want to touch it, seeing that I would probably destroy the thing even more by doing that, but… it did seem strange to me.”

“…Interesting”, Sherlock mumbled to himself, taking out his magnifying glass and carefully inspecting the charred piece of paper. Suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise as he let out a cry of excitement, looking up at Henry with his eyes sparkling with passion. “Henry, my dear fellow, you’ve made a crucial find, my boy!”, he exclaimed, taking a few steps forward, bending over the table and taking a close look at the ashes. “See this over here?”, he rattled, more talking to himself than anything, “This was most definitely a letter! You can still see traces of the postscript here! And see this? It’s also typewritten!”

The young lord did not say anything for a while. The detective looked behind himself, wondering what could have prompted Henry’s sudden spell of silence, only to find the nobleman blushing furiously as he struggled to say anything. “I… um, you- your- he stammered, but he could not get out any words beyond that. Sherlock wondered what could have caused this sudden burst of embarrassment, until it all clicked.

Henry was staring at his butt.

The detective grinned widely as soon as he realised it. “What’s wrong, my dear Henry?”, he asked innocently, reaching even further so that his behind was even more prominently visible. “Something caught your attention?” Henry let out a soft gasp, covering his face with his hand in shame. “Dear lord, we’re in public, Sherlock”, he muttered, flustered beyond belief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, the detective replied, smiling sweetly. “But whatever it is that is distracting you must be quite amazing, given the importance of what we are doing here.” The young lord looked away. “…Oh my god, Sherlock…”, he gasped.

Sherlock smiled, before standing up straight again. “I’m only teasing, my friend. I apologise.” He gave Henry a smirk, winking. “…Though I do hope you enjoyed the view.” The nobleman blushed furiously, staring down at the ground. “…Believe me… I did.” “Then that is all that matters”, the detective said, chuckling.

Henry fumbled about nervously. “A-anyways… you said that the postscript was typewritten?” Sherlock nodded. “That’s right, I did.” The young lord frowned. “That’s quite a shame”, he sighed. “We would have been able to tell if the letters were written by the same person, otherwise. It’s not uncommon for letters to be typewritten, especially not to a bank director, I’m imagining…”

The detective shook his head. “Far from it, my dear boy. You simply have to know where to look. Let’s see here…” He took a small envelope out of his pocket, carefully picking up the letter’s remains and putting them in it, before pocketing the entire thing. “…I have a feeling a thorough inspection of this letter and the one Mrs. Hughes gave us will prove to be enlightening. Oh, and… can you give me one of those documents that belonged to that larger pile for good measure, Henry? One that you suspect was written my Mr. Hughes himself?”

The nobleman did what was asked of him, albeit with a puzzled look on his face. “…Sure…?”, he mumbled. “…Though I am not sure as to what it is you are getting at…” “It’ll explain itself once we get back to Baker Street”, Sherlock simply responded. “Now… before I take a look at the room myself, I believe that I should first share with you all the details that I learned from the officers here. I must say that they did not help our case that much, but they did show me one thing that was particularly interesting. Take a look at this, will you?”

He showed the young lord the piece of fabric that was found in the suspect’s hand, holding his magnifying glass over it and inspecting it carefully. “This was found in the theft’s suspect’s possession this morning. What stands out to you?” Henry looked through Sherlock’s magnifying glass, scratching his head. “…It has a lot of little scratches for something that was supposed to be torn off by a hand?”, he hesitantly guessed after a while. “That, and the blood stains, obviously.”

The detective nodded. “I am inclined to agree with you”, he said. “I suspect this piece of cloth was used as a diversion to incriminate the poor fellow that they have locked up right now. The question now, of course, is whose suit this belonged to, but I suspect that we shall discover that soon enough. Now…” He cracked his knuckles, a wave of excitement rushing through him. It had been far too long since he had done something like this. “…time for me to inspect every nook and cranny, wouldn’t you agree?”

Henry might have given a response, but Sherlock’s mind had already gotten into his investigation flow before he had the time to process it. It tended to happen whenever he got to investigating. He felt like a completely different person whenever it happened. Like a switch got flipped. Every sound became a vague blur. Like he was underwater. He could only focus on clues. Nothing else was important. He was out on the hunt… the hunt for proof.

The office was fairly large. It had a large desk on it, though there was not much to gain from it, except for the things that Henry had already found. Edgar Hughes apparently smoked cigars imported from America (it seemed like a trivial fact to most, but Sherlock had found that details like this could save a man’s skin in the oddest of times). What interested the detective the most was the footprints, though. There were a lot of them, if you looked carefully. There were still mud stains. Was the number of them the reason for the police thinking that there were multiple perpetrators? Possibly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the rashness of their thinking.

He took out a measuring tape, noting the length of the footprints themselves, how broad they were and the distance in between steps. He heard a “What are you-” coming from Henry, but he simply gave him one glance, letting him know not to be disturbed. That may have seemed like rudeness to most, but it was a luxury that Henry was only getting a glance. If it had been anyone else, he would have given them an irritated snarl without any further thought. He tended to unintentionally do that when being disturbed while investigating. He did not like it. He would explain the process of what he was doing to the young lord later. Now, he could not focus on anything else but the need for proof.

The window was indeed smashed in. The glass shards being inside suggested that the window was smashed in from the outside. There was a sturdy ivy plant growing on the outside walls of the bank, most likely the way the building was entered. They would have to test some things there once they were outside again. What stood out to the detective was the fact that there was some blood on the glass shards, though. Whoever smashed in the window must have hurt their hand.

He spent a good few more minutes searching for clues, but he did not find much more beside that. Once he realised that there was no further information to be gathered here and his full consciousness seemed to return to him somewhat, he was lying flat on his stomach and had his face half pressed against the floor, looking through his magnifying glass.

“Was that… illuminating…?”, he heard Henry say. Sherlock scrambled to get up, wiped the dust from his suit jacket, and smiled. “Oh, certainly”, he said, grinning. “We have gathered a lot of data today. I think for now, there is nothing more that can be done. I need to think over all these clues and let them simmer in my head. Then tomorrow, I’ll figure out what our next step is.” “We’re done for the day already?”, the young lord asked, surprised. The detective nodded. “Why not?”, he said. “We cannot speak to Jacob Harris today, so it’s best to leave it at here for now. We must not overtax our brains, my friend. Why don’t we go for tea to relax? And then I can treat you to some of my violin playing afterwards once we get home.”

Henry’s eyes seemed to sparkle as soon as he heard that suggestion. “That… that sounds wonderful…”, he said. “…If you think it would be all right, then… yes, let’s… let’s call it for today.” Sherlock smiled. “Delightful”, he said as they were walking downstairs again. “There’s a good place we can go to not far away from here, I can highly recommend it-”

“Sherlock Holmes.” As soon as the detective heard that voice, he froze in place, his eyes widening in fear. It… it could not be… but… it sounded just like him… “I should have expected you to turn up here eventually”, the voice continued. “You always had a knack for interrupting policework.” Sherlock gulped, turning around to face the direction from which he heard the sound come from. His heart sank as soon as he saw the person who had spoken to him. “Is… is everything all-”, he heard Henry say, but his voice almost seemed to fade away into nothingness to the detective as soon as his eyes met the other man’s. He felt as if he had just been punched in the gut. It all came rushing back to him. Why… why was he here… Was this the reason that he had not found the inspector in charge of the case yet…?

Only two words passed his lips.

“…Inspector Dryden…”

Notes:

Gregson and Lestrade are returning characters from the Sherlock Holmes books that are Scotland Yard detectives.

Chapter 22: Confrontations and Muffins

Summary:

Henry gets Sherlock out of a pickle after being confronted with his ex-lover again, after which the two of them get some relaxation.

Henry’s hairs stood on end as soon as he heard that terrified tone coming from Sherlock’s voice. He had never heard him like that ever before. He turned to look at him, concerned, and saw a pallor spreading across the detective’s face as he took a few steps back. The young lord felt an anxious feeling creeping up in his stomach. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Nothing, not even the most gruesome details of the Baskerville case, had managed to shake Sherlock up this much, as far to the nobleman’s knowledge, at least. For this man to be able to frighten the detective like this, only by speaking a few sentences to him… something horrible must have happened between the two.

And then it all clicked. Henry’s eyes widened in horror as he made the realisation. The horrible feeling in his stomach was getting worse by the second. Could… could it be…?

“…I was still very young when it all happened… There was… a certain inspector working in the police force during those days… And I found myself unable to say no. I thought that by refusing him, I denied him his way of showing me that he loved me…”

Was… was this the man that Sherlock had spoken of back then? Was this… his first sexual partner? The young lord did not have much information about this supposed person to go off on, but he did know a couple of things. He listed them off in his mind, hoping that his conclusion would be wrong, but his heart sank as he realised that it all fit into place suspiciously well.

Inspector for Scotland Yard. Check. Older than Sherlock. Check. Able to terrify Sherlock to his very core… Check. The nobleman’s body completely tensed up as he made these observations. Now, he couldn’t say it for certain, obviously… but it was starting to look like his suspicions were being proven correct. His concern for Sherlock grew. He remembered the look in his eyes when he had told Henry of his past with this person. How absolutely distraught he had been. And, most of all… how he was still refusing to properly acknowledge the fact that the things this man had put him through had been traumatising. How he kept trying to play it off like it was nothing… despite the fact that he was obviously still so hurt by it all.

“…You must be in charge of the case then”, the detective said after a while, snapping Henry out of his train of thought. His tone was… cold. As if he held a deep disdain for the person he was talking to, yet tried to hide it. “I was wondering why neither Gregson or Lestrade were at the scene.” The inspector crossed his arms. “They temporarily put me in charge of the London districts again”, he simply replied. “I am filling in for someone… I’ll be honest, I was surprised that I had not spotted you trying to stick your nose into official police business sooner.”

Sherlock stayed silent for a while. “…We got permission from one of your officers”, he muttered eventually. Inspector Dryden narrowed his eyes. “…Permission to disturb the crime scene?”, he interrogated. “To take evidence? To distract my officers with your incessant questioning and ludicrous theories? Do not make me laugh, Holmes. I know your methods. Leave the crime fighting to the officials and go play with your chemistry set elsewhere.”

“…That certainly is an interesting way of phrasing me doing most of the thinking so that you can go claim credit for my efforts”, the detective quietly mumbled to himself. The other man’s eyes sparked with anger. “Excuse me?”, he sneered. “I do not recall you having such an attitude back then, Holmes. Now, you listen to me, and you listen to me well. I do not know what leniencies my colleagues grant you, now that your sensationalised tales have gotten some renown with the public, but do not expect them of me. I do not care that you and your ‘deductions’ have garnered fame. You were an amateur back then, and an amateur you shall remain in my eyes. Now get out of my sight and do not interfere with my case again.”

Sherlock looked away, frowning as he struggled to come up with a response. His breathing was noticeably becoming faster, his arms were slouching down and a hurt expression spread across his face. It… it was horrible to see. And the things the inspector said… they were so horribly false. It was… infuriating. This whole situation was. This idiot should be thankful for the fact that the detective had come to solve the mystery of what had happened, not be angry at him… It… it was so unfair. It made Henry’s blood boil. He… he had to do something. He could not just stand by idly and let this all happen. He… had to stand up for Sherlock.

“E-excuse me.” The young lord took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. Curses, he thought to himself. Why did he get the sudden urge to speak up about all this, again? “What?”, Dryden scowled at him, looking at him dismissively. As soon as the man looked at him, the nobleman felt his skin crawl as his legs were starting to shake. Dear god, this had been a foolish decision. But there was no backing out of it now… he had to say something.

Henry took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he tried to think of ways to hide his anxieties. Just… do what Sherlock normally does, he thought to himself, calling upon the detective’s presented confidence and praying that it would work out for him. He would only have to say a few sentences, and then get the two of them out of here. It was all going to be fine. It was all going to be all right. Just those few sentences. If he could just put up a facade for those few seconds, it would all be fine and dandy. Just. Those. Sentences. He took another deep breath. This was it. He… he could do this… if Sherlock could do it almost every day of his life, for better or for worse, then surely he would be able to do it for a few minutes, right…?

“E-everything we did here was done with permission from the police”, the young lord stammered. “If you have an issue with the f-fact that we were here, you should take it up with them, not us. And n… not only that, but if it had not been for Mr. Holmes being so helpful as to come here, the police would not have been aware of a v-very important fact. I t-take it you weren’t aware of the fact that Mr. Edgar Hughes, the director of this very bank, has g-gone missing?”

Dryden was about to answer his question, but the nobleman continued before he could get a word out. He did not want him to speak before he was done saying what he wanted to say. Any interruption might have been enough for him to be left completely speechless due to the rampant nervousness he was experiencing.

“No, you weren’t”, he said. “And… and that is but one of the many facts that my friend over here has brought to light without Scotland Yard even suspecting it. Sherlock Holmes has been nothing but h-helpful here, and the way you are treating him is utterly disgraceful. We are here on private business, and we will interfere with your case as much as we want if it means advancing our own case.” He tipped his hat at the inspector, before turning to Sherlock.

“…Come on, Holmes”, he simply said. “We have other things to busy ourselves with.” The detective did not move, still terrified, but Henry gently put his arm on his shoulder, turning him back towards the exit again, before looking back at Dryden. “…Good day to you sir.”

As soon as the young lord had guided Sherlock outside with shaking legs, his wobbly knees gave out on him, making him lose his balance and almost fall down, had it not been for the detective catching him just before he was about to plummet down. “Are… are you all right, Henry?”, Sherlock asked, gently guiding the nobleman towards the ground and helping him sit up. Henry took a few deep breaths, trying to focus on looking at the detective as he felt his head getting light, but a faint smile appeared on his face. “I… I felt like I was about to have a heart attack back there…”, he gasped. “…but you needed to get out of there. I couldn’t just… say nothing.”

Sherlock gave him a melancholic smile, shaking his head. “…You silly, silly man”, he sighed, looking at the ground. “…That man is not one that you should try to anger.” The young lord scoffed. “Well, how am I supposed not to anger him then, if significantly helping his case irritates him? Supplying his officers with crucial facts? Finding out that they were wrong about multiple things and working on a better theory instead?” He narrowed his eyes, frowning as he clutched his fist. “…Ungrateful swine. I… I did not know what came over me as he kept on degrading you, I… I just felt… so angry, Sherlock…” He stared into the detective’s eyes, sniffling. “…It’s not fair…”

Sherlock stayed silent for a while, obviously very flattered by Henry listing down all the things he had done for the police today, before a miserable look spread across his face as soon as that last sentence passed the nobleman’s lips. “…No, it’s not, Henry”, he eventually sighed. “…None of this is. As a private investigator, the police force will simply take all the credit if you get involved. Even if you did most of the thinking, they will see you as nothing more than a nuisance. Now, Gregson and Lestrade have grown to recognise my skills and openly welcome my assistance, but…” He sighed, shrugging. “…Not all officers are like that. And inspector Dryden, he… well, let’s just say he is not fond of me. But it’s all right. We’ll manage. And we’ll find Mr. Hughes, with or without his… interruptions. It’ll be fine, Henry.”

Despite the detective’s assuring words, the young lord was not satisfied by that reply. If anything, it… it made him worry even more. Sherlock was trying to hide something. To brush it off as nothing.

…Henry had a feeling as to what it was that the detective was trying to downplay for his sake.

“…That was him, right?”, he asked after a while. “The man that… well…” He gulped, not even daring to finish that sentence out loud.

That was not necessary, though. The look in the detective’s eyes as soon as their gazes met one another said enough. Sherlock let out a sigh, before running a hand through his hair. “…Yes, he is”, he eventually admitted, before letting out a frustrated groan. “…And I thought that I was forever rid of him… Why do I have to fall victim to this rotten luck now of all moments?! Why…” He looked away, obviously trying to hide the tears that were glinting in his eyes. Henry understood it. Sherlock could not afford to be seen crying in public, especially considering his reputation. He wanted to help him, to console him, to hold him, but… his fear of being openly seen like that froze him. He was powerless to do anything. And it made him feel miserable.

After a while, the detective took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, and looked back at the young lord again. “…But there’s no use to moping over that now”, he said, managing to give the nobleman a smile, albeit a slightly painful one. “…Let’s go for tea, shall we? I feel like you deserve it after all the talent you’ve shown me today… and after getting me out of… that situation, as well.” Henry gave him a concerned look, despite all of Sherlock’s compliments making him blush. “Are you sure?”, he asked nervously. “We… we can go home instead, if you’d-”

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I wanted to go home Henry”, the detective said, giving the nobleman a pointed look. “…Besides, I need some distraction anyways. I know my own head and I know that it will just be pondering over all these nasty things if I do not get it.” Henry did not reply for a while, but he eventually gave Sherlock a nod after scrambling to get up with the detective’s help. “…Very well”, he said. “If distraction’s what you need, then distraction we shall get.”

***

“Need any milk?” Henry passed the milk jug over to Sherlock, both of them having been served a piping hot cup of steaming tea, as well as a plate of muffins. The young lord was eagerly stirring his sugar through his cup, but he had noticed that the detective had left his tea unattended still. He was leaning with one elbow on the table, his eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown as he seemed to be deep in thought. The nobleman’s soft voice seemingly brought him back to reality somewhat. “Hmm?”, he mumbled, but when he saw the milk jug being passed his way, he gave Henry a warm smile. “Ah, thank you, my dear Henry”, he said, taking the milk jug and pouring its contents into his cup. “Do forgive me, I was… pondering over some details of our case.”

The young lord frowned. He had a feeling that their case was not the only thing distracting the detective. “Which details?”, he eventually asked though, eagerly grabbing a muffin, taking a bite and relishing in its taste. He adored baked goods, and these were hitting the spot just right after a long investigation. Sherlock repeatedly tapped his fingertips against each other after taking a sip of tea. “…That letter you found is of great interest to me”, he said after a while. “I cannot stress enough how important that find was, my dear boy. I really can’t. You did admirably there… and with a lot of other things as well. You’re learning so much already, my darling…” He took the nobleman’s hands in his, his eyes twinkling with delight. “…You make me so proud, Henry. You really do.”

Henry blushed, feeling butterflies in his stomach again as his entire body began to tingle. Sherlock… was proud of him… He truly could not describe the way it made him feel. It was magical. “You make me so proud, Henry.” The words kept echoing through his head. He… he had not heard anything like that for such a long time… It just meant so much to hear that sentiment. And from Sherlock Holmes, no less. He squeezed the detective’s hand, gazing into his eyes. They were still as beautiful as they were the first time he had looked into them. He… he loved Sherlock so much. He truly did.

“…You’re going to make me blush…”, he said while covering his mouth, sounding a bit muffled as his mouth was still half full with his muffin. The detective let his head rest on his hands as he just stared at the young lord clumsily laugh at his own poor manners, letting out a swooning sigh. “…My god, you’re adorable, you know that, right?”, he murmured. Henry blushed furiously, covering his face. “…It’s just a bit of muffin…”, he protested, but Sherlock softly ran his fingers over his cheek, making him melt into his affections. “…You’re as sweet and soft as one”, the detective whispered. “…My darling little muffin.”

The young lord became even redder in the face. “…Oh- oh god- Am I going to be stuck with that pet name forever now…?”, he asked, giggling softly. Sherlock smiled. “You’re my little muffin boy now, and there’s nothing you can do about it, I’m afraid.” He leaned forward, the sound of his whispering voice sending goosebumps down Henry’s skin: “…And I do hope to devour you whole soon.”

The nobleman froze in place. “…We’re in public, Sherlock…”, he squeaked quietly. The detective moved away, a mischievous grin on his face. “Right… I do apologise”, he said, smirking triumphantly. “Well one way to remedy that, then. We must go back to Baker Street once we’re finished here.” Henry nodded. That seemed like a wise idea to him, as well. Not only because he also desperately wanted to kiss the detective, but also because he felt like Sherlock was in desperate need of some time out of the public. Despite the detective’s cheery demeanour, he was aware that he was partially keeping up a facade.

…One that he needed to drop soon.

“...Yeah, let’s”, he simply replied, sipping his tea. “…I think we are both in need of that.”

***

As soon as Sherlock closed the door behind them as they entered their apartment, he let out a deep sigh, his cheerful expression instantly fading from his face as he walked over to the couch and sank down on it. He groaned, covering his face with one hand as he just laid there for a while. “…Dear god, today has been exhausting”, he sighed.

“…Pipe?”, Henry asked, picking up the detective’s clay pipe without waiting for an answer and offering it to him. Sherlock looked up at him, seemingly surprised by the young lord’s thoughtfulness. “…Yes… Thank you, my darling”, he responded, eagerly taking the pipe from his companion’s hands, taking a matchbox out of his pocket, lighting it and taking multiple deep puffs from it. He let out another groan, blowing out foggy clouds of smoke that were soon starting to fill the room. He did not say anything. He just stared into the distance, an exhausted look on his face.

Henry sat down next to him, twiddling his thumbs. “…I’m sorry that you had to meet… him again”, he said after a while. He did not really know what he was supposed to say. The detective closed his eyes, before sitting up and rubbing his temples. “It… it’s fine…”, he said, staring down at the ground. “I- I was simply surprised to see him again after so long. I’m… sure that he won’t be a problem again if we bump into him again. I’ll be… able to deal with it-”

“Sherlock.” The young lord took Sherlock’s hands in his. “Sherlock, listen to me. It’s not fine. That man did horrible things to you, and you obviously have never gotten a proper way to deal with that fact. He abused you, Sherlock. That’s… that’s never fine…” As soon as the word ‘abused’ passed his lips, the detective’s eyes seemed to widen somewhat. He let his head rest in his hands, sniffling. “…What am I supposed to do about it, though…?”, he sobbed. “I- I thought that I had gotten over it all, but- it all just came rushing back to me when I saw him, and I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

Henry sighed, letting his hand rest on Sherlock’s shoulder and gently stroking it. “…I don’t really know, in all honesty”, he admitted. “…But if you need to talk about it, I’m here, all right?” The detective nodded, his lips quivering. “…Thank you…”, he muttered after a while. “…I- I think I need some time on my own, if that’s all right…” “Of course it is, darling”, the young lord assured him, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Of course it is. Take all the time you need… and I’ll be there for you when you need me.”

After supper, Henry went straight to bed. Sherlock did not follow him, but he had gotten used to the detective staying up late by now. What was new to him, though, was the distant sound of his lover sorrowfully playing his violin. The young lord sat up in bed as he heard it. He… could not describe it with words. Never had he heard such sorrow come from an instrument ever before. It… it was beautiful… but it was painful to listen to at the same time. Sherlock went from playing sombre melodies to dejectedly plucking at the strings, producing hair-raising sounds.

…It brought Henry to tears as he listened to it.

It was all he could listen to as he laid back down in bed, covering himself with the blankets as he wished that he could bring the detective comfort in any way. That he could pull him out of this bout of gloominess he was suffering from. That he would be able to make him smile again. Even if it was just a little bit.

…He wished all these things. But he didn’t know how to do any of them.

It was the last thought that went through his mind before he sank away into a deep sleep.

Chapter 23: Memories

Summary:

Sherlock wakes up from a nightmare.

Notes:

Content warning: this chapter contains flashbacks to and allusions to a dubcon sex scene.

“What do you mean, you’re not in the mood?”

Sherlock sighed, shrugging as he gave Paul an annoyed glance. “What is there not to understand?”, he snapped back. “I simply do not want to have sex tonight. I do not know how you cannot comprehend that. I’ve had a long day, I’m tired, I… I just want to go home, Dryden.”

“That’s inspector Dryden to you, Holmes”, Paul corrected him. Sherlock scowled. “We are not at anything work related”, he protested. “There’s no reason to keep up those formalities-” “Oh, but there is, my little fledgeling”, the taller man said, letting his hand rest against the wall they were standing close to and leaning forward, making the younger man back up and pressing him against it. “There most certainly is.” He smiled maliciously as he let his fingers trail over Sherlock’s jaw, caressing it. Softly, but lovelessly. His movements were not affectionate. They were possessive.

“You need to call me that because you need to know who your superior is, Holmes.”

The beginner detective’s entire body tensed up. “Dryden, I just told you-”, he stammered, but Paul shut him up with shushing noises. “Tut tut”, he whispered, pressing his face against Sherlock’s neck and breathing in his smell, almost like a hound smelling its prey before it bites down. “You need not lie to me, Holmes. You know you do not have to.”

That sentence roused Sherlock’s anger. He pushed Paul away from him, his body starting to tremble. He… he was scared. He did not like to admit it, but he was scared. He did not like the power the inspector had over him. He did not like the things he did to his body without asking. He felt uncomfortable with everything they had done after that first kiss they had shared. That had felt exciting… but now, he was just unsure about it all.

