Whatever happened to the wives of Watson?
Notes: I've lost the original prompt but this was written for the one that asked for an explanation of what happened to Watson's alleged other wives. Comments on the thread alluded to him, or Holmes, killing them off, if I remember correctly. Reference for information about Watson's wives from here.
Warnings: dark!Watson, supernatural elements, character death(s), implied cannibalism
I had never met Lucy Watson, née Ferrier. Watson had killed her before we met.
“The night before I ran into Stamford,” he informed me, lying spread across the tiger skin rug before the inconsistent light of the fire. He looked at me, leaning over him with attention and curiosity, with what I must confess to have been a most tantalizing expression. It was the first time in which I had physically witnessed his true nature.
“She was the very first,” he continued, “the first one that I tried to keep. I was quite young then, and much taken with her. Then I was gone to war and, after sampling the eclectic variety of three continents worth of lovers, found her to be too plain tasting when I returned.
“I thought it best to be done with her and killed her off. I feasted before we moved in together. She was the reason that I didn’t lose control of my senses the moment that I realized how damnably tempting you are, Holmes.”
“Your self-control has proven remarkable,” I said. I could not help but to stare at his chin as he laughed, tilting his head back further against the rug. I imagined it red and stained from the blood of past lovers that he’d dined with and dined on. I was not repulsed.
“Oh, if someone had ever bothered to keep track of the numbers of whores and boys for sale that had disappeared without explanation... My dear Holmes, your life was preserved only by my voracious consumption of them during our first years together.”
I suppressed a shiver. Lust, not fear, simmered behind my eyes. During the same years that Watson had ravaged the lowest echelons of society to satiate his desire for me, I had in turn been suppressing my own dark fantasies of his teeth in my skin, his tongue in my blood.
“You require feeding at frequent intervals?” I asked when I had regained control of my senses.
Watson hummed, glancing away for a moment. “Not necessarily. It is simply a dietary preference, if you could be so liberal as to call it such.”
“Elaborate, please,” I said, leaning even closer out of fascinated, horrified, scientific intrigue.
“Some of my kind have been mistakenly called vampires for they feed strictly on blood. It is the most nourishing substance for us, and a single mouthful of quality blood can be enough to sustain one for weeks.” I watched closely as Watson’s eyes shuttered as he mentally arranged the facts and half-truths that he would reveal to me. I had no doubt that compiling a complete truthful file on the nature and existence of his species would be a pastime of mine in the years to come. “However, I find it to be an acquired taste, like dark chocolate; too rich, too bitter for my palette.
“My personal preference is for the sexual essences of humans. It is not as filling, nor as highly regarded gastronomically, but there is nothing quite like the heavy cream of your lover’s passion to round off a traditional meal of meat and potatoes. Each person produces a unique flavoring, you see, according to their individual character and moods. Some are as sweet as a French confection and others as exotic as imported spices.”
He reached a hand up to touch the underside of my throat with the tips of his fingers. “You, I think, would have a deep, old English flavor. I have imagined,” he let his hand fall to the weight of gravity, dragging the tops of his blunted fingernails down the length of my throat, “that it would be completely addicting and I would not stop until I ate you all up.
“And so, I have become a glutton in an attempt to distract my tongue from you with the taste of others. I have taken to over satisfying myself with the other available pies at the table lest I give in to the temptation of dipping my finger into yours and being unable to resist second helpings.”
I swallowed, once Watson's hand had finally left contact with my person. "Your other wives?"
"Ah, Norah was an icy treat best consumed quickly before she made a mess of things. I remember that you were not overly fond of her," he said with a sly sideways look at me. "And Flora was an amusing snack whilst you were engaged with your dealings with Moriarty."
"I believe that you have forgotten Miss Morrison, my friend."
Watson sniffed as if he'd smelled Gladstone passing air. "She was anxious enough to escape to her mother's before I'd time to fully sink my teeth into her," he waved his hand to clear the matter, or the smell of it, "so to speak."
I could not stop myself from smiling. "She was the one that got away, eh?" I teased him. My attempt at humor was muted by the transparent expression that came over his face. Through it I could see the residue of a pained memory. It was the face of the side of Watson which I was most familiar with.
"I had thought you to hold the honor," he confessed quietly, not as roguish and darkly appealing when discussing this subject: myself.
I swallowed a second time, for a more uncomfortable reason, and carefully attached my eyes to the fiddling and twitching of my hands in my lap.
"I had hoped that as smitten as you appeared to be with Miss Morstan... perhaps it would have..." Mentally I elongated my speech with the pre-rehearsed reasons justifying my lengthy stay away but found myself unable to express them verbally.
Watson pushed himself up into a sitting position and regarded me with his face at level with my own, although it was turned downwards.
"In terms of appealing to my, quite literal, sexual appetite, she was your equal in every way that I could imagine. I tried to preserve her as long as I could. I resumed my frequent trips to the more disreputable parts of town in an effort to offset my hunger which, lacking you as a focus, settled upon Mary. But ultimately I succumbed." He looked at me with what seemed to be actual shame. "I had thought that I would give myself the pleasure of consuming you through her, at least in spirit. Although, even in my mind's eye, she could be nothing more than an imitation."
I do not know why I thought that my next words would be appropriate or comforting in the least, given his regretful feelings of having metaphorically killed me during a period of weakness. "I would not be adverse to the idea of such sacrifice for your sake, John. Indeed, I would gladly offer myself to satisfy your needs," I said, surprisingly myself, in a sincere manner.