He felt like he barely had time to think before Paul made him do all of these things. He could never stop to consider whether he enjoyed them as much as his senior did. He… he had thought that this was how it was supposed to be. This was how Paul showed his love for him… it was rude to say no. He could not say no. No matter how much he wanted to. His lips were tied. This was the first time he had ever declined one of Paul’s requests… well, demands for sex. And it was going as well as he predicted it to go.

“What am I lying about?!”, he asked angrily, his hands bawling up into frustrated fists. “I genuinely don’t understand. Why are you making such a hassle about this?” The police inspector narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps towards the detective again. “…Because you are lying about the reason”, he said. “…You say no because you fear people finding out about this.”

“I don’t!”, Sherlock shouted. “Well- I do, I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t when doing this, but… that’s not why I don’t want you to fuck me. I- I just… I don’t want it now. Period. End of discussion. I’m tired, I have a busy day at the lab tomorrow and I-”

“…It would be a shame if your friends at the lab knew about the things we do together when we meet up at night like this”, Paul interrupted, narrowing his eyes as his smile turned even more malicious. “…Would you like that, Holmes? Would you like them to know about the things I make you do? Or how good of a little slut you are? Oh, I can already picture the looks on their faces…” Sherlock froze. “You- you wouldn’t-” The inspector forced him up against the wall even more. “Oh, I would, believe me”, he threatened. “You seem to have an uncanny ability to remember things, Holmes, so tell me this: surely, you must know what the legal punishment for sodomy is, don’t you?”

The detective looked down at the ground, his arms slumping down as he sighed meekly. “…I do…”, he conceded, shuddering. It had not even been that many years ago when sodomy was still punishable by death. “Now, you wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t you?”, Paul continued, grabbing Sherlock’s jaw. “…I can ruin your entire future with one single accusation, my little fledgeling. It wouldn’t be wise to defy me. Now get on your knees and do as you’re told.”

Whatever fiery resistance had inspired Sherlock to speak out against this man in the first place faded away like snow in the sun as he listened to Paul’s threat. He cowered away as his eyes widened in fear. He… he really had no choice in the matter. It was either this… or the rest of his life would be ruined. He let out a defeated sigh, slumping down on his knees as he reverentially looked up at the inspector.

…This was the lesser evil.

“Good.” Paul smiled down at the younger man wickedly. “…Very good, my darling little fledgeling. Now, you’ll do as you’re told, right?” Sherlock simply nodded. He knew better than to speak to the inspector during moments like these. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that this was all a bad dream and that when he woke up, none of this would have happened.

…He stayed awake, though. And sadly, he would have to stay awake during the next few moments, as well.

“Take off your clothes, Holmes”, Paul ordered. The detective’s lip began to quiver as he reluctantly stripped himself naked, feeling more humiliated by the second. He felt violated. He knew exactly what the inspector was looking at and he knew that he did not want his prying eyes there. But he had no choice but to obey. He felt cold. He felt hurt. He felt crushed. And the worst part of this all was that it was just the beginning.

“…Good…”, the older man chuckled. He undid his belt, before running his fingers through the detective’s soft, brown hair, his caresses soon turning into an iron grip as he ruthlessly forced Sherlock to look up at him. The detective let out a soft yelp, tears stinging in his eyes as he stared at Paul. “…Please…”, he sobbed hopelessly. “…You’re hurting…” The inspector smiled. “Good”, he sneered. “That means that you’re learning a lesson.” And without any words, he firmly gripped Sherlock’s head and forced him to take his cock in his mouth.

The detective gagged as he felt Paul’s length stuffing his throat. He soon regained his composure, though. He could not stay surprised like this. He knew that if he did not satisfy Paul, he would suffer for it. Tears streaming down his face, his arms flailed around wildly until he could get a hold of the inspector’s hips, grabbing onto them for dear life as he tried to move along to his rough thrusts the best he could. Paul was still pulling at his hair. It hurt. It all hurt. Nothing he was doing was even remotely pleasurable to Sherlock. Their meetups may have been pleasurable for him in the beginning, even though he did not get that much of a kick out of it all, but it was dreadfully obvious that the inspector was simply doing this all to hurt him now… and deriving some sick sort of pleasure out of it, as well.

Sherlock was starting to cry. Muffled sobs escaped him as he kept on taking the inspector’s cock deeper and deeper, unable to escape. “Good, my little whore…”, Paul moaned, gripping onto the detective’s hair even more tightly as the younger man let out another yelp. “Yes… God, you’re useless at the crime scene… but at least those lips of yours can be of use… once you stop yapping, that is. I like you much more when you’ve shut up because you have my cock in your mouth.”

Sherlock let out another cry of discomfort, but it was ignored. Never had he felt more alone in his entire life. It was ironic really… wasn’t this act supposed to encompass all love? If this was love, he did not want to have anything to do with it. Not even in the slightest. It… it was all dead to him. He’d rather be dead than having to do this even one more time. He… he felt useless. He felt like he was being debased. He felt like he was… broken. There was something wrong with him. There was something deeply wrong with him. And yet, he did not know how to fix himself. He was not even useful to people to make up for all of his shortcomings. It would just be better if he had never been alive at all.

“Go on, you dirty little slut…”, Paul moaned, beginning to spill deep into Sherlock’s throat. “That’s it… take it all… you are mine, you useless scumbag… No one is ever going to want you… No one is ever going to enjoy you… So just take what you can get, Holmes…”

“Because no one else in this world could ever love someone like you…”

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, you’re… you’re crying…” The detective felt his body being shook awake by gentle hands. He gasped loudly, his eyes widening in panic as he looked around himself wildly, before he spotted Henry laying beside him in bed, staring at him with a worried look on his face. He… he was in his bedroom… at his home in Baker Street… with Henry. No one else. He was safe. It was all fine. He let out a sigh of relief, keeping his gaze fixed on the young lord as he dried his own tears.

Why… why had he been crying so much as of late? He had not cried in years. He could not even fully remember the last time he had cried before he had met Henry. It seemed like he was just letting his tears have free reign of him now, though. He… did not like it. He did not like it at all. And he especially didn’t like the risk of being seen crying. No one should ever see him cry. He was not supposed to. Everyone just expected him to have his emotions in check at all times. And he did, most of the time… but this all just made him feel even more worthless than he already did when he did fail to have a grip on his feelings.  

“…Are you all right, Sherlock?”, the nobleman asked, putting his arms around the detective in an attempt to comfort him. “I… was not sure as to whether you were awake or not, but you seemed to be… in a lot of distress, so… I thought it best to make sure that everything was fine.” Sherlock gulped, pressing his face against Henry’s chest. “I… I’m fine”, he muttered. “…Everything is fine.”

The young lord pressed his face against the top of the detective’s head, nuzzling his hair gently. “Bad dream?”, he asked. “You were trembling…” Sherlock felt a hollow, gnawing feeling rise up in his chest. What… what was he supposed to say to that? That he had experienced flashbacks of being forced to fellate someone? Of that same person verbally assaulting him? Of… of the horrible things that were still echoing through his head?

“No one is ever going to want you…”

The detective shook his head rapidly, trying to get rid of Paul’s voice still ringing through his ears. “I… I suppose so…”, he sighed, a melancholic frown spreading across his face. “…Just a dream… I’ll… I’ll be fine…”

“No one is ever going to enjoy you…”

“…Are you sure, Sherlock?”, Henry asked. “…Because you… don’t seem fine… You… you stayed up late… you cried in your sleep… a-and even now, you seem… distraught…” He stared into the detective’s eyes, his look of concern becoming even more intense. “…You know that you can talk to me about it, right…? That I’m here for you for when you need a shoulder to cry on?” Sherlock looked up at him, his lip quivering. “…I- I do not know… how to talk about it… It frightens me…”

He had kept this all to himself for so long, fearing to be judged. He thought that he had gotten over this perfectly fine. But as of late, it seemed that he… hadn’t. And he suddenly had to be confronted with it so much in so little time. It… it was all too overwhelming. And he simply did not know what he was supposed to do about it all.

“...No one else in this world could ever love someone like you…”

He clutched onto Henry, tears stinging in his eyes again as he remembered those words. And they kept repeating themselves, until he could barely think of anything else. He began to sob, curling up into the young lord’s arms like a frightened child. “I- I don’t know, Henry… I just don’t know… A-and I hate it…”

The nobleman made shushing noises, holding Sherlock closely. “There, there…”, he whispered, closing his eyes and running his fingers through the detective’s soft hair. “…Is there anything I can do for you right now to make you feel better? Would that maybe help?” Sherlock sniffled, snuggling up to Henry’s body and feeling comfort in his touch. “…Could you just… hold me for now…?”, he muttered. “…I… I just need to know… that I can still be loved…”

The young lord’s eyes widened in surprise. “…Of course, Sherlock, but… what makes you think that you couldn’t?”, he asked, before continuing anxiously: “I… have not ever suggested that idea, have I…?” The detective shook his head, wrapping his arms around the nobleman. “No, you haven’t, my little muffin”, he assured him. “…Just… my mind playing tricks on me.”

Henry let out a worried sigh. “…Is this related to your dream somehow?”, he asked. Sherlock shuddered. “…It is”, he admitted. The young lord’s grip on his body tightened. “Oh, you poor thing…”, Henry whispered. “…I’m assuming that you… dreamed about him, then?” The detective let out a wistful smile. His companion was truly making so much progress already when it came to deducing. It was quite wonderful to observe, really. “…Spot on, my dear”, he said, grimacing. “…You really are learning quickly... Whoever is teaching you has to be someone of great skill.”

“…Sherlock”, the young lord chided. “You are not going to get over this by making light of it and brushing it off.” Sherlock sighed, looking down. “…No, you’re right”, he conceded. “…I apologise. I’ve always been told to… just put on a mask. I- I try not to do that, but… it’s been hammered in too much, I fear.” Henry nodded. “That’s all right… We are both just trying our best here.”

He was completely right there, the detective supposed. Neither of them really knew what they were doing here. They were both still figuring this all out. But they had promised each other that they’d do it together. Perhaps… it was time to make due on that promise, then. Sherlock took a deep breath as he steeled his nerves. He was terrified of opening up about this. He had never told anyone else about this all, let alone go into such detail. But Henry loved him. Henry was there for him. Henry… wanted to help him. And he trusted the young lord. He trusted him with all his heart. He supposed… that it would be best if he truly told the nobleman about his nightmare.

“…I dreamed about Pa- about Inspector Dryden…”, he began hesitantly, averting his gaze from Henry in shame. “I… I dreamed about our last… meetup, before he left London. I… I had said that I was not interested in any… well, sexual contact, but… he threatened to divulge the fact that I was practising sodomy to those around me. A-and I remembered… all the horrible things he said to me… He said that he was the only one that would ever have me in order to make me stay with him… That I was… useless…” He paused, covering his face with his hands before beginning to cry. “…That no one else could ever possibly love someone… like me…”

The young lord’s eyes widened in terror more and more the longer he listened to the detective. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as well, by now. “Sh… Sherlock…”, he stammered, holding the detective tightly as Sherlock wept against his body. “Sherlock, listen… O-of course, you can be loved, my darling… I love you… I love you very dearly… I- I cannot even begin to explain… h-how wrong that… bastard was… O-oh my god, I- I’m so sorry, Sherlock…”

They were both crying at this point, the detective grabbing Henry’s face and pulling him into a kiss. He… he needed to feel the young lord’s touch after that dream. He needed to know that he was more than just a body. That he was able to make love to him, instead of simply having sex with him.

…He needed to know that what Paul had said to him that night was nothing more than lies.

It did not take long for Henry to kiss him back. Sloppily. Even more so than usual. Sherlock loved it, though. If anything, it felt… pure. Sincere. It was all the detective could ever wish for. He could taste the nobleman’s lips in his mouth, as well as the salt of their own tears, as he greedily ran his arms all over Henry’s body, wanting to feel him. All of him. He wrapped his legs around the young lord’s hips, breathing heavily as he felt their tongues entwining with each other. As he tasted Henry’s mouth like never before.

Sherlock’s crying began to devolve into moaning as he moved down to the nobleman’s neck, nipping at his flesh softly before gently kissing the surface of his skin right on the same spot. The young lord let out a soft yelp as he felt the detective’s teeth brushing against his body, crying out in pleasure as he let his fingers intertwine with Sherlock’s hair, running his long fingers over the detective’s scalp and whispering to him softly. Crying out his name. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw as he felt himself getting erect. “Sh… Sherlock…”, he whimpered, pressing his lips against the small of the detective’s neck. “A-ahhh… Sherlock, I…”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as he felt Henry’s spidery fingers running through his hair. He thrusted forward, feeling both their erections rubbing against each other, letting out a blissful groan as he heard the young lord whimper. This… this was not like how it had been with Paul. At all. He was naked, but he felt no shame about it, this time. It was by his own choice, now. He felt comfortable with Henry seeing him like this. With feeling him like this. He did not feel forced. He did not feel threatened. He… he felt…

Loved.

“A- ahhhhh…”, Sherlock cried out, tears streaming down his face as he stared into the young lord’s eyes. Henry was gripping onto his body tightly, almost squeezing him as a way to release all this intense pleasure he was feeling. He seemed to be almost delirious as he looked back at the detective, smiling as he let out a swooning sigh. “Is… is this good…?”, Sherlock panted, catching his breath after having kissed his darling for so long. The young lord nodded, before an embarrassed blush spread across his face. “C-can… can I… maybe… try something…?”, he asked shyly, his breathing becoming shaky from all the nerves.

The detective raised his eyebrows, before reaching forward and kissing the nobleman on the forehead. “What is it you want to try?”, he asked curiously. Henry covered his face in shame, blushing even more furiously before taking a deep breath. “…I… I really like… the feeling of you thrusting against m-me…”, he muttered bashfully. “…A-and I… remembered our, um… first time, and I was…” He paused taking a deep breath before blurting out the rest of his sentence: “I- I was wondering if… if I could take you with my- my mouth.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise, before he gave the nobleman a smile. “…Of course you can, my darling…”, he said, wrapping his arms around him. “How could I ever say no to that? Or to you, for that matter…” Henry blushed bashfully. “…Mind you, I- I have no idea of where to start…”

The detective smiled. “That’s completely fine, my dear”, he assured him. “…How about I guide you through it? How does that sound?” The young lord nodded nervously. “That- that would make me feel more comfortable”, he agreed. “Oh, and Henry?”, Sherlock asked, getting out of bed and standing up. “…Do not hesitate to let me know if you want to stop, no matter at which point we are. I… I want this to be pleasurable for both of us. The nobleman nodded again. “…I will, Sherlock. You know I will.”

The detective took a deep breath, looking at the gorgeous man in front of him, staring at him in all of his naked glory. He knew that Henry was eyeing him, and he did not mind it one bit. If anything… it felt rather flattering. The… the premise of what they were about to do felt very exciting. Still… he could not help but remember the dream he had just had. Why… why could he still not shake it… He shook his head, though, full of resolve. He was not going to let Paul haunt him forever. He… he would show him. He would show him that he was nothing like him… even if his words still echoed through his head.

“Now get on your knees and do as you’re told.”

“I think you would be able to reach me the best if you were to get down on your knees, my boy. Could you do that?” Henry nodded, gulping as he did what Sherlock had asked of him, looking up at him excitedly. Adoringly. He gently stroked the detective’s thighs, looking at his length that was directly in front of his face and blushing. Sherlock smiled. “That’s it”, he assured the nobleman. “You’re doing great, my love… Are you ready?”

Henry nodded. “…Ready as I’ll ever be.” And as soon as he had said those words, he leaned forward, first hesitantly licking the detective’s cock before slowly closing his lips in around it. Sherlock gasped as he felt it. The… the feeling was indescribable. He had never experienced it ever before. Not even with Paul. He had only allowed him to be in submissive positions. But this… this made his veins rush with adrenaline as his head went in a whirl. It made him moan out in pleasure as he felt Henry’s tongue sloppily caressing his length. As he felt his hands softly caressing his flanks. His hips. His thighs. “Oh god…”, he groaned, thrusting forwards as his eyes rolled back and he began to moan uncontrollably. “Dear… dear god…”

He could feel that the nobleman’s movements were clumsy. He could feel that he had obviously never done this before. And yet… this made him experience more pleasure than he had ever felt in his entire life. He… he had no words for it. There was only pure bliss while he fucked Henry’s mouth. The young lord let out soft cries. Whimpers. Moans. He did not pull away, though. He never pulled away.

“Good, my little whore… God, you’re useless… but at least those lips of yours can be of use…”

“…You’re doing so well, my love… A-ahhh… My… my darling… my sweetest Henry… Oh- oh god- I… God, I love you so much…” He kept on making more indistinguishable noises like that as he kept on thrusting, feeling himself coming close to reaching his orgasm. He ran his hands over the young lord’s head. His fingers playing with his messy hair. Caressing him as much as he was able to. Henry deserved all the caresses in the world. He deserved so much more. Sherlock only hoped that he would be able to give him even just a part of that this night.

The young lord let out a whimper, his eyes rolling back as he let out a gasp to catch his breath. He looked up at the detective, unable to say a word, but the look in his eyes was enough for Sherlock. It was one of ecstasy. Of undying devotion. Of adoration.

…Just that look on its own was enough to reassure the detective that Paul had been wrong. Oh so terribly wrong. And that… that meant the world to him. It… it made him treasure Henry even more.

“You are mine, you useless scumbag…”

“…I’m yours, Henry… entirely yours… I- I want to be for the rest of my life… O- oh god- I-” Sherlock cried out in pleasure as he felt himself spill into the nobleman’s mouth, not even finishing his sentence. The young lord’s eyes widened in surprise before he squeezed his eyes shut, a look of intense effort on his face before he pulled away, the detective releasing all over his lips.

He just stayed like that for a second, eyes absolutely widened in astonishment as he felt Sherlock’s seed dripping down his chin. He looked up at the detective eventually, smiling clumsily. “…Mission… accomplished?”, he said, scratching the back of his head, but Sherlock got down on his knees and wrapped his arms around him before he was even fully aware of what was happening. “That… that was something that I will never forget, Henry…”, the detective whispered. “You… you did so great, my love…”

Henry blushed bashfully. “…Well… ignoring the… sloppy finish.” Sherlock kissed him on the forehead. “It was perfect, Henry. Absolutely perfect. It- it told me everything I needed… to hear…” He held the young lord’s face in his hands, tears of happiness starting to roll down his face. “…I could not have imagined a better experience, Henry. And I mean that.”

The nobleman blushed, running a hand through his hair before wiping Sherlock’s release from his chin. “If… if you say so…”, he muttered. The detective smiled broadly. “I do”, he said, beaming. Henry chuckled, nuzzling Sherlock’s face. “…I’m glad, then”, he whispered, before helping the detective up and walking him back towards the bed. “…I’m glad I managed to make you feel a bit better.” He lied down with his lover, covering them up with the blankets and snuggling up to him.

“…I have to say, I… had not expected to have sex all of a sudden… and especially not in the middle of the night…”, he said, giggling softly. “Though it is… a very welcome surprise.” He let out a yawn, closing his eyes. “…Tell me, Sherlock… why do we always have sex when we have to be all professional the next day? You are going to have my head all in a whirl tomorrow, when we start investigating…” Sherlock laughed, taking his darling’s hand and softly kissing it. “…That is a very good question”, he chuckled. “…I suppose that that is a problem that can wait for tomorrow.” Henry smiled softly. “…I like that”, he mumbled sleepily. “…It can wait until the morning comes… You are much more important now.” He wrapped his arms around the detective protectively, holding him closely as he fell asleep.

“You are much more important now.” It was all that rang through Sherlock’s head as he lay there. Henry… Henry cared about him. Henry loved him. And he trusted him. It… it made all the worries that raged around in his mind quiet down a bit. Even if it was just a little, it brought him so much comfort.

Comfort. That was what he felt whenever he was around Henry, he realised. It was something that he had not felt for quite a long time. It felt… nice. To be held like this. To hear the young lord’s breathing, its slow and steady rhythm making his eyelids feel heavier… and heavier… and heavier.

Paul knew nothing about him. All those things had been lies. He could never know just how much Sherlock could be loved. The thought put a triumphant grin on his face.

A grin that did not fade away as he fell asleep.

Chapter 24: A Discovery

Summary:

Sherlock points out an interesting detail to Henry, who has a conversation with a friend later on.

When Henry woke up the next morning, he could already hear Sherlock stumbling around in the living room. That… was to be expected, he supposed. The detective had a habit of already being engulfed in his own, strange matters early in the morning, even back when they were still at Baskerville Hall. The young lord wondered what he was busying himself with. Was it for their case? What was he figuring out, then? And most importantly… was he really just doing this for its intended purpose, or was he simply doing this all because his mind needed distraction, no matter what…?

The nobleman pondered over those things for a while, yawning and stretching out his muscles. He rubbed his tired eyes, still a bit sleepy after his night’s rest was interrupted last night. Though… if he had to be honest, he did not mind that one bit. God… he did not even know how to describe the things he was feeling. He… he had fellated Sherlock for the first time. And the detective had told him that he had done an amazing job… Henry still felt butterflies in his stomach as he thought back to it.

It… it was their first time having sex in bed together, the young lord realised… and he could not have wished for a better experience. Dear god. Even if… even if he had failed to keep all of Sherlock’s release in. But to be honest, his lips and chin being painted by the detective’s cock like a delicate canvas was something that he would not have wanted to miss for anything in the world.  

…It wasn’t just that, though. It was also that he had been able to help Sherlock with this sudden spell of self-hatred and misery he had been suffering from ever since they had gotten back to Baker Street. It brought Henry a bit of comfort that he was able to help soothe the detective’s pain ever so slightly. Even if it was just a little bit. He could not quite tell why, but… seeing Sherlock all gloomy like that made him feel so miserable.

It was because he had never seen the detective like that ever before, he supposed. Sherlock had been open about his grievances with him before, but… this was something entirely different. He still remembered the way the detective had looked when inspector Dryden had berated him. His eyes had widened in terror, his entire body frozen in place as he could do nothing but shrink away at his insults. It… it was almost like he was turning back into that hurt young man he probably used to be when that man had exploited him so much. It… broke Henry’s heart.

Not only that, but… it really did seem like Sherlock still found himself unable to properly deal with it all. Until the nobleman had mentioned it, he had not even been aware that what the inspector had done to him was abuse. That he had been traumatised. He seemed to constantly brush it off as nothing, trying to forget it all, but… it seemed like it was all catching up with him after being bottled up for so long. He could not simply try to forget it anymore, now that the memories were making him cry and tremble in his sleep. And he truly did seem to be unable to face it all. All he knew was how to deflect it. And that strategy no longer worked.

The young lord sighed. He wished that he knew how to help the detective with this all. That he knew of another way for him to cope with his trauma. That he knew how to bring this matter up with him, to talk about it with him without making him uncomfortable. He just wished that… he knew how to make Sherlock happy again. And yet he didn’t know these things. He knew none of them… and it made him feel miserable. He supposed that the most he could to for the detective right now was be there for him. And so, that was what he resolved to do now, as well.

“…What are you exactly doing, if I may ask?”, Henry yawned, walking into the living room wearing his dressing gown. He saw Sherlock, still in his robe, leaning over the coffee table, inspecting the letters the young lord had given him at the City and Suburban Bank and comparing them to the letter Mrs. Hughes had given them using his lens. The detective looked up at him as he heard him entering the room, a smile appearing on his face as soon as he saw him. “Ah, good morning, my dear fellow!”, he said, putting the letters down on the table. “It was still fairly early in the morning when I woke up, so I thought that there was no better time than now to determine the senders of these letters. You see, it’s a delicate matter that requires the utmost concentration and quite a bit of time. Would you care to hear what I’ve discovered?”

The young lord was quite surprised at Sherlock’s excited mood, sitting beside him and looking over the letters. “Why, certainly…”, he mumbled, a bit puzzled. “But… are you sure that you have gotten enough sleep last night, Sherlock? Weren’t you up late last night, as well…?” The detective shook his head, shrugging. “Oh, I’ve gone multiple days without sleep before”, he said nonchalantly. “This is nothing, trust me. Besides… it was important that I do this before Mrs. Hughes arrives… I called for her to visit in a few hours, you see. She is the only one that can confirm whose coat this little memento”—he waved the scrap of fabric that they had found at the Bank the day before—“belongs to.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. He was still concerned by the detective’s lack of sleep, but he reasoned that there was no use to arguing with him about it. Besides, he knew just how nettled he could get when someone pointed his sleep habits out to him… Mrs. Barrymore had proven that enough already. “Right…”, he muttered. “…Because if this were to belong to Mr. Hughes, that would mean that we have a definite link between his disappearance and the robbery, correct?”

Sherlock nodded, smiling. “Right yet again, my sweet boy… and it could potentially mean a whole lot of other things… but my mind has not been entirely made up about that yet. You shall need to give me some more time before I can explain that… but I digress. I wanted to tell you about my findings after this letter analysis, which I have found to be quite enlightening.”

He hovered his magnifying glass over the letter Mrs. Hughes had given them, looking at the young lord. “You said to me yesterday that you cannot identify a letter’s author if it’s typewritten, as opposed to one written by hand, but that is far from the truth, actually. Not a single typewriter types the exact same. I have written a monograph about the very subject, if that interests you… but the gist of it is that when paying close attention, you can see that you can find some slight oddities and characteristics in each typewritten letter. Look here, for example. The dots on the ‘i’s are slurred, as well as the ‘t’s having a defect, right here, where the two lines cross. I could point out many more of these details, but these two should be illustrative enough.”

He moved his lens over to the charred letter that Henry had found, pointing at the last remains of text that were still legible. “Now take a look at this”, he said. “While I must admit that it is fairly hard to read any of this, I was able to make out the words ‘with statue’. Now… considering the object that was stolen during this specific robbery, this is already worth our attention, but notice how those two words contain both letters that I just pointed out to you. Can you spot the characteristics I just listed, Henry?”

The young lord squinted his eyes, peering at the letters, trying to find the small details that the detective had explained to him. “…No”, he said after a while. “…These were written by different typewriters, then? But how does that help us?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, interlacing his fingers as he pensively stared into the distance. “…There are still too many possibilities for me to be absolutely certain of this”, he muttered. “…However, I have a theory. This letter was burned, meaning that Mr. Hughes did not want anyone else to see its contents. The postscript’s remains mention a ‘statue’, which could possibly be referring to this prized golden statue that has gone missing after the robbery.

He paused, scratching his head. “Now, I could be wrong of course… Ugh! If only we had been able to find this letter intact! It would have been able to save us from a lot of trouble. We are still left in the uncertain realms of conjecture… but if my conjecture is correct, this letter was most likely written by the men linked to Mr. Hughes’ disappearance.”

Henry’s eyes widened in surprise. “H-how can you be so sure?”, he stammered. Sherlock shrugged. “I’m not”, he said. “Again, I… need more data. But I hope that we can gather exactly that, both with Mrs. Hughes’ information and by seeing the man that the police suspect to be responsible for the theft.” He narrowed his eyes, frowning. “…It gets more complicated, though. Take a look at this letter… the one that Mr. Hughes wrote himself.”

The nobleman did so, looking through the detective’s magnifying glass and inspecting the letters. After a few seconds, he froze in place, looking up at Sherlock with a shocked expression on his face. “It… it has exactly the same defects that you mentioned when looking over the first letter!”, he stammered. The detective nodded gravely. “Precisely”, he said. “In other words… Mr. Hughes wrote the letter he had received the day before he went missing himself.”

Henry scratched his head, a baffled expression on his face. “But- but how-”, he stuttered, confused beyond belief, “how does that make any sense?” Sherlock tapped his fingertips against one another. “That, my dear boy…”, he muttered pensively, “is something that I still have no answer for.”

He stood up rather suddenly, taking off his robe in order to put on his coat. “Before we deduce anything further, though… I found out that we have run out of tobacco this morning, which surely can’t do, especially not when working on a case as this one. I intended to head off to Bradley’s to purchase some, if you don’t mind?” The young lord shook his head. “No, I don’t”, he said. “…But please do not be long, all right? I… I don’t want to have to worry for you.” The detective gave him a smile, walking towards him and getting up on his toes to press a kiss against the nobleman’s forehead. “I will be back as quickly as possible”, he assured him, before nuzzling his neck. “I promise.” And with another quick peck on the cheek, he was gone.

Henry took some time for himself to relax while he was alone. He made himself breakfast, albeit a simple one, as he was not used to having to prepare his own food, and sat back on the couch, looking at all the oddities and curiosities Sherlock had proudly displayed in his living room. It was fascinating to look at, in all honesty. There were maps, photographs, piles and piles of books… it was too much to properly list. The young lord wondered how the detective had managed to acquire all these things. How old they were. What case he was working on during that time. His living room truly told so many stories. It… it felt so cozy. It truly felt like… a home.

The nobleman was so deep in thought thinking about all those things that he did not hear the door to the hallway open at first. Only when he heard someone stepping into the room did he realise that he was not alone anymore. He jolted upwards, having been startled, only for him to breathe out a sigh of relief as soon as he saw who the man who had walked into the room was. A kind man, with greying hair and brown eyes, who looked to be just as surprised to see Henry as the young lord was to see him. The nobleman smiled as soon as their eyes met one another.

“Watson!”

The doctor scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face. “Ah, hello, Sir Henry, I… did not expect to see you here, in all honesty! Where’s Holmes, if I may ask?” “Oh, you just missed him, I’m afraid”, Henry responded. “He’s off to purchase some tobacco. He said he would be back as quickly as possible. Were you in need of his help, then?” Watson shook his head. “No, not really”, he said. “I simply heard that he had returned to London again, so I wanted to see how my friend was doing, is all. It’s a welcome surprise to be seeing you here as well, though!”

The young lord blushed, feeling a bit awkward as he sat back down. “Yes, well… Sher- Holmes thought it good f-for my health to get away from my ancestors’ home for a bit…”, he stuttered, hoping that the doctor would not realise that there was a lot more going on between him and Sherlock. “I’m assisting him with a case now, actually. B-but please… do sit down… it would hardly be polite of me to let you stand.” Watson laughed, nodding kindly as thanks as he accepted the nobleman’s offer. “Ah, following in my footsteps, I see!”, he chuckled. “Well? How are you enjoying it thus far?”

Henry blushed even more. “…Holmes has been telling me that I have been doing great”, he mumbled bashfully, scratching his face. “…It’s… oddly reaffirming. A-and it has been really interesting. It- it has been an amazing experience thus far, really… well… apart from one thing.”

He paused, frowning. It was all coming back to him. Sherlock’s terrified expression when being berated by inspector Dryden. His sudden bout of melancholy after returning back to Baker Street. Him crying in his sleep from nightmares, and then weeping in the young lord’s arms, thinking that he could not be loved. And again… him brushing this all off like it was nothing. It… it worried Henry. It worried him a lot.

“…Watson?”, he asked after a while. The doctor looked up at him attentively. “What is it?”, he asked. The young lord took a deep breath. He… did not know how he was supposed to ask about this. But if anyone would know the answer… it would be Watson. He was Sherlock’s best friend, after all. “…Is it normal for Holmes to sink away into deep bouts of gloominess?”, he eventually settled on. “…His mood shifted… rather quickly yesterday… I don’t know whether I should be worried or not.”

Watson raised his eyebrows. “Oh no, he does that quite often”, he said. “…Usually that only happens when he doesn’t have anything to challenge his mind with, though… it is a bit odd that he’d do that when working on a case. Did… did anything happen yesterday?” Henry felt a hollow feeling gnawing at his stomach. He… did not know how he was supposed to explain this. He could not share the full truth. That would be breaking Sherlock’s trust. He… he was going to try to be vague, then.

“…I cannot tell the entire truth”, he said hesitantly. “…It’s about something very… personal that Holmes has confided to me about, and I do not want to share his secrets without permission. You… you’ll understand, I hope?” Watson nodded, though he did seem quite surprised. “Why, of course”, he responded. “I do not mean to pry in any way… I just want to help.” Henry let out a sigh of relief. “…Thank you”, he said. “Well… we… met someone yesterday. Someone that Holmes had history with… unpleasant history. I… think that that may have soured his mood a bit… to put it gently.”

The doctor thought for a while. “…Has he talked to you about it?”, he asked. The young lord frowned. “…A bit, yes… but he seems to brush it off as just a small thing… while I can see just how much it still hurts him. I… I don’t know what to do, Watson. I hate seeing him this sad, but… I do not know how I can make it all better.”

Watson stayed silent, thinking. “…Sir Henry…”, he eventually began, looking the nobleman in the eye. “…You love each other, don’t you?” Henry froze in place, his eyes widening in shock as he felt his heart beating in his chest. Had… had they really been that noticeable?

“…How… how could you tell?”, he stammered, noticing his breathing starting to become faster. The doctor gave him a kind smile. “I have lived with Holmes for multiple years, my friend”, he chuckled. “I knew that there was something special between the two of you ever since I examined you back at Baskerville Hall. And well, with you coming to London with him… it did all come into place quite nicely.”

The nobleman let his hand rest against his chest, taking deep breaths as he tried to make his heartbeat slow down again. “I… I see…”, he uttered. “…Yes, we… we do. You don’t… mind that, I hope?” Watson laughed heartily, shaking his head. “No, of course I don’t”, he responded. “If anything, it… does make quite a lot of sense why Holmes was never interested in any women, now that I think about it. I’m glad that he has found someone for him, in all honesty… And I’m glad for you as well, of course.” Henry blushed, twiddling his thumbs. “Th… thank you…”, he mumbled, feeling extremely embarrassed, yet relieved at the same time.

“Here’s my advice, though”, Watson continued. “…I understand how you want to solve this all for him, but this is something that he is going to have to face on his own as well, partially. Of course, you can be there to support him… but sometimes, that is all that you can do. And you must be at peace with that. As much as we may want it sometimes, we… cannot love our loved ones’ problems away. And that is a hard truth to face, but… that is life sometimes. But if this truly worries you… talk to him about it. Be open with him. You two clearly care for each other… so I’m certain that you two will be able to settle on a solution together. Sometimes you just need to discuss these things. It’s all part of being together. I wish I could offer you more insights, but… I have to say that this whole situation does baffle me quite a bit, as well… I did not quite expect it, to say the least.”

Henry smiled. “No, your… your advice means a lot to me”, he said. “It’s… nice to be able to talk about it with someone else.” The doctor smiled. “Well then, I’m happy that I could be of service”, he said. The young lord nodded. “I suppose I have even more things to think over than I already had, now”, he said, chuckling. “It’s like my brain is working overtime.”

He frowned after having said that, thinking. He may have said that as a joke, but it was absolutely true. He did already have so many things swirling around in his mind. Not only about Sherlock’s mental state… but about their case as well. So many strange things had been discovered this morning that made him ask even more questions. What was written in that burned letter, for instance? What did Sherlock hope to discover by learning about who the owner of the scrap of fabric was. And why… why did Mr. Hughes most likely write that threatening letter himself?

It was all to reveal itself soon, he supposed.

Notes:

Bradley's: tobacco shop in the Sherlock Holmes books

Chapter 25: The Mystery Progresses

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry find out more about their case after Mrs. Hughes gives them some information.

When Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street, he had not expected to hear laughing behind the front door.

Nor had he expected to hear Henry enthusiastically conversate with someone. It certainly was not an unwelcome surprise, though.

“I do apologise for my delay”, he said, walking into the room and taking off his coat. “…My usual blend was out of stock… I took quite some time deciding which one would suffice as a substi-” He cut himself off, his eyes widening in surprise as soon as he saw who else besides the young lord was in the room. “…Watson!”, he enthusiastically exclaimed, rushing forward to give his old friend a handshake. “How very glad I am to see you! Oh dear, I… completely forgot to send you a wire to tell you that we had returned to London, didn’t I… Please forgive me. Henry and I have been quite busy, you see.”

Watson chuckled heartily. “There’s that excitement of yours again… Yes, Sir Henry was kind enough to inform me of all of your exploits. You two know more about the theft at the City and Suburban Bank, I hear?” The detective smirked, feeling rather pleased with himself. “Quite a bit more”, he said. “Even more than the police, I’d wager. But there is no use to boasting about that until we catch the culprit. We still have a long way to go, although our journey has been significantly shortened, thanks to my excellent assistant’s help. In fact, it was my intention to go to the prison block to interrogate our police suspect with him later today.” He could see Henry blushing from the corner of his eyes, the sight secretly making his heart go all aflutter. “…But I am getting ahead of myself. Are you in need of my assistance perhaps, my friend?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, not particularly. I had simply heard that you were working on cases in London again, and so I thought I would drop in and see how you were doing. But I hear that you are doing quite well!”

Sherlock felt a hollow feeling building up in his chest. Was… was he still doing well…? Well… as long as he could busy his mind with something, then yes. That was at least something, he supposed. Despite the continuing feeling up uneasiness that began spreading through his body, he ignored it, faked a smile and nodded. “Yes, my visit to Dartmoor has been quite illustrative”, he said. “Fascinating stuff, really. I learned quite a lot from it.”

Watson smiled. “I am glad to hear it, Holmes”, he said. “…And it’s good to see you connecting with another person… I know how difficult that can be for you.” The detective blushed indignantly when he heard that. What… what did his friend mean by that? The doctor continued to speak, though, before he could answer that question. “Well, I’d better get back to my practice”, he said, standing up and shaking both Sherlock and Henry’s hand. “And I am certain that you two must have a lot of things that still need to be done as well… but it’s good to see both of you again. If I can ever be of assistance, do not hesitate to call on me.”

The young lord nodded. “Th… thank you, doctor”, he stammered, scratching the back of his head. The detective smiled. “My dear Watson, you should know that the very same goes for you as well”, he said. “You are always welcome here, should you be in need of our help.” The doctor put on his coat, chuckling. “Much obliged, Holmes. Well, then… I shall see you two again soon, I assume.”

“…Did I keep you for long?”, Sherlock asked, immediately turning around to face Henry as soon as they were alone again. “…I hope I did not worry you…” The young lord shook his head. “Oh no, don’t worry”, he assured the detective. “You were not gone for long at all… Besides, it was nice to catch up with Watson. It has been… what, two months at least since we last saw each other? We had lots to talk about. It’s… nice to know that I have another friend here in London.”

Sherlock smiled proudly. He was so happy to see his darling feeling more comfortable socialising with others. Even if it was just one other person… it was yet another step. “You’ll have charmed half of London’s citizens in no time with your adorableness if you continue like that, my little muffin boy”, he said, smirking. The nobleman blushed bashfully. “…That is an extreme exaggeration…”, he mumbled, looking away. “…Perhaps”, the detective muttered, wrapping his arms around the young lord and pressing his face against his body. “…I just mean to say that you make me proud, Henry. You make me more proud of you each day.”

Henry nuzzled the top of the detective’s head, kissing it softly. “…Sherlock…?”, he whispered after a while, running his fingers through his lover’s hair. Sherlock looked up at him. “Yes?”, he asked. The young lord smiled shyly, scratching his cheek as he blushed again. “…Watson and I have talked about… us. Our relationship, I mean.”

The detective’s eyes widened in surprise, almost not believing the words he just heard. “…You mean you… told him?”, he asked, baffled. The nobleman shook his head. “…No, he figured it out on his own”, he said. “…Apparently he could already tell that there was something going on between us back when he had come to examine me.”

“…Ah.” Sherlock was left baffled by that statement. He… he thought that he had been very discreet about it all. Had… had he been more obvious than he thought, then…? But then again, Watson was the one with more emotional knowledge out of the two of them. It… was to be expected, he supposed. Nevertheless, it… did make him swallow his pride… but perhaps that better in the end, anyways. “I, uh… did not expect that, to say the least.”

Henry giggled softly. “…Neither did I, but… he’s happy for us.” He held onto the detective’s hands, his eyes almost seeming to sparkle as he stared at his face. “…It feels good to have told someone else”, he confessed. “…It makes me sad that we will never be able to tell the whole world. That… that we have to keep our love such a well-kept secret.” He sighed, letting his forehead rest against Sherlock’s. “…I’m tired of having to stow away my feelings like they’re something to be ashamed of.”

The detective frowned, his fingers intertwining with Henry’s as he leaned against his body. “…I know nothing but that”, he admitted. “…Even when I know I shouldn’t.”

“…Is that why you keep distracting yourself…?”, the young lord asked quietly. Sherlock stayed silent for a while. “…I suppose so”, he muttered. “…I’m afraid of what my mind will turn to when I am left alone with my thoughts.” Henry held him in his arms, his grip gentle, yet steady. “…I’m sorry that I can’t do more for you”, he sighed.

The detective looked up at him, a puzzled look on his face. “…What do you mean by that?”, he asked. The nobleman stared down at the ground. “…I just feel so powerless when I see you all listless like that… I- I just want to spare you from this all… I just- I just want to make all your worries disappear, but… I know that I can’t. And I- I just wish… that I wasn’t so… usele-”

“…Henry.” Sherlock took the young lord’s face in his hand, gently cupping his cheeks as he kissed his forehead. “…Henry, you do make my worries disappear. Temporarily… but you make them disappear, nonetheless.” The nobleman sniffled, frowning melancholically as he stared at the detective with those puppy eyes of him. “…I do…?” Sherlock nodded. “…Even I know that these things do not simply solve themselves at once. I know that it is much more complicated than that… but whenever I find myself in your arms, I… I feel comforted. You remind me that… that it’ll get better in the end. You take my mind off all the things that have been… plaguing me as of late. And… that is more than I could ever ask for, my sweet Henry… You’re not useless. Far from it, actually. It’s not your fault that no one has taken the time to tell you that before.”

Tears began to sting in the nobleman’s eyes as his grip on the detective tightened. “…Th… thank you, Sherlock…”, he muttered, kissing him on the top of his head. Both of them stayed silent for some time. The comfort the touch of Henry’s arms brought was much more important to Sherlock than any word could possibly be. He closed his eyes, nuzzling the small of the young lord’s neck, kissing him. Adoring him. Worshipping him. It was just them right now. The detective wished that this moment could last forever.

“…I-if things get bad again…”, the nobleman quietly stuttered after a while, “…will you please tell me…? Will… will you please let me be there for you if that happens?” Sherlock nodded. “…I will, Henry…”, he whispered, taking the young lord’s hand in his and solemnly kissing it. “…I promise.” Henry smiled, the gentle kindness emanating from him giving the detective butterflies in his stomach. “…I’m glad, Sherlock”, he whispered. “…I’m so glad.”

Sherlock leaned forward to kiss the nobleman on the lips, but he quickly moved away from their embrace as he heard a knock at their door. “Come… come in!”, he said, blushing furiously, his heart beating in his chest as he realised just how close they had been to being caught. Mrs. Hudson came into the room. “…Mrs. Hughes is waiting to see you, sir”, she said. “Shall I let her in or tell her to wait a moment?” The detective nodded. “Ah, thank you”, he replied, praying to god that he had regained his composure. “You can let her in… We’re more than eager to hear her out.”

***

“…Do you have more news about my husband?”, Elizabeth Hughes nervously asked, her face still wrought with anxiety as she stared at Sherlock, desperate for an affirming answer from the detective. Sherlock tapped his fingertips against one another. “That depends on the answer you’ll give to my next question, Mrs. Hughes”, he simply said, pulling out the ripped piece of fabric from his suit pocket. “…Would you care to take a look at this piece of evidence we found and tell us whether you recognise it or not? There is a lens over there, should you need one.”

The woman held the piece of cloth for a while, looking at it closely, before her eyes widened in shock. “…This is my husband’s”, she gasped, staring at the detective with a look of terror in her eyes. “…This… this came from the suit jacket he wore before he went missing… I’m sure of it… What… what does this mean?” “Thank you madame, your answer has been most enlightening to me”, Sherlock simply said, taking the piece of fabric back and putting it in his pocket again. “…If this was indeed your husband’s… I do believe that it is very likely that he is still alive.”

Mrs. Hughes let out a sigh of relief, folding her hands together. “Oh, thank god, Mr. Holmes, thank god! Where… where he is, then?” The detective shook his head. “I never said that I knew that, Mrs. Hughes”, he responded. “That, we still need to figure out. We are still severely lacking in data in that regard, you see… but I hope to change that soon.” He looked over at Henry, his lips curving upward into a devious smirk. “…In fact, that is what me and my companion intend to do right after this conversation.”

The woman took a deep, nervous breath, twiddling with her thumbs. “…I pray that you are successful in your investigation, Mr Holmes”, she said. Sherlock stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. “…So do I”, he said solemnly. “…Though I must warn you, you might not like the outcome of it.” A puzzled expression spread across Mrs. Hughes’ face. “What do you-” “I cannot say anything about that yet”, the detective interrupted. “I do not want to make any claims without the proper proof. You shall have to come back for that later, I fear… but I cannot stress enough how important that piece of information you gave us was, madame. Thank you kindly… and until we meet again.”

***

“…Don’t you think you were being a bit too dramatic there?” Henry caught up to Sherlock as they walked through the streets of London, heading towards the detention centre to interrogate Mr. Harris, the man who, according to the police, had been complicit in the theft, and so, possibly Mr. Hughes’ disappearance, too. The young lord was wearing a grey, checkered suit and a matching hat, which looked quite good on him, the detective thought. He truly looked adorable whenever he wore his fancier clothes. “Hmmm… what do you mean, exactly?”, Sherlock replied rather nonchalantly. The nobleman scratched the back of his head. “You know… not explaining much to her, instead only wanting to tell it all when we have figured it all out.”

The detective laughed to himself. “…Perhaps. But I really do want to be absolutely certain of what I am saying, you know. There are still too many possibilities that I can think of at the moment. The only thing that I know for certain is that Mrs Hughes won’t be happy with a lot of those possibilities, so I thought it wise to prepare her for disappointment. I’ve experienced that people… often get very upset at sudden disappointments.”

“But now you’ve left her worrying”, Henry argued. “She only knows that the outcome of this all may be bad for her, because you refused to elaborate further. Don’t you think that that is worse than sudden disappointment? I know that if you would have said this to me, I would have become so nervous that I might have gotten a heart attack.”

Sherlock stopped walking, a frown spreading across his face. He… never really thought about that. He always left other people concerned with the investigation left wondering. He always only revealed his train of thought once the criminal had been caught, or the mystery solved. He… he had always done it that way. He had never stopped to think about whether his approach might have been… insensitive. “…I suppose the thought never crossed my mind”, he mumbled, feeling… rather guilty all of a sudden, for some reason. Especially Henry being the one to call out this behaviour, it… it upset him. He held him in such high regard… him pointing out a flaw (and rightfully so) really felt like a punch to the gut. “Did… did I do… wrong there…?”

The young lord raised his eyebrows, surprised at the detective’s reaction. “…Well, I don’t think there is one right or wrong way, just… something to think about, I suppose”, he muttered. “I mean, you have done this for much longer than I have, so I assume that you know much better than I do… I was just curious about why you use that approach, really.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. He really was so pleasantly surprised by how eager the nobleman was to learn. “…I suppose I keep my train of thought a secret until it’s all planned out because it’s… hard to explain for me in general. I mean… I know that my explanations to you aren’t always perfect, either… but I am really trying. When explaining to people that think your entire way of working is ridiculous, though… it… I suppose my mind just draws a blank when trying to form words. Not to mention… the idea of me sharing a theory, only for it to be proven wrong… the ridicule I’d face for that terrifies me.”

He looked into Henry’s eyes, frowning. “…You’re right, though. Perhaps… perhaps, in that particular instance, it would have been better to just say nothing. I should have either not explained anything or explained my entire theory… not this middle step that I ended up taking. Heh… You sure do know how to keep me on my toes, my dear boy.”

The young lord blushed. “Just… trying my best to learn…”, he mumbled bashfully. “…And really, these people need to lower their standards for you. I feel like if even one more person thinks that you should never make mistakes they… they…” He shook his fist, pouting. “They deserve a stern talking to!”

Hearing that, the detective burst out into laughter. “Oh, I am sure that a patented Henry Scolding would surely make them shake in their boots. It would make me, at least.” The nobleman chuckled. “…If I don’t give out due to nerves, that is.”

Their banter quieted down as soon as they reached the detention centre, a grim and imposing building that made Henry quiet down and gulp as soon as they stood in its shadow. Sherlock gently held onto his hand. “It’s all right”, he assured the nobleman. “We won’t be here for long. We’re only here to ask some questions.” “R… right…”, Henry said, taking a deep breath. “A-and I’ve got you with me…” The detective nodded, smiling. “That’s right”, he said, taking his first few steps into the building. “Come… the next step to our mystery is waiting.”

The first thing they did as soon as they were inside was look for a guard. Sherlock, having been here quite a few times before, knew exactly where to go, so he led the young lord through the halls, walking as swiftly as possible as he could tell that the place made Henry uncomfortable. “We are here to question a prisoner”, he promptly said as soon as he had found one of them. The man seemed to recognise him. “…Ah, Mr. Holmes”, he said. “…Prisoner concerning the Bank case, then?” The detective nodded. “…I see you must have been informed by the police. How efficient. Yes, that is indeed correct…”

He looked at Henry, hoping that he would be ready for this questioning. A lot of their case depended on it. Sherlock just hoped that it would provide information that would help him with constructing his theories, instead of the opposite. There was only one way to find out, he supposed.

“…We wish to speak with Mr. Jacob Harris.”

Chapter 26: Everything would be fine

Summary:

Henry and Sherlock make some conclusions after interviewing the police suspect, after which Henry proposes something to take Sherlock's mind off things.

The prison block sent chills down Henry’s spine.

He could not even focus that much on what they were doing as he and Sherlock walked towards a dark cell, too distracted by the feeling that he… did not belong here. In all its aspects. He had no idea what he was doing. He looked like he was out of place. Like… the odd one out. Just like he always had been. One single look at him was enough to tell that he was not suited for this work. He… he just looked like an upper-class man trying to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. It… it made him feel sick to his stomach. He could not wait to get outside again, if only so that he could feel like he could breathe for once.

…He so desperately just wanted to hold Sherlock’s hand. To feel his gentle touch and his comfort. But he was too afraid to reach out. He… he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of what would happen to both of them if anyone here found out, especially considering the fact that this place was run by the police, made the young lord’s skin crawl.

“…Henry?” The detective’s soft voice snapped the nobleman out of his anxieties somewhat. He meekly made eye contact with him, looking down apologetically as he began to pout ever so slightly. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He seemed to be concerned. “…Are you quite all right, my dear fellow?”, he asked. Henry nodded slowly. “…I just hope to get out of here as quickly as possible”, he muttered. “…That’s all. I… I’m sorry.”

The detective quickly looked around himself, swiftly brushing his hand against the young lord’s before sneaking in a peck on the cheek. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my boy”, he assured him. “We only need a few answers to some questions. We’ll be outside before you realise it, I promise.” He squeezed the nobleman’s hand softly, before giving him a wink and walking towards one of the cell doors. It… it made Henry feel a tingling sensation spread through his entire body. It… was fine… As long as Sherlock was there with him… it would be fine.

“Mr. Harris?”, the detective asked, knocking against the cell door. “Could I please ask you some questions?” Shuffling noises began to sound from behind the bars. After a few moments, a stout, gruffy man was staring at the two of them from behind his locked cell door, a look of distrust on his face. Sherlock immediately seemed to notice something as soon as he saw him, though the nobleman could not quite tell what. “…You’re not with them police, are ya?”, the man asked, eyes narrowed.

The detective shook his head. “You would be correct in that assumption”, he answered calmly. “This over here is my assistant, Sir Henry Baskerville, and I myself am Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you are familiar with at least one of those names?” Mr. Harris took a step backwards, disapprovingly staring at the young lord. Henry… did not like it. It made him feel all shaky. “…What’s a lord got to do with me?”, the prisoner asked after a while.

…That question felt like a punch in the gut to the nobleman. It… it just felt like it was confirming his worries that he did not belong anywhere near here. Not in this prison block… not at any crime scene… perhaps not even at Baker Street. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but the worries would not quiet themselves down. If anything… the more he seemed to struggle against them, the more they felt like they were spreading around in his head. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw. Why… why did he even decide to do this in the first place…

“I will tolerate no slander towards my companion”, Sherlock said pointedly. “We are here to help you if we can, but I will not waste my time trying to get someone who only judges men based on hearsay and lies out of prison. You may choose your next words very carefully.” The young lord opened his eyes, staring at him with a surprised look in his eyes. Once again… Sherlock’s insistence that he did belong in this investigation meant the world to him… even if he himself was not even fully certain of that statement. But the detective knew much more about this all than he did. If he was sure of this fact… then he would believe him.

Mr. Harris stayed quiet for a while, before shrugging. “…Didn’t mean to offend no one, sir.”, he responded. “…Just a bit surprised, is all. Very well… what do you want from me, then? Police won’t hear me out… so I might as well entertain you two’s company.”

“Ah, how delightful”, Sherlock said, some of his usual vigour seemingly returning to him somewhat. “I meant to ask you about some details about the night the City and Suburban Bank was robbed. You were the only guard close to Mr. Hughes’ office, correct?”

The man nodded. “Well yes, as far as I am aware, at least. I was just about to head home, seeing that nothing was out of place, when I heard the shattering of glass. I ran into the office, trying to see what may have caused the noise, but I couldn’t find nobody standin’ in the room… though the window was most definitely shattered. I wanted to take a closer look at it, hopin’ to find out more about why the glass was broken, but I… don’t remember much after that, I’m afraid. Next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor in the morning with a bunch of coppers staring at me, and the back of my head feels like it’s been split open... Must have been hit on the head.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “…You do not recall ever holding a piece of fabric in your hands?” Harris shook his head. “No, ‘pparently they took that out of my hands while I was unconscious. I didn’t even recognise the thing when they showed it to me, but I suppose that they thought I was lying.” “Where were you standing when you blacked out?”, Sherlock continued, his gaze fixed upon the man like a hawk. The prisoner scratched his chin. “…Must have been… three of four steps from the window, if memory serves”, he mumbled. The detective pensively pressed his fingertips against each other as he heard that. “…You are absolutely certain that there was no one to be spotted in the office that night?”, he eventually asked. Harris nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Sherlock thought for a while after hearing that, before tapping his fingers against his arms, seemingly deep in thought. “…Yes, that does solidify my theory…”, he mumbled quietly, more talking to himself than anything. “…What to do next, though…?”

He kept staring into the distance like that for quite a while, before he seemed to return to consciousness again. “Thank you, Mr Harris, that is all we are going to need of you today”, he suddenly said, looking to his side at Henry with, as much as he tried to hide it, a look on his face that was undeniably trying to tell whether the young lord was still all right or not. The nobleman simply gave him a quiet nod and a smile. “You might have gathered this from my questions already, but we are investigating this case for our own personal reasons, and I do hope to see you freed soon, should everything go in our favour”, the detective continued. “I cannot guarantee anything, of course, but I trust in your innocence, and the web that I am starting to spin around our actual culprit is slowly but steadily getting more and more entangling. I hope to see your name cleared in the papers soon, Mr. Harris… Good day for now.”

***

“…What exactly did we learn from that?”, Henry asked as they walked back to Baker Street, twiddling with his thumbs. If he had to be honest, he was still very confused about this whole business, despite Sherlock’s insistence that he was doing a stellar job at being his assistant. They had… varying views on what ‘being a good assistant’ was then, probably. But as long as the detective was happy with his efforts, then that was enough, the nobleman thought to himself.

“…I still need to think over some things”, Sherlock replied. “…I think I can give a pretty clear explanation as to what must have happened. The problem, though… is how we are going to catch the real criminals behind this whole affair.”

The young lord raised his eyebrows in surprise. “…I thought that you were of the opinion that only one man broke into the bank?”, he asked, confused. “Did your stance on the matter change?” The detective shook his head, smiling mysteriously. “It rarely does, my dear fellow”, he simply replied. “…No, there was still only one man that broke into the bank that night. If anything, Mr. Harris’ statement just now confirmed that fact to me. Multiple people could not have been hiding effectively in an office, only to sneak out and hit a guard on the head, all the while being unnoticed by said guard. No, it had to be one person. But I was already quite certain of that fact as soon as we were at the Bank itself… Anyway, I digress.”

He sighed, staring in front of himself pensively as opened the house leading to their lodgings, before directing his gaze towards Henry. “…But I am almost forgetting the entire purpose of this whole investigation. What do you think about this all, my dear boy?”

The young lord scratched his head as he entered the apartment again, sitting down on the sofa and letting his hands rest on his lap. He tried to think as hard as he could. He wanted to make Sherlock proud. He had to make Sherlock proud. It was the least he could do. His brows furrowed together into a frown as a pensive look spread across his face, his thoughts racing through his head as he tried to make sense of them. “…Is this why you told Mrs. Hughes that she would most likely be unhappy with our investigation’s results, Sherlock?”, he asked after a while.

The detective smiled approvingly, though he tried to hide it as much as possible, attempting to conceal his admiration underneath an enigmatic expression. “…Would you care to elaborate on that?”, he asked innocently. Henry took a deep breath, pressing his fingertips together. Exactly like Sherlock did, he realised. Heh. His methods must have been rubbing off on him ever so slightly. “…You say that there was only one other person present during the robbery that night”, he hesitantly began, staring at the floor. “…Jacob Harris saw no one after inspecting the office, which means that whoever broke into the room must have been quite familiar with its layout to find an effective hiding spot.”

The detective nodded. “Excellent piece of reasoning”, he observed. “…I had not even thought of that specific fact myself, yet.” Henry felt a glowing, proud feeling spread through his chest, feeling elated by that statement. It… it seemed to light a fire of excitement within him as he continued to share his thinking process, hoping for more of his darling’s praise.

“…Edgar Hughes was at the scene of the crime”, he continued to reason, “or at least, someone who owned a piece of his suit was. It was planted on Harris’ person to incriminate him. Not only that, but the threatening letter that Hughes received before he went missing was typed up by his own typewriter, though there had been other people, likely involved with the robbery, contacting him, though we do not know to what extent, as that letter was burned. Which means…” He paused, looking Sherlock in the eye as he felt his heart beating in his chest.

“…Either Hughes himself committed the theft… or those involved captured him before it happened and wanted to make it look as if he had been kidnapped at the Bank. Either way… Hughes must be where the thieves are.”

The detective clapped his hands together in glee, smiling widely. “Bravo, my darling, bravo!”, he exclaimed, embracing the young lord. “Exactly! I say, one day you will be able to start up your own consultant detective business, should you wish to do so!” Henry blushed as he felt Sherlock’s arms around him again, breathing out a sigh of relief as he finally felt safe enough again to openly accept his affections. Once again, the detective’s praise seemed to breathe new life into him.

“…I have no idea what we should do next, though”, he mumbled quietly, nuzzling Sherlock’s neck. “If only that letter hadn’t been burned… we might have gotten some interesting clues from it.” The detective hummed softly as he pressed his lips against the nobleman’s shoulders, closing his eyes and tenderly caressing him. “Hmm… Perhaps”, he murmured gently, running his fingers through Henry’s dark hair. “…I think a tobacco pipe or two may do the trick for me… For now, we can do nothing more, I think. Bah… All this waiting is making me feel restless.”

The young lord blushed, holding Sherlock closely as he moved his lips up to his ears. “…I could take you out for dinner then, perhaps?”, he whispered softly. “…To take your mind of things? Just us… No case… Just a nice night out. You like that place near Hyde Park, right?”

A confused look spread across the detective’s face as he backed off a bit, smiling clumsily. “…How did you know?”, he asked curiously. Henry smirked. “…Watson told me”, he responded, blushing. “…I… I had dreamed of being out on a romantic eve together ever since you said that wanted to take me to London with you, so… why not ask your best friend, I thought?” Sherlock laughed. “…Dear god, he is in on it too now, isn’t he?”, he responded, chuckling. “…This must be his revenge for me not showing any interest in our female clients.”

“Perhaps”, the young lord said, giggling. “…But be honest, I am the best option for you to go out with, correct?” The detective stared into his eyes, letting out a swooning sigh. “…You are the only option for me, Henry”, he said, tucking a strand of hair away from the nobleman’s face. “…I would like to be taken out by no one else but you. I have said it myself, haven’t I? I am yours. Eternally yours… I did not just say that because I was in the heat of passion, Henry. I truly meant it.”

Henry felt butterflies in his stomach. He wished that he could hear Sherlock say those words forever. There truly was no better person in the world for him. And he could only hope to show that to him this night. “…And I am yours, Sherlock”, he muttered bashfully. “…So… you’ll take me up on my offer then, I hope?”

The detective smiled, leaning forward so that the tips of their noses softly touched each other. “Of course, my little muffin boy”, he whispered gently. “…How could I ever say no? Though…” He paused scratching his head. “…Now that I think about it, there are some things that I would… like to handle on my own. You would not mind it if I did that before we’d meet up, right? It shouldn’t take long… but it would give me some peace of mind.” Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “…Are you sure that I couldn’t accompany you?”, he asked. Sherlock shook his head. “…I feel like I must do this on my own”, he said gravely, before holding onto the nobleman’s hands, staring into his eyes.

“…Please do not misunderstand me”, he pleaded. “It’s not that I do not value your company. If anything… your presence has been invaluable to me during this entire case. And before that, as well. Back in Devon, I mean. It’s just… I need to know that I can face this on my own. I… I think it would be best for me.”

The young lord took a deep breath. He remembered Watson’s words. “We… cannot love our loved ones’ problems away.” This… was a moment where that was going to come into effect, he thought to himself. Sherlock was right. Sometimes, he was going to have to face things on his own. And he was more than capable to deal with it himself. Far more capable than he himself, Henry guessed. Still… he could not help but feel ever so slightly worried as he held the detective’s hands in his own. “…I trust your reasoning”, he said. “…But if anything goes wrong, you head straight to me, all right?”

Sherlock nodded, holding the young lord’s hands solemnly, almost as if swearing a vow. “…I will, Henry. I will. I do not want to cower away from my problems again.” The nobleman nodded. He understood that feeling. He understood it very well. It had been the exact reason for sending that letter to the detective… That felt like so long ago by now. “…I will always be here for you when you do need me… you know that, right Sherlock?”, he asked. The detective nodded. “…I do”, he said earnestly. Henry smiled. “…Then that is all I need to know to be assured. Shall we meet up at, say… six, then?” Sherlock kissed him on the cheek, smiling. “Sounds good to me”, he said, before wrapping his arms closely around the nobleman’s body.

“…I cannot wait, my love.”

***

It had started to rain as Henry walked through London’s misty streets on his own. He wrung his hands together as he breathed out tiny clouds, shuffling his way to Hyde Park according to Watson’s directions. He could not wait to be inside, spending time with Sherlock over a nice meal. It was all he could think about.

…That is, until he noticed a group of men in large coats consistently popping up in the corner of his eyes.

Whenever he tried to turn around to face them, they’d be gone. He’d think that he was just imagining things, but just a couple minutes later, after passing another street crossing, there they were again. And this kept repeating itself. It… it made the nobleman nervous. He felt his heart beating in his chest as he tried to stay calm, just focusing on the route he was supposed to walk. It would all be fine soon. He’d be with Sherlock again in a few minutes, after all.

…And then he realised that he had no idea where he was. Had… had he been getting distracted by these men, so that he lost focus on his directions…? He looked around himself wildly, surrounded by people yet feeling more alone than ever before. He wanted to break out in tears. He was lost. He covered his face, running towards the side of the street where he tried to recollect himself. What… what was he supposed to do? Call a cab, he supposed… but where was one?

“…That’s him, right?”, he suddenly heard from behind him. “This… Baskerville fellow?” Henry felt a chill running down his spine as he turned around. There was a group of men standing behind him… and they were beginning to circle in around him. They… they were driving him into an alleyway. The nobleman could not help but let out a gulp. “…Must be”, another man said. “I mean, he looks the hoity-toity rich type, so… probably. Don’t have much of them walkin’ around in these parts.”

Henry felt sweat dripping down his forehead as he began to panic. “What… what do you want?”, he gasped, breathing heavily. “…I have somewhere to be…” One of the men smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you do. But we cannot really allow you and your little friend to continue like this, you see. You’ve been messing it all up for us… so we intend to change something about that.” He looked at his side, nodding at one of his companions, who stepped forward, bawling his fists. The young lord cowered away against the wall, whimpering in fear. “…Please… leave me alone…”, he cried. “…Don’t… don’t hurt me…”

The men laughed at him. “…Oh, we won’t hurt you”, one of them said. “…At least, you’ll hardly notice it… but that’s hardly any different, now isn’t it?” Henry’s eyes widened in fear. “No- Please-”, he stammered, raising up his hands to defend himself, but he received a swift and hard punch against the face before he could even properly react, slumping down against the wall as he felt himself getting dizzy. “H… help…”, he whimpered, tears stinging in his eyes as everything became blurry. “…What… what do you even… want to do with me…”

His thoughts from earlier today rang through his head.

…As long as Sherlock was there with him, everything would be fine… But for the first time in what felt like ages, he was nowhere to be found.

And then everything went black.

Chapter 27: Besmirched

Summary:

Sherlock gets confronted by Paul.

Notes:

Disclaimer: this chapter contains sexual assault.

“…I feel like I must do this on my own.”

Those words kept echoing through Sherlock’s head as he made his way through the misty, dreary streets of London, a grave expression on his face as he coursed for the City and Suburban Bank. The worried look Henry had given him kept reappearing in front of his eyes as he nervously put his pipe in his mouth, the tobacco only managing to calm him down somewhat. He understood why the young lord was surprised by this statement of his. They had been at each other’s side so much as of late, after all. But… the detective felt like he needed some time alone.

…He had to be able to spend some time alone.

He was not used to all this. Being in the company of others for so long. And enjoying it. Depending on it. Sherlock had never really depended on others that much. And suddenly depending on one person so much… it frightened him.

It frightened him how much he found himself unable to function unless he was either being distracted by work or by the nobleman. How deeply he would sink away into melancholy whenever his thoughts were left to wander off by themselves. He was not unfamiliar with that. Far from it, actually. He always grew listless whenever he did not have anything to challenge his mind with. The thing that frightened him, though, was that these bouts of gloom… were not fading as easily as they normally did anymore. They… always kept creeping up the back of his mind. Haunting him. Distracting him from the things that did matter, clogging up his thoughts. And the detective did not know how to stop it.

…Nothing that usually worked would stop it… with the exception of Henry.

Sherlock recalled the soft, gentle touch of the young lord’s long arms protectively wrapped around his body, cradling him after he had woken up from his nightmare. His darling’s tender voice, softly lulling him back to sleep with comforting words. His angelic lips. Sometimes… sometimes, it felt like Henry was the only possible thing that kept reminding the detective that it was all going to be all right. Sherlock was feeling more and more like that as of late, as a matter of fact. The nobleman’s affections were all he wanted. They were all he craved. His soul was practically crying out for them, louder and louder each day.

…And that was exactly what scared the detective.

He did not know how to feel about the fact that he found himself incapable of solving his own problems by himself. He… had never really been in that position before. And he did not like it. He did not like the fact that he could not have his own feelings in check… It made him feel like he was losing his own autonomy.

And his autonomy was something that he valued. A lot. He did not want to constantly have to rely on others. He did not want to bother anyone by being that way. But, more than that… he wanted to operate freely. To be bound by as little things as possible. Now, though… he was finding himself starting to get bound to Henry a lot. And that did not necessarily have to be a bad thing… far from it, actually. The deep connection he had managed to build with the nobleman was something that he cherished very deeply. It was just… he needed to know that he could still stand on his own after all they had been through.

…That was why he had gone out on his lonesome, Sherlock thought to himself. It was just a small thing after all, and he needed a little reassurance. It would all be fine, and when he was done, Henry was going to take him out to dinner. That thought managed to quiet down the cacophony of worries and nervousness that was raging through his head somewhat. It would all be fine. He just had to check for some things at the crime scene, now that Mr. Harris had given him his statement. It probably would not even be of note to most people. Just one small inquiry… and it was all going to be fine.

…As long as he did not run into a particular person, that was.

The detective quietly gulped. Perhaps there was a second reason as to why he had set out on this little escapade on his own. He… he knew that he would most likely run into Paul. And he did not want his darling Henry to have to engage in contact with that man any more than strictly necessary. Only bad things would come of it. The inspector was only going to end up hurting the young lord in one way or another. And just the mere thought of that… it boiled Sherlock’s blood. Never had he felt the raging instinct to protect the nobleman such intensely ever before. He felt like it was his duty to keep Henry away from Paul… for both their sakes.

The detective did not spend much time at the Bank. It was only one thing he had intended to find out, after all. He had been foolish not to take note of it immediately, in all honesty. The consistency of the mud left behind by all the different footprints on the floor. How could he have missed it? He had written down the exact measurements of the prints, the distance between them, the way in which the impressions had been left behind… missing a detail like this was uncharacteristically sloppy for him. But he had been getting distracted a lot as of late, he supposed.

Sherlock felt nothing during all this. It was all just becoming a blur. Standard routine. The passion that would normally flare up while investigating did not come. It made the detective feel rather hopeless. He had hoped that this would perhaps improve his mood a bit, but he had been wrong, evidently. Oh well. At least he had fully worked out the details behind the crime scene’s footprints now, and they supported his idea of the case. So much for small victories… But at least he would be able to enjoy the rest of his day with Henry now. And while this enquiry had been rather uneventful… he had been able to do it all by himself. He had still some of his autonomy left, he supposed. Even if that was the only thing he could take away from this all, it was good enough.

“…Holmes.”

Sherlock froze in place just as he exited the Bank, the sound of that voice calling his name from an alleyway rousing him from this blurry state of boredom. Though it was not for a good reason… not a good reason at all.

He instantly knew who was calling out to him. He turned around to face the man, taking a deep breath as he looked straight at him.

“…Inspector Dryden.”

The older man kept staring at him, a puzzling look on his face. The detective could not fully tell whether it was one of fondness or malcontent. “…I have been trying to find you on your own for some time now”, he eventually said. Sherlock scoffed, shaking his head. “…I do not intend to catch up with you because of old times, Dryden”, he said pointedly, a feeling of obstinance and annoyance flaring up within him. This would not be like the last time. He was going to stand up to Paul this time. “Unless it concerns the case that we both seem to be working on, I’d rather get on with my business, thank you very much.” He was about to walk off, but the inspector firmly grabbed his shoulder, the unrelenting touch of his iron hold sending shivers down Sherlock’s spine as his steely voice sneered out at him:

“…You’ll stay.”

The detective’s breathing was starting to get shaky as he looked around himself, something about the man’s tone there making his resistance feel like it was melting away all at once. Again. Paul was guiding him away from the busy street into the alley. It felt as if his entire body was freezing up. He wanted to do so many things, to run, to simply punch him in the face, to yell for help… but all he could do was inch backwards with a terrified expression on his face as he found himself completely petrified. He gulped, looking up at the inspector in fear. “…What do you want?”, he simply asked, trying to remain as cold as possible.

Paul smiled. “Now, Holmes… I do not quite understand this sudden attitude of yours… I simply wanted some time to speak to you away from that friend of yours… It’s only good manners, after all we’ve been through together… I mean, I cannot go around, acting like nothing happened, now can I?”

Sherlock scowled. “…You seemed to be pretty good at doing just that back then”, he scoffed. “We have not ‘been through’ anything. You simply used me whenever you wanted to, chose to ignore me outside of that, and once you got your promotion… you just left me behind like a piece of garbage without any problems.”

The inspector sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I know that you are upset because I left…”, he tried to respond, but the detective interrupted him before he could finish his sentence, a look of disbelief on his face: “…You think that I am upset with you because you left? Are… are you actually out of your mind? Out of all the things you have done to me, that is the thing that you think I am upset about?” He took a deep breath, bawling his hands up into angry fists as he clenched his jaw. “…You leaving was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I… I never wanted to see you ever again. And I still don’t.”

A snarky grin spread across Paul’s face. “…Right…”, he muttered. “I forgot that you were starting to act all rebellious towards the end of our relationship.” The detective’s eyes flared up in fury as he heard the inspector call the thing they had a ‘relationship’. He knew nothing. “…But then again… how was I supposed to know, Holmes?”, Paul continued, leaning forward and inching closer and closer towards Sherlock. It did not take long for him to be but a few inches away from him. He could feel the inspector’s breath going down his skin and it made him feel nauseous.

“…How was I supposed to know that you did not want it until it was too late?”

The detective felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Was… was he actually hearing these things? Paul smiled as soon as he saw the perplexed look on the younger man’s face. “Are you confused by something, my little fledgeling?”, he sneered, trailing his finger over Sherlock’s jaw. The detective squeezed his eyes shut, sweat dripping down his forehead as he hopelessly shook his head. “Don’t… touch me…”, he whimpered, but the inspector pressed his finger against his lips.

“Hush, Holmes. Just let me make it up to you.”

Before Sherlock even knew what was going on, Paul was pressing his lips against his jaw, breathing heavily as he pushed him up against the wall. Locking him into this position with no hope of escape. His entire body tensed up as his eyes widened in fear. “…G-get away from me…”, he gasped, desperately trying to struggle away from the inspector’s grip. Paul smiled, shaking his head as he reached for the buttons of the detective’s shirt. “…I haven’t gotten to properly say sorry yet, my fledgeling.”

“…Get your hands off of me…”

Tears began to sting in Sherlock’s eyes as he felt the older man’s rough fingers touching his upper body. Touching him where Henry had been softly caressing him but a few hours ago. Where only Henry was supposed to caress him. It… it felt like Paul was defiling something that was not meant for him. He let out frightened whimpers as soon as he felt the inspector’s stubble brushing against his chest, but the other man covered his mouth with his hand before he could let out any significant noise. “…Haven’t I told you this already, Holmes?”, Paul asked. “…You are much more agreeable when you stop yapping. Besides… getting found out like this in public would not be very good for you, now wouldn’t it… So I’d suggest you stay quiet.”

Sherlock was starting to shake. Every time he felt the inspector touching him he felt more and more disgusted. He did not even fully register everything that Paul was doing to him anymore as he let out muffled sounds of struggling. He just knew that he wanted none of this. It was all becoming vague blurs again. All the memories of the previous times were flashing before his eyes. Everything was hurting again.

…The only way he could not completely break down was by thinking of Henry.

He was the only one he could think of.

His darling Henry. His sweet little muffin. Only the memories of him kept him away from sinking deep into pure agony. He desperately recalled his long, gentle fingers trailing over his skin. His cheerful brown eyes, sparkling with excitement whenever Sherlock mentioned something interesting. The soft laughter they shared during their moments of intimacy. Their… their moments of happiness.

…Moments that Paul was besmirching this very moment.

Get your hands off of me…

The inspector greedily inhaled the detective’s scent, firmly gripping his jaw as he forced himself upon his lips. “You know, I do think that you are so much more attractive like this”, he groaned, breathing heavily. “…I like seeing you think that you can stand up for yourself… only for you to be grounded right back to reality again. You had a bit of a habit of doing that… didn’t you? Seems like you still haven’t shaken it… Not that I’m surprised. You were always too stubborn for your own good. You didn’t know when to listen. It was only right for me to show you where you truly belong.”

Sherlock whimpered as he felt the inspector forcing his entire body against his, cowering against the wall. Paul was forcing his tongue inside his mouth. His fingers were unbuttoning his shirt. He was pressing his legs up against him. He was terrified. He wanted none of these things. And yet, no matter how much he tried to protest, it wouldn’t stop.

…Of course it wouldn’t. Of course he could not stop his own problems. Had he not already concluded that he was becoming useless again?

“…It’s really your fault, if you think about it, Holmes”, the inspector continued. “You should have just stayed in your lane. Stuck to your theories and your chemistry set. I mean… you were just asking for it, really-”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!”

Sherlock did not know what had suddenly gotten into him, but as soon as those few sentences left Paul’s lips, a destructive wave of rage shot through his entire body as he reflexively his the inspector on the nose with a shaking fist. The older man was evidently just as shocked by his sudden outburst as he was, as he froze in place, a look of absolute astonishment on his face.

…A look that soon became one of anger as soon as he felt around his nose and saw the blood that was dripping from it smearing his fingers.

The detective took a few shaky steps backwards, adrenaline rushing through his body as he bawled both his hands up into fists. He quietly thanked his experience with amateur boxing as he took shaky breaths, still shocked by everything that was going on. “…Do… do not touch me again or you will get another one of those”, he quietly muttered.

Paul stepped towards him threateningly, seizing Sherlock by his collar and punching him in the face as the younger man let out a cry of pain. “You little-”, he grunted, trying to throw the detective against the wall, but Sherlock punted him in the stomach with a well-timed kick before he could do that, breaking free of his grasp and nimbly escaping like an agitated terrier. He stood there, breathing heavily as he thought of his next move.

As much as he would like to fully pummel this rancid excuse of a human being… he was not worth his time. No, he… he had to get away from here. That had to be his first priority. He could not stay here any longer. Every second spent in Paul’s vicinity felt like an invasion of his body and his privacy. Every second, he was besmirching his own body that was for Henry.

…Henry.

…As much as he had grown fearful of growing dependant on him, he reasoned that right now, he had all the reasons to want to be in his company. He… he just wanted to be home again. In the young lord’s arms.

He took a deep breath, readjusting his collar so that it did not look completely dishevelled, and looked at the inspector again, a look of disdain on his face.

“…Do not ever speak to me outside of professional matters ever again.”

And before Paul could even give him an answer, he was gone.

 

It was only as Sherlock was walking back home that he felt the adrenaline rushing through his body calming down. The more he felt himself grounding back to reality again, the more he felt… disgusted with himself. He felt a bruise starting to appear around his eye where Paul had punched him. His shirt was half undone. His eyes were stinging with tears. He… he looked a mess

He wanted to hide away from the entire world as he walked back to Baker Street. And, perhaps thanks to some cruel twist of fate, he felt like he was being surrounded by the entire world more than ever now. The sounds of the bustling city rang like thunder through his ears. Passing conversations. Many footsteps. The eventual cab every now and then.

…All these signs of a lively city, and none of the people Sherlock was walking past could have possibly known of any of the things that had happened to him mere minutes ago.

…The detective had never felt more lonely in his entire life.

And none of this got better as Sherlock stumbled back into his apartment, finding the place empty. That was not the thing that worried him, though. Henry could have simply gone out. No, the thing that made him panic was one, singular piece of paper that lay on his doorstep.

The detective was not a man that was frightened easily. Still, even his soul was chilled to the bone as he picked it up and read the text.

“Halt your investigation or Sir Henry will die.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in fear as he dropped the piece of paper to the ground, his breathing getting faster and faster until he had to sit down. Where… where did this paper come from? Was there any truth to it? Where was Henry?! Under normal circumstances, he would have probably made a quick deduction of it in no time, but his mind was so overrun with everything from the day that he could not make sense of any single thing.

It was all becoming too much. He just wanted to curl up into a hole and never be seen ever again. He was a failure. He had been besmirched. And now, he could not even help the man that mattered to him the most, all because he could not make sense of his own feelings. He… he did not know what to do anymore. He truly didn’t.

And then, a familiar voice rang through his head, his eyes widening in surprise as he remembered it.

“If I can ever be of assistance, do not hesitate to call on me.”

…

Watson.

Chapter 28: The Hostage

Summary:

Henry wakes up after being abducted.

Henry’s head felt like it was bursting once he regained consciousness. Everything felt like it was spinning all around him. It was dark. It was cold. And he had no idea where he was. All that he could tell was that he was in the corner of a room somewhere. He tried to sit up, to look around, to get any idea of where he had found himself, before he made a startling realisation.

His hands were bound behind his back.

A chill went down the young lord’s back as he felt his heart beating in his chest. What... what had he gotten himself into? He had just gone out to Hyde Park to meet up with Sherlock there... they were going to spend a relaxing night together, away from the troubles of their case... he was going to take the detective’s mind off things... only for this to happen.

The nobleman had stood completely petrified as those street ruffians had approached him. He had, of course, heard of the dangers of the city before, but he had never had to deal with anything like this by himself ever before. Most people would either choose fight or flight in these situations. Henry only knew how to freeze. And freeze he had done... again.

...Just like he had done when Cecile had almost killed him, he realised.

The young lord’s eyes widened in fear as soon as that girl fleeted across his mind again. Why now of all moments? Why after all this time, after thinking that he had gotten over it all? He had much more troubling things to deal with... Sherlock was not anywhere near, the nobleman guessed, so he was going to have to get out of this himself. He was going to have to think of something. And yet, no matter how much he tried to put his mind to good use, she kept reappearing in his thoughts.

The more Henry realised what was going on, the more trapped he felt. The more panic began to spread through him. The... the more it all reminded him of the time he was almost murdered.

That... that horrible night.

“Swine...! You thought it was going to be easy, didn't you? Didn't you? You won't be the first of your family who thought that... and you won't be the first to die because of it...”

The young lord squeezed his eyes shut, breathing shakily as visions of that horrid dog lunging at him flashed before his eyes.

“He died screaming... I know. I watched him.”

He cowered away into the corner he had found himself in, whimpering. “H... help...”

“The curse of the hound is on you...!”

“...N... No!” The nobleman shot upright, eyes widened in shock as he breathed heavily. No. He was not going to let these tainted memories haunt him forever. He was not going to allow Cecile to keep having this grip on him. That would just mean that her plan of revenge had worked out in the end. He would not give her that luxury. He... he had shaken off the curse of the House of Baskerville long ago with Sherlock. And he had no intention of letting it live ever again.

...He did not want to simply stand there and freeze in the face of danger anymore. He wanted to be able to stand up for himself. For the things he cared for. For... for Sherlock. He was sick of being weak. Of constantly having to be helped by others. He wanted to prove that he could do things by himself. That he could be useful by himself. And well... no better moment to start proving that than right now, he supposed.

He made a mental note of all the things that he knew about the current situation. If there was anything he had picked up from his time as Sherlock’s partner detective, it was that it is always important to know what current data you have on hand.

Firstly, he had been attacked and knocked out somewhere near Hyde Park. He did not know for how long he had been unconscious. These people had specifically been looking for him, he realised, remembering the “this Baskerville fellow” comment. Now the question was, why? He could, of course, simply be a target because of his noble heritage, but the young lord doubted that that was the case.

“We cannot really allow you and your little friend to continue like this, you see. You’ve been messing it all up for us… so we intend to change something about that.”

Henry’s eyes widened in surprise as he remembered those words. They... they must have been talking about him and Sherlock working out the mystery behind Edgar Hughes’ disappearance.

Was... was this an attempt to dissuade the detective from pursuing the matter any further? Was he taken as a hostage? It was all starting to seem more and more likely with each passing second. The nobleman felt a hollow, nervous feeling building up in his chest as soon as he made the realisation.

What... what were they going to do to him if Sherlock wouldn’t meet their demands, if this was the case? He doubted that the detective would relinquish the case... he had heard him argue about that very matter with Dr. Mortimer back at Baskerville Hall. It was the right thing to do, of course... but the young lord could not help but feel a sense of impending doom crawling up his back. This... did not bode quite well for him.

...There was only one possible solution, then.

He was going to have to escape somehow.

Henry felt a wave of boldness rush through him as he thought of this. It... it all rather felt like a dramatic tale. He could say whatever he wanted about the last few weeks, but they certainly could not be called dull. It was terrifying... but the young lord could not deny the fact that something about this all was wildly exciting.

...The question was, how in God’s name was he supposed to go about this?

“How is our captive?”

The young lord’s ears pricked up as soon as he heard a voice coming from behind the door leading to the room he was in. The person it belonged to did not sound like one of those thugs that had beaten him unconscious... their way of speaking was much too formal for that. But he also sounded… nervous. Uncomfortable.

Could it perhaps be the man that had instructed them to abduct him? Were they the head of this whole theft operation? Better pay attention. It would also be better, he realised, to give the impression that he was still unconscious. It would make eavesdropping easier. He closed his eyes again, slumped back down against the wall and just listened. Listened and tried to make as much sense as possible of what he was hearing.

“Last time I checked he was still out, sir. I’d expected him to wake up earlier, but I suppose rich ones are soft an’ delicate like that. That one’d go out if you’d shake him gently, I’d wager.”

…That voice sounded familiar… was it one of the thugs?

“Well, when was the last time you saw to him?”

“…Few hours back, methinks.”

“Well, see to him now. Remember that he is to be kept in good conditions as long as it is demanded of us. He won’t be of any good to us as a hostage if he’s already wasted away.”

Henry felt his heart sink. So his theory was true. He was indeed a hostage. He did not have a lot of time to think on that though, as he heard the door leading to the room swing open and heavy footsteps approaching him. He was poked a few times with a foot. He gave no response.

“…Still out cold, sir.”

A sigh. “…Well, at least you could deliver some food to his room. Meet me downstairs afterwards.”

The young lord opened his eyes ever so slightly, peeking from underneath his eyelids to catch a glimpse of the other man in the conversation. He… did not look like someone you’d expect to be involved in this criminal business, honestly. He was a bit above average height, about fifty years old or so if Henry’s guess was correct, robustly build and his suit looked to be of excellent quality.

…It seemed to have a rip at one of the sleeves though, the nobleman observed.

“…Aye”, the thug said, before looking down at the young lord again. Henry quickly closed his eyes. “…Don’t think it’ll suit his tastes though.” And with those words, both men walked out of the room again.

The nobleman sat up obstinately as soon as he heard the footsteps die out again. So, he was apparently in a storied building. He guessed as much from the mention of a ‘downstairs’. That would give some difficulty in escaping… not to mention the fact that he had no idea where in London he was. Not that that would help him much anyways… he had never been good with directions, but especially now that he was in a place he was not familiar with, it was pretty hopeless.

Other than that, though, he had to do something about this rope that was tied around his wrists. It made everything rather hard to move around. As soon as he tried to move his arms though, he winced in pain, only now noticing the many bruises that had appeared all over his body. Those… those ruffians must have gotten his way with him after he had fallen unconscious, then. He just hoped that he had not received any grievous injuries.

He fumbled about a bit with the rope, until he finally found where the knot was tied. His face scrounged up with focus as he tried to undo it. That… was not going to be an easy task, though. This knot had been tied pretty masterfully, and tightly at that. This was going to take some time.

What about the room he was in? He stumbled around a bit, trying to find anything useful in it. He seemed to have found himself in a boarding house of some sort. Abandoned, if he had to guess, for everything was in quite an awful condition. The window was too high up to reach. Not that that would do him any good, he thought, as jumping down from the second – or perhaps even the third – floor of a building could only end in disaster. There was not much else in the room, except for a few broken down pieces of furniture. So much for his escape plan, Henry thought gloomily.

…But then he made a realisation.

Why try to escape after only having seen this room? It would be dangerous, of course… but he was most likely at the hideout of these people that had been behind this bank case all along. If he could find out more about them… he’d be able to notify the police. Perhaps… perhaps he could even find out where this fabled golden statue they had stolen was hidden. He… he could perhaps be the one to bring it back to safety… His entire body rushed with excitement as he thought of it.

The door swung open again. “…Ah, Sleeping Beauty has woken up?” The young lord froze in place as soon as he heard that voice speaking to him. He turned around, fearfully looking at the ruffian approaching him with a plate in his hands. “Calm down ya pansy, I’m not gonna hurt you again”, the man scowled. “You’re much too valuable to us for now for that. Sit down.” The nobleman did as he was told.

“Boss told me to bring you some food, so here you are”, the man continued, handing him the plate. The food… did not look good. Some sludgy mixture with bits of vegetable in it. Henry knew that he was extremely privileged when it came to eating, but even then, this had to be bad to most people. “Make sure you don’t starve, you know. Can’t be havin’ that. Perhaps we’ll save that treatment for when that Sherlock Holmes fellow keeps sticking his nose where it doesn’t rightfully belong.”

A shiver ran down the young lord’s spine as he stared at his plate, before he looked up at his captor. “…I cannot eat with my hands like this”, he muttered quietly, motioning with his hands behind his back to illustrate his point. The stranger scoffed, before breaking out in laughter. “Nice try, mister”, he sneered, “but I ain’t falling for your trick. The boss’d have me head if I freed you like that.” The nobleman pouted. “…But I cannot be expected to eat without my hands, right?”, he pleaded. “I thought I was to be kept in good conditions…” His captor froze in place. “Did you listen in-”, he snarled, but the young lord only smiled at him innocently.

“I refuse to eat without my hands, sir”, he complained. “As the lord of the House of Baskerville, I demand to be treated with some respect. Or would you like to be responsible for your hostage starving himself, perhaps?” He gave the man a pleading look after that, pouting. “Will you untie my hands, just for this? Pleeeeeeeease?”

His captor stood in silence for a while, before groaning. “Fine”, he sighed, untying the bounds around the nobleman’s hands. “Fine! If that means you’ll stop your whining… but don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight for even a second, ya hear?” Henry nodded. “Of course, sir!”, he said cheerfully, before taking his plate and eating its contents… reluctantly. It was very hard not to spit it out immediately, considering the quality of food he was used to, but he had to admit that he was absolutely starving, so it was not time to be picky. He could complain about it all once he had reunited with Sherlock again.

“…Done”, he muttered as soon as he had finished his plate, handing it over to the thug. He took it, before pulling the young lord’s hands behind his back again. “…Good”, he groaned. “Now, just… shut up, will you?” “Certainly!”, Henry replied teasingly, paying close attention as he felt his hands being tied again. He smirked as his prediction indeed turned out to be true.

The knot around his hands was tied more sloppily this time. It had been rushed.

“All right, now… just stay here, you hear?”, his captor said. “There’s more of us here in the building. If you try to make a run for it… we will know.” The young lord gulped as he heard that last sentence, but he steeled his nerves. “…What will become of me?”, he asked. The thug smirked. “…That depends on what your colleague’s course of action will be”, he said. “For your sake, I hope he abandons the case.” And with those words, he left.

Henry felt his heart beat in his chest as soon as he was alone again. He rushed to find the knot around his wrists, fumbling with the rope endlessly until he found it, fidgeting around with the knot in a desperate attempt to untie it. He breathed a sigh of relief after a few minutes, finding his hands unbound at last. Thank goodness that his plan had worked. He had hoped that by annoying the thug, he would be impatient, and would not pay close attention to his knot-tying. He had been successful. That was the first part done, he supposed… now though, the hardest part was about to unfold.

His heart beat like a drum as he approached the room’s door, tiptoeing in order not to be heard. He prayed to any being that might listen that his arteriosclerosis was not going to act up. Anytime but now. He really could not be having a heart attack anytime soon. Adrenaline rushing through his body, he reached for the door’s lock, slowly turned it, and peeked behind out into the hall.

…This part… was going to be the escape.

***

John Watson was enjoying an evening glass of brandy, lounging back in his armchair with his newspaper as he heard a sudden knock on the window. He frowned. He was not expecting anyone this evening, wasn’t he? Perhaps it would be wise to see who it was… especially because they were knocking. And on the window, no less. Under any normal circumstances, the landlady would have announced any visitor.

He heard another knock as he hurried towards the door, walking as quickly as his injured leg would allow him to. Rain was pouring down from the heavens as he opened the door, his eyes widening in complete and utter shock as soon as he recognised the man that stood before him.

He was completely soaked from the rain. He had a black eye. His nose was bleeding and his hair was all dishevelled. As were his clothes… dear god, they were a mess. His shirt had been unbuttoned at the top, his bow tie was placed all messily and his coat was half off. Never had he seen his friend in such a state ever before, not even at his lowest moments. “W-Watson…”, the man said, trembling. “…I- I did not know who to come to…”

The doctor stood there in silence for a moment, absolutely bewildered. What… what had happened? What could have possibly occurred for his friend to be this distraught? He was all alone as well… this did not bode quite well for him. There was only one word that passed his lips as he gestured for the man to come inside, desperate to help him out in any way that he possibly could:

“…Holmes?”

Notes:

Henry is a Disney Princess confirmed lmaooo
If you enjoyed this chapter please consider leaving a comment, I'd really appreciate it <3

Chapter 29: Consolation

Summary:

Sherlock seeks out advice from Watson.

Disclaimer: this chapter contains mentions of sexual abuse.

Sherlock could immediately tell from the tone coming from his friend’s voice that he was worried for him. That was to be expected, he supposed. Watson had always been puzzled by most of his habits, and while he rarely voiced his disapproval for them, it was hard not to notice his concern. Again, concern. That blasted thing that the detective did not know how to deal with, not even in the slightest. He hated all the fussing it brought about. It made him uneasy. But, well…

…He supposed that this one rare instance, his friend actually had a very good reason to be concerned.

More importantly… deep down, he felt like someone being concerned for him was… something he desperately needed.

“Good heavens Holmes, what on earth has happened to you?”, Watson asked, leading Sherlock to the sitting room of his apartment. “Where is Sir Henry? Does he know that you are here?” The detective gave no answer. Instead, he looked around warily, before directing his gaze towards the doctor.

“…There is no one else in the house, is there…?”, he asked hesitantly, not wanting anyone else to see him in the sorry state he was in. The fact that Watson had to see him like this was embarrassing enough. Not just because he was completely dishevelled.

…Moreso because he had completely lost grip of his emotions.

His friend did not seem to understand why he had asked that question. “My wife is out, if that’s what you mean, but why-”, he began, but Sherlock collapsed against him and burst into tears before he could finish his sentence. That was good enough for the detective. He just… had to know that there was no one else to see this. He could not keep it together anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

“I- I don’t know where Henry is, Watson…”, he wept, crying bitter tears. “I have no idea… I- I had left Baker Street on my own to do some investigating, I got into a fight and- and when I returned, he… he had just vanished- and there was this note left behind, but I have no idea what to do with it, and I- I-” He paused, trying to breathe more calmly before slouching down miserably, looking at the floor in shame.

“…It’s just too much, Watson…”

The doctor was evidently left completely and utterly shocked by Sherlock’s meltdown. The detective was not surprised in the slightest. Watson had never seen him like this ever before, after all. Despite the fact that he vehemently disagreed with the way in which his friend chronicled some of his many cases, he had read his accounts. And he knew the way the doctor thought of his approach to emotions. Watson had written about it multiple times in his records. He had used many words to describe Sherlock’s attitude, some more flattering than others, but… none of them could really describe the mess he was now. And in all honesty, the detective was glad about that. The idea of the public knowing about this side of his terrified him.

“Let’s… let’s sit down for a minute, shall we?”, his friend eventually suggested. “You are obviously overwhelmed… not to mention possibly injured. You’ll have to let me take a look at that nosebleed there”, he said, taking a look at Sherlock’s face and trying to spot any more injuries. “By Jove, it was a fistfight, wasn’t it?”, he eventually observed. The detective shook his hands around impatiently as Watson sat him down. “It’s nothing to worry about, my friend”, he quickly responded. “There… there are more pressing things.”

The doctor sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Holmes, you might have a broken nose”, he said. “That could result in some very nasty business if it is not attended to in time. Now, why don’t you try and calmly tell me about everything that happened today that caused this panic of yours while I patch you up?” Sherlock groaned. “Watson, Henry has gone missing!”, he protested. “Now is not the time to behave like a maiden aunt-” “No discussion, Holmes”, Watson responded sternly, picking up his doctor’s bag. “Besides, it might help you calm down a bit. We’ll be able to find Sir Henry much more effectively then.”

The detective frowned for a while, but he eventually realised that there was no getting out of this one. He should have expected this, he supposed… but even then, he had to admit that what his friend was saying was right. Not only that, but… he seemed to be realising only now that his nose… did really hurt. Fine. He would allow Watson fussing over him this one time.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I… I had gone back to the City and Suburban Bank by myself to assure myself of a certain detail relating to the case…”, he began, sitting back as the doctor carefully cleaned his face first. “A- an inspector approached me after, and…” He paused, gulping as he stared into the distance with a look of horror on his face.

What… what was he supposed… to say now? He knew that Watson was aware of his relationship with Henry, but… what was he supposed to say to him about Paul? That… that he had been sexually abused all those years ago…? He himself was only getting around to that fact now. He… he had not even realised that it had been abuse until the young lord had pointed it out. He had known the doctor for so many years… how in God’s name was he supposed to bring this up now?

“…He would not leave me alone, and a fight broke out eventually”, he decided on after a while. He… technically was not lying here. “I- I ran away, straight back to Baker Street, but… Henry was not there anymore when I came back… Normally, I would not have been worried about that, as we were to meet up at Hyde Park later, but… I found this lying on the doorstep.” He began to rummage through his pocked, trying to find the note that his sweetheart’s mysterious captors had left behind.

“Steady there”, the doctor interrupted, taking a closer look at Sherlock’s nose now. “…Try to move your face as little as possible…” He let out a sharp inhale of breath after a while, looking at the detective with a worried look on his face. “…I’m afraid that whoever you had a scuffle with has managed to land quite a few punches on you, my dear fellow… it does indeed look like a slight fracture.”

Sherlock should have been concerned by that, perhaps, but in all honesty, it did not even phase him. And how could it? How could he be wallowing in his own self-pity while Henry was out there, possibly kidnapped? Nevertheless, he handed his friend the memorandum that was left behind at his doorstep. “…Nothing too severe, I hope?”, he asked.

Watson shook his head, taking the piece of paper from the detective’s hands. “No, I think I should be able to set it myself just fine”, he said, inspecting it. “…Great heavens, do you think that Sir Henry has been-” Sherlock nodded. “…I do”, he said gravely. “…And… and I have no idea how to save him.”

He held his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn this accursed head of mine…”, he sobbed. “…I- I should be able to… to think of something… I always do… Even when I’m at my wit’s end… especially when I’m at my wit’s end… I- I normally always find the extra drive to succeed when that happens… I have to find it… And I just… can’t…” He let out a sniffle, looking up at the doctor with a look of shame and self-loathing on his face as he felt a wave of utter hopelessness wash over him.

“…What is wrong with me, Watson…?”

His friend stayed quiet for a while. “…Are you especially panicked because this concerns Sir Henry?”, he eventually asked. The detective stood up, pacing around the room impatiently. “Of course I am”, he mused, gesturing to himself wildly. “I… I brought him here to London with me, only for him to end up in danger… And worst of all, I cannot even bring myself to think of a plan to rescue him… What kind of a partner am I even?! I- I’ve only brought him danger… It started with me causing that heart attack of his, and now… now, he has been kidnapped, thanks to my incompetency…” He sighed, frowning miserably. “…Perhaps, I should have stayed away from falling in love after all… I could never bring anything good to a relationship. I… I’m just a burden.”

That’s what he was. A burden. Even now, he was just being one to Watson. He shouldn’t even have needed to ask for someone’s help. He should have just been able to work out how to save Henry by himself. He should have shaken off all the things that had happened today and focused on saving the young lord. And yet… here he was, being a nuisance to his closest friend. He truly was worthless.

“Now that is absolutely not true, Holmes.”

The doctor’s pointed tone snapped Sherlock out of his gloomy thoughts. He looked back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. Watson shook his head. “What you just said is complete and utter nonsense, my friend”, he corrected him. “Look, I do not know the complete ins and outs of your relationship… and I don’t need to, mind you… but Sir Henry has talked about it with me quite a bit. You… you should hear how adoringly he speaks of you. How his face becomes all flushed at the mention of your name. How… how happy you make him. Do you have any idea how much you light up that man’s life, Holmes? Because I don’t think you do, with how much you are selling yourself short. You… you bring him so much, my friend… I promise. You are not a burden to him… and you are not a burden to me, either.”

The detective sighed, sitting back down as his shoulders slouched down gloomily. “…I just feel completely worthless”, he admitted, rubbing his temples. “…I feel disgusting after what happened today. Not worth anyone’s time. A-and whenever I do feel worthless, I can usually at least tell myself that I am a great detective, but…” He scoffed, grimacing. “…It seems that my deductive abilities have also left me as of late. I… I’m just rotten work.”

The doctor pressed his fingers up against the bridge of Sherlock’s nose, narrowing his eyes. The detective winced in pain as he did so. “Sorry about that”, Watson mumbled, before continuing at normal volume: “You are not rotten work, Holmes. Moments during which our head fails us happen to all of us. In all honesty, I’m surprised it has taken you this long, my friend. I suspect that you have gotten overwhelmed.”

He paused, increasing the pressure on Sherlock’s nose. “Now, just… take a deep breath in… Aaaand there”, he muttered, setting the detective’s fracture correctly, Sherlock letting out a groan of anguish. Watson inspected his nose again. “…That should heal correctly…”, he muttered, before taking a cold, damp cloth and handing it over to the detective. “I do apologise for any pain I might have caused… Holding this against the fracture should help the pain.” Sherlock did as he was instructed, listening to his friend continue:

“But as I was saying, I highly suspect that you got overwhelmed. Pair this with the fact that you are obviously – and righteously so – worried sick for Sir Henry, and it all seems quite understandable to me. There is… just one thing that confuses me still.”

The detective felt a gnawing feeling in his stomach, his hairs standing on end as he started to get the creeping suspicion that he knew what his friend wanted to know more about. “…What is it?”, he asked regardless. Watson frowned. “…You do not exercise unless you have a very good reason for it”, he began. “Not to mention that this apparently happened with a police inspector. Furthermore, I know that you are an excellent boxer. So… what happened for this fight to break out in the first place… and how could this inspector have possibly injured you so much?”

Sherlock gulped, feeling around his black eye as his fearful suspicions proved to have been correct. He… he was terrified. Terrified recalling the things that Paul had done to him. Terrified of what his friend’s reaction to his information would be. And most of all… terrified that Paul had forever ruined and disgraced his body. He took a deep breath, tears stinging in his eyes as his body began to shake before looking up at Watson, his face wrought with horror:

“…Watson… he tried to rape me.”

The doctor’s eyes widened in terror as soon as he heard those words leave the detective’s mouth. His jaw dropped as he just sat there, frozen in shock. Sherlock covered his face in shame, not even finding himself able to look his friend in the eye. “…It’s why my clothes are all a mess…”, he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “…He tried to take them off…”

Watson could do nothing but stare in disbelief. “How… how could the idea even get into his head…”, he stammered. “…What kind of a degenerate was that man?” And then the detective told him all about it, weeping. About his early years as an investigator. Paul first approaching him. Their first kiss. Young Sherlock’s fears of not fitting in and how Paul soothed them. His growing discomfort with their meetups. Their eventual last meeting, during which Paul forced the younger detective to fellate him. The inspector leaving London due to a promotion. Them meeting again while investigating at the City and Suburban Bank… and then that last encounter.

Watson listened attentively during all of this, a worried look on his face. Sherlock could not pick up on even a hint of disgust towards his sodomy. It… it was a relief. The detective was terrified that the doctor would want nothing to do with him after hearing of all the things he had been forced to do by Paul. After that man had used him as nothing but an object for his desires. No, Watson was not disgusted. Instead, he listened. And… and Sherlock could not be more thankful for that.

“I… I am so terribly sorry that you had to go through that, Holmes”, he quietly stammered after a while, still clearly shocked. “I… I’m just glad that you have found an actual romantic partner in Sir Henry now… that he truly brings you happiness. I realise now why you have been so… reluctant towards romance in the past. Forgive me for trying to encourage it during previous cases… I see now that that was very insensitive of me.” The detective stared into the distance with a glazy look in his eyes, slumping down miserably. “…It’s fine”, he said. “…You could not have known.”

His friend stayed silent for a while after that. “Did… did he manage to-”, he began eventually, but the detective shook his head before he finished his sentence. “No, thank god he didn’t”, he sighed. “…But he would have, had I not given him a proper right hook across the face right then and there. I… I had punched him before I knew what was going on… He hit me back, but I escaped. And- well, he had not been able to do much… but he did… touch me. In places I did not want him to. He… he had- he had uncovered my chest, and he was-” He began to hyperventilate, his eyes widening in horror as it all flashed before his eyes again. “H-he was pressing his lips up against me- blaming me for all this- saying that- that if I make any noise, I’d- I’d get found out as a sodomite, and I-”

He let out a scream, squeezing his eyes shut. It was so strange… only now did he seem to realise just how horrific the things that Paul had done to him truly felt to him. How… how much he had been violated. What could have happened to him if he waited with that punch for even a few seconds.

He… he had been sexually assaulted.

He began to shiver, covering his face with his hands. “…What did he do to me, Watson?”, he whimpered. “…Why do I feel so… repugnant?” Watson sat down next to him, letting his hand rest on his shoulder. “…I think that the things this man has done to you have caused you so much distress that your head cannot fully function as it normally would”, he said. “I… I think this may be… a traumatic response. It’s still a fairly new term in the medical world, but… your current predicament does seem to align with the things that I have read about it.”

…‘Trauma’. The word left a foul taste in Sherlock’s mouth. He looked at his friend, sighing hopelessly. “…What do I do about it?”, he asked desperately.

Watson looked at him pitifully. “…I’m afraid that this is not going to solve itself all at once”, he sighed. “…But for starters, it is getting very late in the evening. The best thing for you to do would be to rest up. I’m… assuming that you’d rather not spend the night all alone back at Baker Street?”

The detective shook his head, tears stinging in his eyes. He… he did not want to sleep back home indeed. The idea of having to lay in his own bed without Henry’s arms snugly wrapped around him was too much to bear. “…Can… can I stay here for the night?”, he pleaded. If he could not be with Henry, he did not want to have to be all alone the entire night. “Just… just for one evening.”

Watson gave him a kind smile. “Of course you can, my old friend… I’m afraid that I only have the sofa available, though.” Sherlock nodded. “That… that is no problem”, he said. He had slept under worse circumstances.

The doctor nodded. “Very well, that’s settled, then. Then, tomorrow, I shall accompany you to the police station, and then we can report Sir Henry’s disappearance there. And if that inspector is there, I will be there to deal with him, all right? As much as you dislike having to rely on the police, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to work out our friend’s disappearance on your own. And then after that, we’ll see what we’ll do next, all right? In any case, I’ll stay with you, my good friend. You are obviously in great distress… and you should not have to deal with that all on your own.”

The detective took a few breaths, staying silent for a while. That… that did seem like a good idea… He did not feel good about having to rely on the police, but… he was not going to be any good trying to do this by himself. He cursed himself for that. But… at least Watson was there for him. And he would stay with him, until they had found Henry again. He… he could not be more grateful.

He eventually gave a nod. His friend smiled. “Good. Now, shall I make the sofa ready for you to sleep on, then?” Sherlock nodded again. He… he was exhausted. “…Watson?”, he eventually asked, looking up at his friend, who had stood up. “Yes?”, the doctor replied. The detective stared down at the ground, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say.

“…Thank you”, he eventually settled on. “…Thank you for being there for me. I… I was devoid of all hope. Thank you… for changing that. For making me realise that it is still possible that Henry is going to be found.”

Watson smiled. “Anytime, my old friend. Anytime. I know you’d do the same for me.”

***

As Sherlock laid down on the sofa that night to go to sleep, he still felt the worries. Oh yes, they were still there. Prominently, in fact. But there was also something else. Something that he had not felt before he had gone to Watson’s house.

Hope. There was still hope.

The detective quietly thanked his friend for making him realise that. He truly was horrible at establishing new connections. He barely had need for them, anyway. But when he did make them… he was beyond thankful for them. Watson… and Henry… their kindness and support was… absolutely invaluable to him.

He thanked Watson for teaching him that lesson once again as he felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, sinking down on the sofa as he slowly fell asleep.

There was hope. He would see Henry again.

Chapter 30: The Crux of the Case

Summary:

Sherlock and Watson go to the police precinct, where they stumble across multiple surprises.

Notes:

Disclaimer: this chapter contains references to sexual abuse.

The night had come and gone.

And when Sherlock awoke on Watson’s couch, he still felt alone. He was bound to, now that he was separated from his darling Henry.

That did not take away from the fact that it still hurt, though.

The sun had only just risen. London was just beginning to wake up. It was still that early time in the morning during which there was still some semblance of silence to be found in the great city. The detective preferred it for now. He... did not feel like mingling with all of London’s lively residents today.

It frightened him. Just... having to put on a smile again. Walking in the streets as if nothing had happened last night. As if he hadn’t relived some of the most harrowing memories of his entire life.

As... as if Paul had not tried to have sex with him against his will again.

To... to rape him.

Sherlock still felt uncomfortable whenever the thought of what it actually was that this putrid excuse of a man had done to him. He... he had never thought that it could happen to him at first.

...He had thought that his cynical attitude towards anything involving romance or sexual relations would protect him from having to go through Paul’s abuse again. He scoffed to himself. Heh. It was quite ironic, really.

...Because apparently, the detective’s standoffish attitude towards the inspector had only caught his attention even more.

These thoughts did not leave Sherlock’s head as he got up from the sofa, stretching his limbs and yawning before washing himself up a bit. If anything, they only got worse.

...And how were they ever supposed to leave his head, as he was confronted with the surface of his skin after last night?

It was only now that the detective noticed the bruises that Paul had left behind on his body as he saw himself in the mirror. His eyes widened in shock as he did so. They were on his chest. On his face. On his shoulders. Every place on his body that the inspector had grabbed so ruthlessly, seized for his own, invaded without his consent... the marks of his invasive fingers were still visible on them.

“Hush, Holmes. Just let me make it up to you...”

A sharp inhale of breath. His entire body tensed up as his arms wrapped themselves around his torso. “No... G-get out of my head...”

“You are much more agreeable when you stop yapping...”

He was starting to shiver, his breathing getting faster and faster. Everything was becoming blurry. His legs were shaking, making it hard to keep balance. “Leave... leave me alone...”

“...You were just asking for it.”

...And then his knees gave out on him.

“Holmes!” Just before Sherlock fell to the ground, having lost balance, he felt the touch of two hands supporting him. It was a firm grip. Not like Paul’s, which had been ruthless and possessive. There was… a sense of certainty to this touch, of support. It felt… kind. Well-meaning.

…But it did not feel like Henry’s.  

The detective’s body tensed up completely as he felt this grip that did not belong to his sweetheart around his body, breathing shakily before he realised who that voice that had called out to him belonged to. It… it had been Watson’s. So… why? Why did he still feel panicked, knowing that it was his friend who was trying to stop him from plummeting to the ground? Why couldn’t he just… relax?

“By Jove, what’s wrong, my friend?”, the doctor asked, helping the detective slowly sit down on the ground before         quickly letting go, evidently having noticed his friend’s discomfort at being touched by him. He crouched down, looking at Sherlock with a worried look in his eyes. “...I heard whimpering coming from the bathroom, so I just wanted to make sure you were all right... You... aren’t, are you...?” The detective took a few deep breaths, holding his hand against his chest to feel his pulse slowly calming down again, before looking at his friend. “...No, I’m not.”

He frowned, looking down at the ground in shame. “…I do not know what came over me…”, he muttered. “I… I just wanted to wash up a bit, and…” He paused, trailing his fingers over the bruise marks that Paul had left behind. “…They had… never stood out to me before, I- I suppose.” He stood up, slouching miserably. “…I think I’ll just… get dressed”, he mumbled, before excusing himself. Watson’s worried look only got more intense. “Holmes-”, he began, but Sherlock had already left the room by then, not wanting his friend to have to see these disgusting, shameful marks that his body was covered with any longer than was absolutely necessary.

…Marks. Henry had referred to the love bite that the detective had given him with that very word in the past. It was ironic that Sherlock’s body was to be covered in marks of possession too, only a few weeks later. Marks left behind by another man. Left behind… against the detective’s wishes. Tears began to sting in his eyes as he got dressed, wishing more than ever now that the young lord would be with him right now, softly kissing all his bruises away with those gentle lips of his. But that would not happen. Henry was missing. And as long as Sherlock would not be able to pull himself together, the chances of him being found again were getting slimmer with each passing second.

“Breakfast, Holmes?”, Watson called out behind him. The detective turned around, having been daydreaming away over his thoughts so much that he had almost forgotten about his friend being in the apartment too. “…I don’t find myself particularly peckish”, he said. The doctor narrowed his eyes. “…You didn’t eat anything last night either, did you?”, he pointed out. Sherlock shrugged. “You forget that my brain works best on an empty stomach”, he simply replied.

Watson stayed silent for a while. “…Holmes, you are starving yourself”, he said eventually, a concerned tone coming from his voice. “…At least eat a little something before we go to the police station… You are only harming yourself further like this.”

The detective sighed, eventually joining his friend at the breakfast table, albeit reluctantly. He took one slice of toast. Chewing and swallowing was agony, no matter how much he tried to eat the whole thing. He eventually just left it half-eaten on his plate. His friend was obviously worried by this, but he did not press the matter any further. It seemed that he had realised that there was no use to trying to convince Sherlock to eat more, too. “Very well, then…”, he said, standing up and grabbing his coat. “I am ready if you are, my dear fellow. Shall we head to the police station, then?”

***

The weather was foul. The detective might have been annoyed by it under normal circumstances, but he was quite content with it at the moment. He would not have been able to handle bright sunshine while he was feeling at his absolute lowest. It would have been as if the sun itself was actively trying to taunt him. Watson was evidently put off by the heavy rain though, walking more slowly than usual due to the wound in his leg acting up. Sherlock followed his pace. His friend had done so much for him already, this was the least he could do. He did not want to cause the doctor any discomfort by moving too quickly.

As they arrived at the police station, the detective could not help but feel a shiver go down his spine. He felt sweat starting to run down his forehead. What… what if Paul would be here right now? What was he supposed to do then? He could not bear the thought of having to smile in his face to keep up appearances, but… the alternative was even more harrowing. He could not let others see just how much of a mess he had been because of all of this. Especially in public. He… he would never get to hear the end of it.

He was just starting to question why he had decided to go down here in the first place, when he felt a light tap against his shoulder. He was snapped out of his thoughts, looking beside himself to find Watson smiling kindly at him. Normally, he would have probably let his hand rest on his shoulder, or have done a similar gesture of kindness, but… he was staying respectful of Sherlock’s personal space after what had happened in the bathroom this morning. The detective… could not be more grateful for that small gesture.

“Are you still up for it?”, the doctor asked. “Remember, I’ll stay with you. But if you’d rather not go, I can report Sir Henry’s disappearance by myself, so you won’t have to enter.” Sherlock shook his head. “No, it’s… quite all right. I want to be there. I want to know what the police says about it all.” His friend nodded. “All right… You’re brave, Holmes. I want you to know that. You’re being incredibly brave right now. And I commend you for it.” The detective nodded, taking a deep breath. This was it then… there was no going back now.

***

“So, if I understand you correctly, sir… your friend has gone missing?” The constable they were talking to was an older man with a grey burly moustache, which the often twirled as he was speaking. The repetitive mannerism made Sherlock nervous. “Do I really need to repeat myself?”, he sighed with a frustrated tone, presenting the memoranda left behind by Henry’s kidnappers. “Here, you have the evidence of the fact that someone actually took him, you have the motive, you have enough cause for concern. Is this not enough?”

The constable narrowed his eyes, inspecting the piece of paper. “A fine affair indeed”, he said. “Now, there is one murder linked to this case, and one missing person… The depravities a man can sink to.” The detective was absolutely baffled by that statement. “One murder?”, he exclaimed. “Kindly explain yourself, please… You must be aware of the fact that I have been investigating on Mrs. Elizabeth Hughes’ behalf, and the possibility of murder has never even crossed my mind.”

The other man looked pleased with himself, twirling his moustache as he let out a chuckle. “Well, you might want to work together with the leading police inspector in the future, then,” he said, “because inspector Dryden has determined that Edgar Hughes’ life has been taken during the theft. The blood on the crime scene suggests it.”

Watson opened his mouth to speak, probably intending to defend his friend, but Sherlock was practically fuming by now. How dared this man suggest that? Not only that… but how could these men be such bumbling, incompetent idiots? And did they truly think that this non-existent murder was more important than the fact that Henry was out there, God knew where, in dire need of help. It infuriated Sherlock. It infuriated him beyond belief.

“Let me tell you something”, he said, slamming his hands down on the desk in an uncharacteristically angry fashion for him, “no murder took place, but if you do not take this report of mine seriously, it might very well become a murder case. Don’t you realise that I am being blackmailed and that someone’s life is at stake here?! How… how can you just simply sit there and smile calmly in my face while my friend might be dead out there?!”

“Holmes… this is not going to make anything better.” Watson’s calm voice snapped him out of his outburst. He paused, rubbing his temples as he took deep breaths in order to calm down. “...I apologise for losing my temper”, he said, though there was still an undeniably annoyed tone coming from his voice. “However, I do hope that you will realise the urgency of this disappearance. Please do not simply brush it off.”

The constable eventually nodded, having remained silent for a while, most likely having been startled by Sherlock’s sudden temper. “We’ll see what we can do about it, Mr. Holmes”, he said, writing down his report. “Will that be all?”

That last question did not sit right with the detective. It was obvious that this situation was not being deemed urgent enough for immediate action. And the most infuriating thing here was that he would not have minded this normally, knowing that he was far more efficient than Scotland Yard detectives when solving a case, but... his mind still felt completely stagnant after what he had been through. Henry needed his help more than ever right now, but he could not even provide it in the slightest... and it made him feel miserable.

This whole situation made him feel miserable. All of it. And the constable’s indifference to his sweetheart’s disappearance was not making anything better. He also knew that there was no use to trying to argue with this man, though. He... he had done all he could. He knew that it wasn’t enough, but whenever he tried to think of a way to find these men, these scoundrels who had taken his darling Henry away from him... all he found was anger, misery and hopelessness. “...It will, constable”, he eventually sighed, a defeated tone coming from him as his shoulders slumped down hopelessly. He looked to his side, glancing at Watson. “...Let’s just go home.”

They were about to leave the building, when both of them were suddenly alarmed by the precinct’s front door being flung wide open, a sturdily built man walking into the room, a red complexion across his face as he breathed heavily. Obviously came running to this place, Sherlock observed. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he made the deduction. He... he still had it in him. It was not completely gone. Perhaps it was because he had not forced his mind to work out a theory... but for now, there were more important things to think about, as he came to observe more and more about the man’s appearance.

Large feet, roughly corresponding with the size of the footprints left behind at the office at the City and Suburban Bank. Tall enough to make strides as large as the ones found at the crime scene. Looks to be upper-class from his mannerisms and excellent quality of suit.

He let out a sharp gasp as he observed the last detail.

Rip in one of his suit’s sleeves.

He tapped Watson on the shoulder, looking at him intensely. “Watson, this is him!”, he whispered quickly. The doctor seemed to be confused for a while, until a look of realisation spread across his face. “You mean the man you and Sir Henry have been trying to track down? The man that went missing?” The detective nodded gravely. “Precisely”, he replied, still keeping his volume down. “This must be Mr. Edgar Hughes, if I am not mistaken... We’d better stay here and wait to hear what he has to say.” He moved over to the side of the room, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible, though he kept his piercing gaze fixed on the man, vigilant like a hawk. He would not let this man escape. Not now that he was so closely within his grasp. Maybe... maybe, he could even lead him to Henry.

...Because if there was anything that Sherlock had realised during these investigations, it was that Edgar Hughes had not simply gone missing.

There was a large chance that he himself had been involved with the robbery.

Hughes approached the constable Sherlock and Watson had been talking to just now, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Please,” he exclaimed, breathing heavily, “it’s an emergency... I only escaped within an inch of my life.” The policeman was visibly shocked, his jaw dropping at the sight of the man. “You... you haven’t been murdered?!”, he cried out, seemingly having recognised the stranger as well. “No, although it was a very close call”, Hughes replied, breathing a sigh of relief. “Those ruffians had taken me... I only managed to figure out where they had taken me and escape today. God knows what they would have done to me otherwise.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. Something about the way the man was acting did not sit right with him. There was an evident sense of nervousness about the man... but something told him that it had nothing to do with the fact that he had supposedly just escaped from his captors. He did not have anything to bring in against the man’s story yet, though. He would have to wait.

“Where had they taken you?”, the constable asked, quickly grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. Sherlock was silently infuriated by the man’s sudden willingness to help this man, despite his complete indifference towards Henry’s disappearance just now. “That, I know not”, Hughes replied. “It was still dark when I made my way out of that revolting hideout, and I simply called a cab and pleaded to be taken here. Do forgive me... I was in a panic.”

But that doesn’t add up to the fact that he has visibly exerted himself so much, the detective thought to himself. He was right. Something about this was suspicious. He stayed silent, though. This contradiction was not damning enough.

“That seems reasonable enough”, the constable replied. “Was there anything identifiable about your captors, though?” Hughes shook his head. “Nothing... Nothing comes to mind... But I suppose you had better ask that guard, Jacob Harris, about it... blasted villain struck me on the head back in my office. He must be complicit somehow.” “Now, don’t you worry about that”, the policeman said, smiling. “That man’s been under lock and key for a few days now.”

The man let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god”, he said. “Now… for the largest reason for my coming here. I might have escaped within an inch of my life… but not without risking it all to recover the prized artifact that was stolen during the theft… I have it here.”

It sounded as if the front door opened again, but Sherlock paid no mind to it. Instead, he kept his eyes on Hughes, who searched around in his pockets, before presenting a small, but priceless object to the constable: the statue that had been stolen. “It must be brought to safety immediately, before-”

“Before it is found out that it is fake!”

The detective completely froze up as he heard that familiar voice. As he turned around to face the man that had just walked into the precinct. As he saw who it was that was standing there in the door opening, keeling over, breathing heavily with a reddened face as he convulsively clung onto his chest with his hand.

…

Henry.

***

The young lord panted heavily, sweat dripping down his face as it felt as if an elephant was pressing against his chest. Arteriosclerosis be damned, he had made it, in spite of the fact that he could feel himself very close to fainting. He had to put that aside at the moment. Right now, there were much more pressing matters at hand. Hughes.

“It… it is fake…”, he stammered, stumbling forwards. His captor seemed positively shocked by the sight of him. Henry smirked faintly. He must not have expected him to have escaped so easily, now did he?

Hughes mumbled something in response, but the nobleman could not understand what he was saying anymore. There was a ringing in his ears that began to get louder and louder, as his vision as getting more and more blurry. Damn it… please… just… just a moment before he’d give out… He could not let Hughes go… Not now that they were… so close…

“I… I need to sit down…”, he whimpered faintly, before feeling his knees shake so much that he lost his balance.

He did not fall down to the ground though.

Someone caught him.

And when he opened his eyes again, he found two icily blue irises staring back at him.

…Sherlock.

What… what luck that he had gone to this place at the very same moment…

“Henry, are you quite all right?!”, the detective asked him, his hands trembling as he held the young lord in his arms. “Can you hear me, Henry?!” His… his tone was… panicked. Even more distraught than he would have expected him to be after seeing him again. Henry nodded faintly. “Yes, I… ran here as fast as I could… Sorry, Doctor. I know I went against your advice…”, he said, smiling awkwardly as he saw that Watson was also in the room with them. “Didn’t have much of a choice, knowing that I could get chased by those ruffians that took me any moment… But you would know more about that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Hughes?”

He asked that question with a pointed tone coming from his voice, staring at the man with disdain in his eyes. The man that had ordered him to be beat up in the streets. The man that had taken him away from Sherlock, most likely leaving him behind absolutely panicked at his disappearance. But, most importantly right now, the man who truly should be arrested, instead of the innocent Jacob Harris.

“What are you-”, the man began, but the nobleman shook his head. “You know exactly what I am speaking of.” He looked over at the police constable, who was evidently very astonished by all these sudden drastic surprises. “I- I have evidence, sir… evidence that- that he is lying.”

Sherlock helped him sit up, looking at him with an astonished look in his eyes as Henry began to sift through his pockets, feeling a burning fire of excitement welling up in his chest as he felt the detective’s eyes on him. He hoped that he could make him proud. That he could show his partner just how much he had taught him about the art of crime-solving. That… that he could bring justice to this man.

“…Here.” He presented a small statue not unlike the one Hughes had given the constable, clenching his jaw as despite its size, the thing was of a considerable weight. “Y-you may try to present yourself as a victim in this whole affair, Hughes, but we both know that this is all part of your gang’s plan… I don’t think you’ll be able to sell of the real thing though, considering that I took it while daring my escape from your cronies.” He could not help but smirk a bit as he said that, feeling a sense of self-confidence that he had never felt before.

Hughes stood frozen in place like a deer in headlights. “B-but what if yours is the fake-”, he protested, but Sherlock chimed in before he could finish his sentence. “Why, it’s quite simple, really”, he said, grinning smugly. He must be realising that the net that they had spun around their suspect was getting tighter and tighter, too. “Weigh the two. The statue’s supposed to be made out of pure gold, so we can exactly calculate its supposed weight. The one that strays the most from this estimate is bound to be the fake one.” He looked down at Henry again, and nodded. And it was at this point that the young lord knew it for certain.

They were going to catch this man.

The constable was still baffled. “But what weight-” “About 800 grams, sir, roughly estimating the thing’s proportions”, the detective promptly replied. “Any chemist worth his salt should have at least a basic understanding of the periodic table of elements.” Hughes’ complexion grew even paler. The net was being spun even more tightly.

***

Scales were quickly brought to the building, and both men put their supposed statue on them.

Henry’s weighed 783 grams.

…Hughes’ weighed 578.

“Well, constable?”, Sherlock said, still supporting Henry with his arms. “I think we can both agree that this is proof enough, correct? Furthermore, I should mention that this very man is the person whose disappearance I came to report. It all falls into place quite neatly.” He looked down at the young lord, beaming with pride as he gave him a nod. Almost as if he wanted to give the nobleman the space to make the final accusation. Henry took a deep breath. This… this would be it, then. He pointed at the man, before looking at the police officer:

“C… constable… this is the culprit behind the robbery which has shaken the police force during the past few days.”

Edgar Hughes’ face was almost pale enough for him to be mistaken for a ghost by now, his entire body freezing in place before he bolted away, or at least tried to. Watson immediately jumped the gun and stood in front of the front door, blocking the man’s only way of exit. Sherlock shook his head disapprovingly. “Tsk tsk. You cannot even take your guilt with honour, can you…?”

***

After the detective did the rest of the necessary explaining, Hughes was indeed arrested. Henry did not fully process it all. He simply needed to focus on staying conscious, which was proving to be quite tough indeed. The world felt like it was spinning around him. He… he really needed to lie down as soon as they got back to Baker Street. But that was all right. He… was away from those men that had hurt him. His entire body still hurt, and particularly his chest, but… he was safe.

And most of all… he was with Sherlock.

He could not wait to be alone with him again.

When the ruckus had quieted down a bit, the detective walked back over to Henry again, extending an arm to help him stand up. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”, he asked, concerned. The young lord nodded, graciously accepting Sherlock’s offer and taking his hand, before running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I think so…”, he said, smiling clumsily. “Just… glad to see you again, mostly-”

He would have said more, but he was pulled into a tight embrace, Sherlock wrapping his arms around his body and holding him closely.

It did not take long for the nobleman to return that very same gesture to his beloved.

Henry was shocked that the detective was showing this much of his emotions while out in public, but that was not even the most surprising thing about this whole situation.

Sherlock was crying. Crying tears of joy.

…Henry soon joined him.

“I- I was so worried-”, the detective stammered, sniffling. “I- I could not help but think of all the possible scenarios in which you could have found yourself- I- I thought that you could have been murdered-” The young lord made shushing noises, gently stroking Sherlock’s back as he let his head rest on the other’s shoulder. “Hush, Sherlock. Hush. It’s quite all right. I- I must admit that I have been terrified… Just now, as well… D-dear god, I… I don’t know how I did not just faint instantly because of nerves, but… we… we did it, Sherlock. We did it together. We… we solved… the mystery…”

The detective nodded. “Well, they still need to catch the other accomplices… but that mystery is of no interest to me whatsoever. Scotland Yard can handle that simple problem perfectly.” He moves towards the nobleman’s ear, whispering in it quietly: “Besides… I want to spend the next few of my days with you alone… You’d still treat me to dinner, remember?”

Henry blushed furiously. “As… as if I could ever forget… You were all I could think of as I lay captive back there…” Sherlock grimaced. “I don’t know whether I should be flattered by that or absolutely horrified at your predicament”, he joked. The young lord smiled. “…Perhaps both”, he admitted. “…Feelings can be hard.” The detective broke out in laughter as he heard that. “If there is anything the two of us have discovered together, my dear fellow… it is that feelings are quite hard, indeed.”

And during that moment, Henry realised that he truly was all right. As long as he was in Sherlock’s arms. Where he belonged. As… as long as he was… home.

As long as Sherlock was there with him, everything would be fine.

And it was very fine indeed.

Notes:

Everyone who saw them at the police station will say that they were the best of friends afterwards lmaooo.
I hoped I managed to wrap up this case arc satisfyingly oh god (full explanation of all the events is still coming).
If you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment! <3

Chapter 31: A Hero

Summary:

Henry and Sherlock return to Baker Street together.

Notes:

Disclaimer: mentions of SA in this chapter.

---

Henry shut the door behind him, walking back into the apartment with Sherlock again as he let out a relieved sigh. He… he could not believe that he was back home again. After everything that had happened. He had not even gotten a single moment to process it all. So much had happened in so little time… it was all rather overwhelming, really.

But he was safe again. And that was all that mattered right now. He was safe, and he was with Sherlock again. He could not ask for anything more. His chest still hurt, but he was feeling so much better than when they were back at the precinct already. And Watson himself had told him that there was nothing to worry about, as long as he would take it easy for the next few days. The young lord had been very grateful for his friend’s advice.

…He could not deny that he was so much happier to finally be alone with Sherlock, though. And he could tell that the detective was too, judging from the longing look in his eyes as they both stared at each other. “W-well…”, he said, smiling clumsily and scratching the back of his head as he took a few steps forward, taking Sherlock’s hands in his. “I… hope I didn’t cause you too many worries while I was gone…?”

Tears began to sting in the detective’s eyes as he reached forward, desperately wrapping his arms around Henry’s body as he pressed his face up against his chest. The young lord froze up initially, but he soon relaxed, a blush spreading across his face as he fondly looked down at his sweetheart. He… he had missed his touch. So much. He was so happy, now that they did not have to worry about anyone seeing or judging their affections for each other anymore. Now that they did not have to keep up appearances anymore.

Now… now that they could finally be themselves again.

“…Of course I was worried, Henry…”, Sherlock began to sob, clutching onto the nobleman’s body as his lips began to quiver. “I… I don’t think I have ever missed a person so much ever before… I…” He paused, gulping. “…I think I may have been at my absolute lowest as soon as I found out that you had been taken. Please… please do not tell me that they harmed you.”

Henry gulped. “…Well, they did in the process of taking me”, he admitted. “…But as soon as I was captured, I was treated… relatively well. They… they were tasked with keeping me in a good condition, you see. Though… they did threaten with violence if you…” He paused, a shiver running down his spine. “…if you were to not comply to their demands… B-but I escaped before that could ever happen”, he assured the detective, who had obviously been horrified at the things the young lord had said just now. “I tricked one of my captors into making it easy for me to weasel my way out of my bounds, and then I made a run for it. Well… after stealing the real statue, of course.”

He paused, clumsily chuckling. “Luckily the building wasn’t as well-guarded as they had told me it was… not to mention the fact that most of those street thugs… didn’t really work with a lot of coordination. Sneaking out wasn’t much of a problem, as long as I stayed stealthy… And they had not really secured the statue that well. I could easily snatch it, and then I… just made a run for it.”

Sherlock laughed. “You know, you could make a fine petty thief with those fingers of yours”, he said, gently taking the nobleman’s hand and kissing his knuckles lovingly. “Is this enough to persuade you to stay on the right path, my sweet little muffin?” Henry blushed. “I- I promise… it was a one time thing”, he stammered. “I assure you, under any other circumstances, I would have simply fainted from all the nerves before I could even take anything.”

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling butterflies in his stomach as the detective kept nuzzling his hand. “…I don’t know how the sudden dash of boldness that inspired me to do it came over me”, he continued. “I just… knew that if someone didn’t do anything about it now, their plan could never be stopped again. A-and… I must admit that the thought of thwarting this plan made by the people that had attacked me in the streets… well, let’s just say that it felt like some well-earned revenge. And it didn’t even need any violence!” He beamed with glee as he said the last sentence. He… he was happy that he had not needed to harm anyone during his escape. He did not think that he would have been able to live with himself otherwise.

His expression turned into a worried one though, as he looked Sherlock in the eye. “…How about you, though?”, he asked. “What have you been through during the past few days…? You… you look beaten up… literally…” He looked at the detective’s black eye and his nose, his concern increasing. “…Are you all right, Sherlock…?”

Sherlock grimaced. “…I don’t know, really”, he said quietly, letting out a sniffle. “I… I just flew into a panic when I found out that you had been captured. They left behind a note at my doorstep which I found after I…” He paused, his eyes widening in terror. “…after I returned from the City and Suburban Bank”, he eventually continued. Henry… did not quite like that pause there. “I… I was at my wit’s end. My- my mind just completely blanked, which caused me to panic even more, and I- I… I felt… completely alone back then. With you gone, I was just… absolutely hopeless… so I decided to seek out Watson’s help in the end.”

He frowned, staring down at the ground. “…He was very kind… Promised to stay with me until you were found again, and that he’d accompany me to the police station… That’s why we were there this morning, you see. He… he said that as long as I was distraught like this, I should not be so harsh on myself for having my head give up on me, and that we should leave your disappearance to Scotland Yard instead. I- I suppose it’s just… never really happened to me before like this. I… was frightened.”

The young lord kept staring at the detective with that worried look in his eyes, his concern not dying down, even in the slightest, as he saw the haunted expression that was still all across his face. That… that pause he had made before mentioning the bank was very unsettling to him. “…Sherlock…”, he uttered quietly. “…Did anything happen to you while you were at the City and Suburban Bank?”

Sherlock stayed quiet for a while, his expression changing into one of utter disgust and self-loathing. “I… I need to show you something, Henry”, he muttered after a while, breaking out of their embrace and leading the young lord towards the bathroom. “I- I don’t… really know how to… bring it up with words… I think it’s just… best if you see.” His entire body tensed up as he spoke, his hairs standing on end as he fearfully looked at the nobleman. “…Please do not be angry at me for this…”

A confused look spread across Henry’s face as he wondered what in God’s name the detective was talking about, until his eyes widened in shock as he saw Sherlock slowly taking of his jacket and shirt.

His whole upper body was covered in bruises and marks left behind by fingers.

…So he had not only been hurt in the face, then.

***

The detective sniffled, wrapping his arms around his own body in a futile attempt to hide these shameful markings from Henry. He… he just hoped that the young lord would not think that he had been unfaithful. That he would not find his body as disgusting as he himself found it. That… that he’d still love him after all this. “I… I did not want any of this…”, he whimpered, looking up at the nobleman tearfully. “…I- I couldn’t do anything but stand frozen in place… I was absolutely terrified…”

Henry stayed silent, obviously horrified by what he saw. “…Who did this?”, he eventually asked, quietly. “Who… who dared to do this to you?” Tears began to roll down Sherlock’s face as he looked down in shame, almost as if he was to blame for all this. “…Dryden”, he eventually muttered. “…He approached, me and he- he drove me into an alleyway, and next thing I knew, he was-” He broke out in tears, clinging onto the young lord as he wept bitter tears, Henry’s touch feeling like the only thing that could possibly give him comfort right now. “…He sullied my body, Henry… He completely ruined it, and it wasn’t even his to touch…”

He felt the nobleman’s arms gently holding him, and he closed his eyes, his sobbing slowly calming down. For the first time since Paul had defiled him, he finally felt comfort in someone’s touch again. There was no feeling of agitation here. Of fear. This… felt familiar. It reminded Sherlock of love. Of compassion. Of… of safety. And he needed all those things desperately right now.

…What surprised him the most, though, was the fact that Henry was starting to cry, as well. Tears welled up in his eyes as his lip quivered, his trembling fingers gently holding the detective. “I…”, he stammered, sniffling. “…I don’t- I don’t even know… how to react to that…” Sherlock stayed silent. “…Me neither”, he eventually muttered. “…It’s why when I realised that you were gone as well, I… I just broke down.”

The young lord’s grip became a more protective one as he let his forehead rest against the detective’s, his hands bawling up into fists. “…I hate him”, he said quietly in between sobs. “…I hate that man and all the things he has ever done to you. I… I want to punch him in the face.” Sherlock grimaced. “Don’t try that, or you’ll end up like me”, he said, pointing at his black eye. “…Though if I did not land a right hook on his face, he…” He paused, looking down at the rest of his body. “…He might have done a lot more to me.”

“I- I know it’d be dumb, but…”, the nobleman stammered, narrowing his eyes in disdain. “…I just… I wish I could have done something…” “You are doing more than enough for me right now, Henry”, the detective murmured, closing his eyes as he nuzzled the small of Henry’s neck.

“…You holding me right now means more to me than anything else possibly could… Believe me, my sweet little muffin… You are doing so much already.” And with those words, he leaned forward, finally kissing those sweet lips again.

***

Henry could feel his heart rate spiking as he noticed that familiar taste of tobacco against his lips again, his body gently leaning against Sherlock’s, almost as if to shield him, as he kissed him back.

He really wished that he could have stood up for the detective back them. That he could have done something about it. That… that he could have protected his darling. That… that he could have been a hero to Sherlock. It was all he wished for, really.

He had always been cast aside as a little boy. Told that he was too weak. Mercilessly bullied because his frail heart made it so that playing along with the other children was tiring and sometimes outright dangerous for him. But they never understood it. They just thought that he was being a whimp.

He had been called weak all his life, and the knowledge that the man he cared for more than anyone else in the world had been sexually assaulted and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it… it broke his heart.

…But what he was doing for Sherlock right now was more than enough… according to him, at least.

And perhaps… perhaps that was true. Perhaps just… being there for the detective right now, offering him comfort and solace, meant more than any show of valiance could ever mean.

Perhaps he could be a hero to Sherlock by simply soothing his pains by being… him. Not by having to prove himself or anything and getting hurt in the process. Not by being the proper, stout man that society expected him to be. No, just… being Henry Baskerville would be enough. A sensitive soul, perhaps a little squeamish at times, but… he had his heart in the right place, and more importantly… he loved Sherlock. He loved him so much.

And right now, all he wanted to do was just to make him feel loved, as well.

And it seemed that the detective wanted to return the very same feeling to him as well, as he started to notice that while they were getting more and more entangled in each other’s bodies as their kiss got more passionate, Sherlock was subtly guiding them out of the bathroom and towards their bed. The young lord smiled as he became aware of the detective’s intentions. By god… he had missed his darling’s touch so much.

Sherlock lightly nipped at the nobleman’s bottom lip as they both began to lie down on the bed, Henry lying on his back as his heart beat in anticipation, seeing the detective looming over him, leaning on both of his hands, which were firmly positioned on both sides of his shoulders. They could hear one another’s breathing sync up to each other and in that one moment, Henry truly felt like they were becoming one.

The detective moved away from the kiss for a moment, gulping as he looked down his torso. He was obviously still self-conscious about his many bruises. “Do you still want this?”, Henry asked, gently cupping his lover’s cheeks. “…Are you still comfortable with this after… what happened?” Sherlock nodded. “Henry, I… I feel like my soul has been crying out for your touch more than ever while everything was… well, going on. I… want you. A lot. It’s just- I…” He paused, sighing. “…I don’t feel like my body is worthy of you anymore after what has been done to it.”

The young lord leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against the detective’s forehead before unbuttoning his shirt. “…Do you remember what you said to me the first time I showed you this, Sherlock…?”, he asked, taking his darling’s hand in his and tracing the claw mark on his chest with it. “…Do you remember what you told me when I said that I was so horribly ashamed of it?”

Sherlock nodded, but stayed quiet. The nobleman smiled. “It was… ‘did you think that I would be averted from you after seeing this’, I believe?”, he continued. “Deterred”, the detective corrected him, before a furious blush spread across his face. “I… I did say that, yes.” Henry slowly leaned forward, so that their noses touched for a split second. “Well, I would say the exact same thing to you right now, Sherlock”, he whispered quietly, trailing his fingers over the detective’s bare upper body. “You haven’t been sullied. It wasn’t your fault… You never asked for any of the things that that… scumbag did to you. Your body’s not suddenly disgusting now. How could it ever be? It’s perfect, Sherlock… It’s perfect because it’s your body.”

The detective’s eyes were getting teary as he listened to Henry, a soft sniffle escaping him. He had evidently been touched by the nobleman’s words. “H… Henry…”, he stammered, wrapping his arms around the young lord’s body. “I… I love you… so much… And I’ve missed you…” Henry closed his eyes, feeling a tingly sensation spread through his entire body as he felt Sherlock’s body heat pressed against his. “…So have I”, he responded. “…And I am so happy to be back in your arms again.”

The detective then leaned forward, breathing heavily as he passionately kissed the nobleman’s naked upper body, worshipping every single bare surface with those divine lips of his. Henry let out a gasp, twisting his fingers into Sherlock’s soft hair as he squeezed his eyes shut and let the detective caress him. It… it felt so good. It felt so good to finally be able to receive Sherlock’s affections again after everything that had happened. After all they had been through. He… he felt like the happiest man on earth, and he would not have been surprised if he actually was during that sole sweet moment of pleasure.

He began to nuzzle the top of the detective’s head, smelling his hair before letting out a moan as he felt how Sherlock’s hands were reaching in between his legs, gently easing him into it before he began to touch him. “A-ah…”, he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as his back arched up, his hips clumsily thrusting along to the detective’s movements as he felt himself slowly getting erect. “You… really are a wicked thing, aren’t you…”

Sherlock hummed softly and approvingly, his lips curving upwards into a smile as he stared into Henry’s eyes. “…I… I missed you, my darling Henry”, he confessed, a blush spreading across his face. “…I just… want to make you feel loved right now. To show you how happy I am to be here with you again.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “…I… do hope that I am succeeding at that, right…?”

Henry smiled, tenderly stroking the detective’s cheeks as he felt himself getting warm, his entire mind being overtaken by a state of bliss. “You… you are, Sherlock. You always are. I… I could not have imagined a better way to be welcomed back at Baker Street again.”

And he was being entirely truthful there. Everything just felt… perfect. There were a lot of things that were still confusing, of course. A lot of questions that still needed to be answered. But right now… Henry decided that they could wait. They weren’t as important as this heavenly moment of intimacy. It… it was everything he could have asked for. Words could not even describe it.

…And they still had the entire night ahead of them, as well.

Chapter 32: The Case's Aftermath

Summary:

Henry and Sherlock reflect on the case.

Multiple days had passed before everything had quieted down a bit again.

It had all been quite hectic for Henry, really. He was not used to being in the centre of attention at all, but now that he had played a crucial role in unearthing a scandal, it seemed as if he could not even go out in public for 5 minutes without someone recognising him in the street and staring at him. While the young lord would get very nervous from all this, he had noticed that Sherlock did not even seem to notice it anymore, his exploits having been well-known for quite some time now, so he had probably gotten used to it. The nobleman hadn’t, though. Not that he minded that too much. He was more than content to stay inside and spend time together with his darling detective for the time being.

Speaking of Sherlock, he had been starting to get better, as well. Under Henry’s gentle care, his bruises were steadily clearing up again, and his nose was healing up properly as well. He and the nobleman had agreed to not take up any cases for a while, both so that they had some time to themselves and to allow the detective some time to mentally heal, before he would subject his brain to such intense taxation again. Henry had noticed that Sherlock grew restless when not getting any stimulation though, but luckily the detective had other ways of challenging his brain that were less demanding, such as experimenting with his chemistry set, reading, and serenading the young lord on his Stradivarius, which the nobleman enjoyed greatly.

Henry was not fully aware of how their case was wrapping itself up at this point, but he also knew that there was no reason to stress about that now. He and Sherlock had done all they could do to help the police, the last loose ends were to be theirs to wrap up. They had done more than enough already. And that feeling of letting go felt… oddly relieving to the young lord. He felt like he could finally breathe freely again after all the tumultuous days he had experienced as of late.

It was not until they were breakfasting about a week after their confrontation with Edgar Hughes at the police precinct when the nobleman was reminded of their case again. “Well, would you look at that!”, Sherlock chuckled to himself, lowering his copy of The Times and smiling at Henry. “I know you do not follow the newspapers yourself that much, but you might be intrigued by this edition’s front page”, he said, handing it over to the young lord and eagerly waiting for his reaction. The nobleman took it, a curious look on his face, before his eyes widened in surprise as he saw the first headline:

---

BANK CORRUPTION UNEARTHED
Devonshire knight helps to expose hidden scandal

The mystery behind the theft at the City and Suburban Bank that has been taking the news by storm as of late has finally been solved. Contrary to the conjecture presented by Scotland Yard, no murder had been involved, but a clever trick that made it so that one of the people behind the crime, Mr. Edgar Hughes, the director of the very bank where the crime took place, was made to look like an innocent victim. In fact, if it had not been for the efforts of two men, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Sir Henry Baskerville of Devonshire, a previous client of the consultant detective, the truth would never have been discovered. When asked about what he thought about two unaffiliated men correcting the Yard’s blunders, Inspector Paul Dryden, who had been assigned to oversee the case, gave no further comment.

Sir Henry Baskerville had been reported to go missing, the police suspecting abduction, only for him to suddenly escape and valiantly appear to oppose Hughes as he tried to convince the local police that he had been abducted. With the help of Mr. Holmes, Baskerville soon drove Hughes into a corner and forced him to confess to his guilt. Hughes has been incarcerated and is currently awaiting trial, though the information he has given Scotland Yard has allowed their detectives to round up and catch his accomplices.

We have not been able to find out either Baskerville or Holmes’ views on the matter, but it can be assumed that they must be more than proud of their contributions to the carrying out of justice.

---

“And what do you make of that, my dear boy?”, Sherlock asked, gleefully rubbing his hands against another as he gave Henry a smile. “I must say, I am rather surprised that they mentioned us at all... The papers have a tendency to simply give all the credit to the Yard. But if there was ever an instance where outside parties deserve to be credited, I am glad that it was this stellar performance of yours that they have emphasised so much.”

The young lord put the newspaper down, a blush spreading across his face as he was simply left... dumbfounded. “I- I had never expected me to... make the paper with this...”, he stammered. “I mean... I was surprised enough when they mentioned my name in the article discussing my uncle’s death, but... oh my god...” The detective chuckled, putting his pipe in his mouth and blowing out a small puff of smoke. “I am hardly surprised”, he said. “I mean, if it had not been for you, Hughes would not have been caught. I am serious about this, my dear Henry... I would not have been able to solve this case without your assistance.”

The nobleman felt his heart go all aflutter as he heard that. “R-really...?”, he stuttered, his tone full of disbelief. Sherlock simply nodded. “Of course”, he replied. “I mean, I had figured out that Hughes was behind it all of course, but I had no proof to back up my claim until you ran into the precinct with that statue. You were the hero of this mystery in the end, Henry. Not the police. Not me. You. And that is something to be proud of, my boy.”

The young lord’s blush got even more intense as he hid his face, not even knowing in the slightest what he was supposed to do with all this attention and praise he was receiving. “You are giving me too much credit”, he mumbled, feeling butterflies flare up in his stomach. “Your deductions laid the foundations for it all. I- I wouldn’t even have become involved in the whole case if it had not been for you suggesting that I’d be your assistant. Besides... I- I just did what every man would have done, right...? It really isn’t that special...”

Sherlock took Henry’s hands in his, looking him in the eye. “...Henry”, he said softly. “If I had escaped from my abductees, risked my own safety in order to take back a stolen object, even though I was under no obligation to, and then ran for my life to be in time to bring the true culprit to justice, would you have called that ordinary?” The young lord meekly shook his head as he slowly came to realise what the detective was trying to tell him. “...I would have called it a miracle, honestly”, he mumbled. Sherlock smiled. “Exactly”, he responded. “So why would it make any difference when you were the one to do all that?”

The nobleman fidgeted about with his fingers, staring down at the ground. “...I don’t know”, he muttered. “...I suppose I’m just... more used to being seen as unremarkable by now.” The detective leaned forward, gently kissing the young lord on the forehead. “You’ll never be unremarkable to me, Henry”, he whispered. “You are the most wonderful person in the world to me. And you can be proud of yourself, Henry. You really can. I promise. What you did was amazing. And people deserve to know just how amazing you are.”

“Y- you also deserve your flowers, though”, Henry stammered, trying to divert the attention away from himself. “I mean... you yourself said that you hardly get credit for your cases just now... That’s hardly fair, isn’t it? I... I’m happy that you finally got your praise in the papers, too...”

Sherlock waved impatiently, shaking his head indifferently. “Bah, that’s not why I do this work”, he simply said. “If I wanted the attention from the public, I would have joined the Yard long ago. No, even if I was not even mentioned in the paper at all, it would not have made any difference to me. The fact that I got to investigate another thrilling case is reward enough for me... I haven’t felt so alive ever since your case, my dear Henry. But this time, there was another reward waiting for me, even.” He stared into the young lord’s eyes, softly brushing his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

“...And that is the fact that I got to investigate with you, my darling Henry. That, and the fact that you were returned to me safely. I couldn’t have possibly asked for more.”

Henry blushed, finally looking up again and meeting the detective’s gaze. Those icy blue eyes of him were still as captivating as ever. He could truly lose himself in them for an eternity and he would not complain at all. “...Was I a good assistant, Sherlock?”, he asked bashfully, trailing over the features of his partner’s face with his long, spidery fingers. Sherlock gave him a smile. “The very best”, he responded. The young lord put his arms around him, gently nuzzling his face and softly kissing his nose. “...Then that is reward enough for me too”, he whispered. “That is all I could have wished for.”

He kept on softly kissing the detective’s face, until a little plan formed in his head. “...Sherlock...?”, he asked quietly. “...How about we finally have that dinner that we had planned before tonight, in order to celebrate our first case completion together...? That first plan was cut short because of... unfortunate circumstances... but I still owe you a night out, remember...?” Sherlock smirked, enthusiastically embracing the nobleman and passionately kissing him on the lips. “I would like nothing more, my darling Henry”, he said, letting his forehead rest against Henry’s. “...I would like nothing more.” The young lord smiled. “...Then that’s settled”, he whispered. “...I can’t wait.”

He stayed quiet for a while, a confused frown spreading across his face. “...There is one thing that still irks me, though”, he eventually said. The detective raises his eyebrows. “What is it?”, he responded. The young lord scratched the back of his head. “What of Mrs. Hughes?”, he asked. “She was our client, but we have not been in touch with her at all… Not to mention the fact that she is more than likely upset with having found out that her husband was a criminal in the end.” Sherlock smiled. “Ah, my dear fellow, now that warning that I gave her a while back does not seem so foolish anymore all of a sudden, now does it? You are right though… I would have expected her to come visit us sooner-”

Right as he said those words though, there was a ring at the door. The detective’s head perked up at the sudden noise, seemingly having been alarmed, but he soon began to laugh, directing his gaze at Henry again and smiling. “Well, speak of the devil!”, he exclaimed. “If I’m not mistaken, our client may be standing on our doorstep this very moment. Let’s see if my guess was right, as it tends to be, shall we?”

***

When Elizabeth Hughes entered the apartment, Henry could not help but silently agree with Sherlock’s earlier remark of his warning having been correct in the end. The woman looked absolutely distraught. “Come, madam”, the detective told her calmly, sitting her down in one of the living room’s chairs and getting her a glass of water. “I understand you are upset… Please, take some time to recollect yourself before my assistant and I explain to you what exactly happened.”

Their client took a sip of the water, before breathing deeply, eventually looking up at Sherlock with tearful eyes. “…Is it really true…?”, she cried out, tugging at her sleeve. “Is… is my husband really guilty?” “I’m afraid he is”, the detective replied. “It is a bit more complicated than simply guilt, though. Allow me to explain.”

He began to pace around the room, putting his pipe in his mouth as a pensive frown spread across his face. “I must admit that that letter you gave us was of vital significance. First off, it linked your husband’s disappearance with a recent theft that took place at the City and Suburban Bank. Secondly, the fact that the letter was typewritten most likely meant that the letter’s author wished to remain anonymous. With these two clues, we went to investigate at the Bank. If the letter’s author wished to remain anonymous though, it might have been wiser for him not to use his own typewriter, as I was easily able to tell from a few defects in the letters that this letter was typed up by none other than your husband himself.”

A look of surprise spread across Mrs. Hughes’ face. “M-my-”, she began, but the detective had already continued before she could finish her sentence. “Yes, I took a letter from his office and compared the two. It was quite easy, really. I could tell you a lot more about the fascinating subject of seeing whether two letters were written by the same typewriter or not, but I’ll spare you the explanation.

“As I was saying, we went to the Bank, where we found multiple other clues. First: footprints. I soon noticed that the footprints that were left behind had remarkably large strides in between them, and as soon as we spoke to Mr. Jacob Harris at the detention centre, I noticed that he was too short to leave footprints like that behind. Second: the way of breaking and entering. The police suspected that multiple people were involved in the theft, but it was obvious at a first glance that the ivy plant that grew up to the windowsill, the only way of getting in, was much too weak to hold two people at once, certainly if one of the people in question was as tall as his footprints suggested. Ergo: Harris was falsely accused, and at this point I was rather certain that your husband must have been behind it all. The motive was still missing though, but my valued friend and colleague soon brought some change to that.

“He had found a burnt letter, which after careful examination proved to be from a different typewriter than the one your husband used. The only thing we could decipher was that it mentioned the two words ‘with statue’, something linking your husband directly with the theft that had taken place, as a statue was the very thing that had been stolen. Now, the fact that this letter had been burnt and most likely contained instructions mostly pointed towards one thing to me… blackmail. I am sure that they held your husband under some threat of violence.”

Henry’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he heard this. Hughes’ nervous disposition back at the hideout all made sense now… he had not necessarily been a willing cooperator. “Now, I did not have any evidence to back up my claim by now, so I had to stay silent”, Sherlock continued. “However… that is where once again, Sir Henry comes into play. The associates that worked with your husband decided that it would be best to abduct him in order to keep me from investigating the case any further, but this is where they made a grave mistake. You can attest to that right, my dear fellow?” He stayed silent after that, simply gazing at Henry and smiling.

The young lord coughed. “Ah- um, yes…”, he mumbled quietly. “…I- I’m sorry to say that I personally saw your husband at their hideout, madame… There is no way that he was not involved.”

Mrs. Hughes let out a desperate sigh, letting her hands rest in her lap. “…So it is true, then…”, she muttered. “I am sure that you read the rest of the stories in the paper”, the detective said. “Those are the facts, Mrs. Hughes.”

The woman stayed silent for a while, before looking up at the detective. “…Thank you, Mr. Holmes”, she eventually said. “…And you too, Lord Baskerville. Thank you both for… making me realise that my husband was not the man he presented himself as.” She paused, before standing up. “…It is a hard realisation to make, but the truth is not always pleasant. You two have done what I asked you to do, no matter how much the truth may hurt, and therefore you shall both receive your deserved payment. Farewell, gentlemen… I wish you both the very best.” And with those words, she left the apartment.

“…She took it quite gracefully, I must admit”, Henry mumbled as soon as they were alone again. “…I can respect that.” Sherlock nodded, blowing out a whisp of smoke from his pipe. “I think she finally got closure”, he responded. “With an attitude like that, she’ll go far, I believe.” The young lord ran a hand through his hair, smiling clumsily. “…I must admit that it was nice to hear you explain the full course of events at last”, he confessed. “…I had a general grip of the case, but it all got so hectic that in the end I could not fully tell what was going on.” The detective laughed. “Well, it’s good that I was keeping tabs on everything then, isn’t it?”, he chuckled, before grabbing his violin and eagerly looking at Henry again.

“But enough of that, my dearest, and let’s ask ourself the true important questions… are you more in the mood for Mendelssohn or one of my own compositions right now…?”

Notes:

Aaaaa only one more chapter after this... ;-; I am excited to wrap this story up though!

Chapter 33: Partners Until the End

Summary:

Sherlock and Henry finally have their dinner date, during which they reflect on all the time they have spent together.

“…Can I ask you something, Sherlock?”

The detective raised his eyebrows as he heard the question, smiling softly as he stared at Henry sitting opposite him, candlelight gently flickering and reflecting in the young lord’s deep eyes. They… they were finally having their dinner together. It was well deserved at this point, Sherlock thought. Henry’s abduction and Paul’s advances may have put a stop to their original plan to go out to dinner, but nothing was going to spoil their evening now.

The detective was absolutely hellbent on ensuring that fact.

“Of course you can, my dear fellow”, he responded, letting his elbow lean on the table and resting his head on his hand. “What is it?” The nobleman blushed, hesitantly reaching forward with his hand and bashfully holding onto Sherlock’s for a moment, before quickly pulling back again, having to stay cautious in a public space like this. “…Would you have ever thought that it would all come to this, back when we first met?”, he asked quietly.

The question surprised the detective, who leaned back, closed his eyes and smiled, thoughtfully tapping his fingertips against one another. “…No, I suppose not”, he admitted. “I never could have predicted that I would grow so emotionally attached to someone. That I’d… harbour feelings of love again. Or… well, for the first time really, if you think about it… Nor did I expect myself to ever experience… such intense feelings. But now that I have done all these things, Henry…” He paused, opening his eyes again and looking at his darling with a fond smile, brushing his hand against the young lord’s. “…I’m glad that it was because of you.”

The nobleman blushed, averting his gaze as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He had gone through more effort than he usually did to make sure his appearance was presentable, Sherlock observed. He had brushed his hair quite meticulously, and he was wearing his best suit. The detective could not help but find it adorable. It just went to show just how much this all mattered to Henry. At least, he hoped that it did. He hoped that the young lord had been longing for this moment just as much as the detective had been.

…And Sherlock had been longing for this moment quite intensely. Uncharacteristically intensely, for a man of his character.

Something was telling him that there was no reason to worry about his hopes being mere foolish dreams, though. Or rather, a lot of things did. It was not a hard deduction to make, really.

“…Do you want to know what my first thought was as soon as I saw you for the first time, back in the hotel?”, the young lord asked shyly. The detective chuckled. “I’d love to”, he replied. “Now that you mention it, I am quite curious.” He leaned forward, eagerly anticipating the nobleman’s answer as his eyes sparkled with glee. He almost looked like an excited little terrier.

Henry let out a swooning sigh. “…I remember being frustrated about that boot of mine…”, he began, “and then as I realised that you and Watson were not, in fact, the hotel’s manager, I felt like a complete idiot. I- I wanted to crawl away into a hole, really… God, I was so embarrassed.”

He paused, his blush getting even more intense as he made eye contact with Sherlock again. “…And then as soon as we locked eyes, I… I just could not help but notice how attractive you were. I did not have the words for it back then… but I really think I fell for you the moment I saw you, Sherlock. Just- your eyes. Your calm composure. And the way you spoke to me as you explained your reasons for visiting me… I thought to myself, ‘this is a man that I can believe in. Someone I can trust. Someone who isn’t simply being nervous for my fate without any proper reasoning’. A- and after you saved me from that… that tarantula… I knew that I would- that I would trust you with my life, Sherlock… and that you’d go to any lengths to protect it.” He looked away, covering his face in embarrassment. “…I probably just sound like a sentimental idiot, don’t I…”, he muttered. “…but it’s what I felt.”

The detective stayed quiet for a while after hearing all that, his heart skipping a beat as he felt a warm, excited feeling spreading all throughout his chest. It… it did not sounds like sentimental idiocy to him at all.

To the contrary, it exactly mirrored the thoughts that had gone through his mind as soon as he had met the young lord.

“…And if that’s what you felt, then it’s beautiful, Henry”, he softly whispered, gazing into the nobleman’s eyes with an absolutely besotted look in his eyes. “I- I suppose we both simply did not know what it all meant back then… but the feelings were still there.” Henry blushed. “…D-did you feel the same way about me, then?”, he stuttered.

Sherlock smiled softly, running a hand through his hair as he began to blush. “…‘Endearing’. That was the first word that I thought of when I saw you. I must say that I had my doubts about accepting the case at first, but as soon as I had realised that your life was, in fact, in danger, I felt this… burning desire to protect you. To keep you safe. It’s odd… I normally do not care that much about my clients. Most of the time, they are simply one piece of the puzzle, a piece of data that is part of a larger tale. But with you… I didn’t know why, but the thought of anything happening to you was a harrowing one. I must admit that your suggestion that I’d accompany you to Dartmoor was a very appealing one… I would have accepted without hesitation, had it not been absolutely vital that I would operate in Dartmoor while unnoticed for a while. But now that I think about it… we did get to catch up on all that alone time thanks to your letter, wouldn’t you say?”

Henry blushed. “Oh, more than so”, he replied. “…I simply could not believe my eyes when I saw you lounging in the Hall, one day after I had sent my letter… It… it only further reminded me… that you cared for me, Sherlock. That you were someone special.” He paused, sighing as he looked away. “…No one has ever really cared for me before… Do you realise that, Sherlock? Do you realise just how much your affections mean to me, after having virtually received none all my life?”

The detective nodded, reaching for the young lord’s hand and holding it. “…I do, my dearest”, he replied. “…I could tell that you were lonely even back when you were my client at Baskerville Hall. I… I think it’s why I was so eager to answer your call for help, I think… at least partially… I knew that you could not confide in anyone else, really.” The nobleman giggled softly. “…You say partially…”, he mumbled. “What was the other reason, then?”

Sherlock smiled softly, leaning with his head on his hand as he longingly stared at Henry’s face.

“…That was the fact that I desperately wanted to see you again.”

He paused, scoffing at himself. “…You know, I found myself suffering from bouts of listlessness quite frequently after returning from Dartmoor. Even more than I usually do, I mean. I could not for the life of me figure out why I was feeling this way, which only added to my annoyances. Things just felt… unfinished somehow, but I did not know how to fix it… until your letter arrived, that is. And thank God that it did.”

The young lord was obviously left starstruck by that answer, his eyes widening as a bashful blush spread across his cheeks. “…I could have never guessed…”, he mumbled. The detective smirked. “Well, I do have a tendency to surprise people after all”, he said. “But honestly… I think it was you who surprised me back at Dartmoor, more than anything… with all the feelings you stirred within me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, softly chuckling. “…I still remember all the confusion that ran through me after we had kissed for the first time… Oh god, I felt so guilty. I thought that I had killed you by giving you that heart attack, and…” He paused, gulping. “…Well, I… let’s just say that I am very happy that my worries were proven wrong there… That isn’t something that happens often.”

The nobleman let out a swooning sigh. “…In all honesty, the confusion that I felt after our first kiss was nothing compared to the things I felt when I realised that- that I wanted you”, he mumbled. “Physically, I mean. It… it took me some time to warm up to that idea… but I’m so glad that I eventually worked up the courage for it. And that you were so respectful of my boundaries, Sherlock. And how you eased me into it so gently and lovingly.” He paused, taking a sip of his drink before bashfully looking down. “…I still frequently find myself thinking back to our first night together.”

Sherlock could not help but feel… extremely flattered by that. “…So do I”, he admitted. “What surprised me the most was your initiative, in all honesty. I had fully expected you to have to warm up to the idea a bit first and then we could have our first time in London… but I must admit that me taking your virginity on the moors felt… right. Besides… how was I supposed to say no to you back then, as you were staring at me with those pleading eyes of yours?”

Henry’s blush became even more intense. “…You know, Sherlock…”, he began, hesitantly looking back up at the detective. “…You did not just take my virginity that night… you did so much more.” Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise, a curious look spreading across his face. “Is that so?”, he asked. “Tell me, then… what else did I take?” The young lord’s squeezed onto the other’s hand, smiling.

“…You took away my fears of the moors.”

The detective’s heart skipped a beat as he heard that. “…R-really?”, he stammered. The nobleman nodded. “Yes”, he responded. “Y-you know how I told you about the memories still haunting me right before you took me to the abbey ruins… R-right before you… kissed me… How I could not help but think of that girl whenever I stepped foot outside… But I- I realised that… when you- you exposed my body… when you caressed it in every way possible… that I did not feel afraid of the moor anymore. That… that I had so many lovely memories to associate with the moor now, thanks to your help… and that drove away the pain, largely. A-and- I cannot ever thank you enough for that, Sherlock… I could never thank you enough for making me love Dartmoor again.”

Sherlock could not help but stay silent after that, too enchanted by his darling’s words to do anything but stare into those eyes of his.

Those sentiments mirrored his own feelings, yet again.

But not regarding his fears of the moor. He did not have those, after all.

It was his fears for physical intimacy that Henry had taken away, instead.

“…I’m so glad that you let me be your first time, my dearest Henry”, he muttered softly. “…To see you like that… and for the first ever time, no less… it was nothing short of magical.” His lips curved upwards into a devious smile as he leaned forward, raising the young lord’s hand up to his and discreetly kissing his knuckles before putting his hand down again. “…And I can only hope that I shall see you like that many times in the future, my darling.”

The nobleman blushed. “…I’m still far done from exploring”, he muttered. “…If anything, I feel like we’ve only scratched the surface… and I cannot wait to explore it all with you, my… my darling.” He squeezed the detective’s hand yet again, kicking his feet out of excitement after calling Sherlock by a pet name for the first time. “…It feels so good for that word to finally have passed my lips”, he whispered softly.

The detective smiled, leaning forward. “Does it, my dearest little muffin boy?”, he asked. Henry blushed furiously. “It does… my love.” Sherlock began to blush too. Never had he expected such simple words to have such an impact on him… but he was not complaining about that at all. Oh no, far from it, actually. If it had not been for the fact that they were out in public, he would have flung himself into the young lord’s arms, kissed him until he was out of breath, and even then, he would have still tried to worship that beautiful man’s body.

It seemed that Henry might have picked up on the burning passion flaring up within the detective, seeing that he smiled softly, finishing up the final contents of his plate. “…Shall we go soon?”, he asked quietly. “…The longer I look at you, the more conscious I feel of everyone around us… and the more I desire your affections… Don’t you want it too…? Just the two of us again…?” Sherlock smiled softly, standing up. “It’s almost as if you are reading my mind, my dear fellow”, he said.

“…Let’s get out of here.”

***

It was a clear night as the two lovers walked back to Baker Street, but not before taking a detour through Hyde Park. The night sky was too beautiful not to. Sherlock blushed as he saw the wind rustling through Henry’s hair, the sight being absolutely adorable. The young lord hid his face in embarrassment. “…I should have brought a hat”, he mumbled. The detective shook his head. “…Henry…”, he whispered softly. “…How long will it take until you realise that you always look perfect, no matter what?” The young lord sighed, smiling melancholically. “…I don’t”, he responded, before staring into Sherlock’s eyes. “…But if I’m perfect in your eyes, that’s good enough for me.”

The detective’s lips curved upwards into an approving smile. “…Good”, he said. “Some progress is better than no progress, I suppose… But really, you look absolutely marvellous, my dear boy. There is nothing to worry about.” Henry hesitantly reached for Sherlock’s hand, his fingers intertwining with the other’s as the warmth of his skin sent a tingling sensation throughout the detective’s arm. “…So do you”, he whispered. “…It’s a shame that you don’t wear this suit of yours more often.”

Sherlock looked down at his clothes. It was the same black suit that he had worn when he and Henry had first met each other. “…I suppose I simply prefer the slightly less formal outfits”, he admitted. “…Gets less in the way of investigating. Besides… that way, I can reserve this suit for important occasions. Makes it feel a bit more special.” The nobleman chuckled. “…Is this an important occasion, then?”, he asked playfully. The detective smirked. “How in God’s name wouldn’t it be?”, he responded. “You’re not the only one that took extra care of his appearance tonight, my love. I have been looking forward to this night ever since you originally suggested it, and the time that was unfortunately put between now and then has only strengthened those desires.” He paused, running his fingers over the young lord’s suit.

“…Just like you are doing right now by looking as adorable as you do.”

Henry went red in the face. “…We’re still outside, Sherlock…”, he stammered. A devious smile spread across the detective’s face. “Well, it’s about high time we change something about that then, wouldn’t you agree?”, he said. “Come, my dear… let’s go home.”

And he was to, but not before his attention was caught by a ripped piece of paper lying on the ground. He did not think much of it, until he realised what it was. It was the front page of the evening paper. He had been so caught up in ensuring that his evening with Henry would be so perfect that he had not even given it a read yet. His eyes widened though, as he read a headline that was tucked away into a corner:

---

SCOTLAND YARD DETECTIVE FIRED

After already having faced criticism for his handling of the City and Suburban Bank case, Paul Dryden has officially been let go as one of Scotland Yard’s inspectors after having been caught for various acts of misconduct. No one was harmed, but-

---

The paper was torn from there, making it impossible to read the rest of the article. But Sherlock could deduce enough from the words he had read. ‘Various acts of misconduct.’ He could guess what those were, knowing the man Paul was. The fact that the Yard was not willing to release any more details about it was quite telling, too. Thank God that no one was harmed in the process of him getting found out, though. Things could have gone… a lot worse.

It was not until he had pondered over the matter for a while, until he realised what this all meant.

Paul… had finally faced consequences for his actions. He… he’d finally been caught. Perhaps he was not being punished for what he had done to the detective himself… but he was being punished, nonetheless.

…And this also meant… that Sherlock was finally safe from him again. That… that he’d never encounter him during a case… ever again. The wave of relief that washed over him was… liberating beyond belief.

…He could finally let go. He could slowly do it now at last, with Henry’s help. There… there was no reason to fear this shadow that had been haunting him anymore.

“Sherlock?” The detective was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the nobleman call out to him. “Y-yes?”, he asked, looking back up at the young lord. “What is it?” Henry seemed… a bit concerned. “…Are you all right?”, he asked. “…Did something catch your attention?”

Sherlock smiled, patting the nobleman on the shoulder. “There is nothing to worry about, my love”, he said. “…That’s all in the past now… at last. Come on… let’s go, shall we?”

As they started walking back home though, he threw one last glance at the newspaper, and he noticed that he could not help but smile to himself ever so slightly.

***

“…Sherlock?” Henry twiddled with his thumbs as the two men had entered the apartment again, an obvious nervous tone coming from his voice. “…Before we go to bed… there is one thing I’d like to ask of you.” The detective raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”, he asked. The young lord began to blush. “…This case that we solved together… it wasn’t a one time thing, right?”, he asked. “Was… was I good enough… for you to want to do this… again, in the future?”

Sherlock smiled, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up at the coat racket before walking up to his darling and cupping his cheeks. “Henry, I’d love nothing more than for us to remain partners in this”, he said. “…If you’ll have me, of course.” The nobleman blushed, a smile appearing on his face. “…There is nothing in the world that I could possible want more”, he responded. “…I’d love to remain your partner… in both meanings of the word. I- I only asked the question because… I was not sure if I had… well, proven myself enough.”

The detective laughed, picking up his deerstalker and fondly holding it in his hands. “My dear fellow, you’ve proven your quality more than enough during this case”, he said, beaming with pride. “If anything, I feel like you deserve to wear this more than me at this point.” And with those words, he put his deerstalker on the nobleman’s head, adjusting it before kissing him on the lips. “…Congratulations, detective Baskerville.”

Henry’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he kissed Sherlock back, wrapping his arms around him as his body tensed up with glee. “I- I’d never thought that… that doing detective work could ever be so- so blissful…”, he stammered. The detective smiled, nuzzling the small of his partner’s neck and kissing the surface of his skin.

“…I can only hope that we shall have many more cases in the future then, my love. And now… let’s go to bed, shall we?”

Notes:

And with that, this fic has concluded! Thank you so much for reading this story. <33333
I'd like to thank everyone that has left behind kudos and comments during the writing process, as well as everyone that has left behind notes on posts relating to this fic on my tumblr account. You guys have been such a great motivation to keep on writing this story and to bring it to you guys!
Secondly, I'd like to thank BooBalooPants and N_Scribe in particular for all the support and fun times on Discord that have been the biggest motivation for me to keep on writing, even when the writing insecurities set in. You guys are the best <333333

Again, thanks for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story.