"Perish the thought! Holmes, after everything I have done to avoid overwhelming you with my passions--"
"Watson, I would not be a disagreeable recipient of your passions, I assure you."
"You mean far more to me than being a simple meal," he exclaimed, taking hold of my shoulders and shaking me. I grasped his upper arms in turn.
"Then you hold me that high in your regard as well as your dreams?" I inquired with an inflective note in my voice which I hoped conveyed the summary of my own amorous feelings as rooted in fancy as they were in the long years of an enduring friendship.
His reply was succinct: "Of course."
I licked my lips to prepare myself to speak and noticed that he visibly twitched from an aborted motion to incline his body towards mine as a result of the gesture.
"Given that we share a mutual wish for the pursuance of the possibility of establishing the foundations of a relationship...?" I hesitantly proposed the idea, gaining confidence when he nodded affirmatively. "I have no wish for you to-- that is, to starve yourself. I would hope you to be aware by now, Watson, that in your name, at least, I would be willing to suffer any degree of pain. If you find yourself in need of food suitable to your unique dietary requirements, my room is only--"
Watson pulled me close to him, our chests pressed against each other. "I will continue to endeavor to resist snacking on you so casually," he said with a milligram of black humor that was quickly mixing with the growing amount of arousal in the air around us. His voice subsequently lowered in volume and deepened in tone as he aligned our heads so that we were cheek to cheek, and spoke into my ear, with the corner of his mouth brushing against my skin. "You are my finest wine, Sherlock; I am saving you for a special occasion."
"For not too rare of an occasion, I hope," said I, thinking of the many years it had taken us to arrive at this day of enlightenment. "Allow me to be frank with you, my dear Watson, in saying that I fully expect you to commit to our relationship and abide by a state of monogamy. Yes, I understand everything that you have told me thus far," I held his head in place against mine to prevent him from pulling back to express a protest. "By monogamy I mean that you would restrict your partaking of the sexual essences, as you call them, to only that which comes from myself. Regarding any other sustenance or acts of flirtation you wish to indulge in, I am unconcerned. Provided, of course, that I am both the first and last thing in your mouth every day."
Watson laughed and his mirth vibrated my own body just as much and it did his. I felt him twist his head under my hand to press a closed mouth kiss to my cheek. "I am fortunate that you are so agreeable to my circumstances!" he said.
Flushed with pleasure from what I immediately considered our very first kiss, I released him and sat back. I wished to say something poignant, but in the face of his pleased expression I found myself with a lack of words. In the intimate atmosphere of our conversation, I again reverted to use of his first name.
"John...?"
He touched my face, carefully, as if afraid that the claws he did not have would scratch me. "I will be most careful with you, my dear, but you must promise to be vigilant in keeping me informed of your health during whatever we do together. I could not bear to lose you," again, I added mentally. "You are, first and foremost, my greatest friend, Holmes, and my life would not be so interesting without you."
"Having considered the evidence, I believe that I am safe of any danger you may pose. As you say, old friend, our friendship is our greatest asset. It is a consideration that was lacking with your previous lovers. Additionally," I quirked my mouth into a wry smile for him, "I have no intention of ever becoming the next Mrs. Watson and so I am saved from the fatal ending experienced by those women that have taken up the title."
Watson looked quite serious as he said, "If that is the case then, Holmes, I am afraid that I will never be able to make an honest man out of you."
I tapped the corner of his mouth with my finger and he gave in to the smile that he had been suppressing. Then, again lacking anything of meaning to say, I pressed the lips of our closed mouths together in our second kiss.
(If you know where the prompt is located, let me know please! And I will link it here. =] )
Warnings: dark!Watson, supernatural elements, character death(s), implied cannibalism
I had never met Lucy Watson, née Ferrier. Watson had killed her before we met.
“The night before I ran into Stamford,” he informed me, lying spread across the tiger skin rug before the inconsistent light of the fire. He looked at me, leaning over him with attention and curiosity, with what I must confess to have been a most tantalizing expression. It was the first time in which I had physically witnessed his true nature.
“She was the very first,” he continued, “the first one that I tried to keep. I was quite young then, and much taken with her. Then I was gone to war and, after sampling the eclectic variety of three continents worth of lovers, found her to be too plain tasting when I returned.
“I thought it best to be done with her and killed her off. I feasted before we moved in together. She was the reason that I didn’t lose control of my senses the moment that I realized how damnably tempting you are, Holmes.”
“Your self-control has proven remarkable,” I said. I could not help but to stare at his chin as he laughed, tilting his head back further against the rug. I imagined it red and stained from the blood of past lovers that he’d dined with and dined on. I was not repulsed.
“Oh, if someone had ever bothered to keep track of the numbers of whores and boys for sale that had disappeared without explanation... My dear Holmes, your life was preserved only by my voracious consumption of them during our first years together.”
I suppressed a shiver. Lust, not fear, simmered behind my eyes. During the same years that Watson had ravaged the lowest echelons of society to satiate his desire for me, I had in turn been suppressing my own dark fantasies of his teeth in my skin, his tongue in my blood.
“You require feeding at frequent intervals?” I asked when I had regained control of my senses.
Watson hummed, glancing away for a moment. “Not necessarily. It is simply a dietary preference, if you could be so liberal as to call it such.”
“Elaborate, please,” I said, leaning even closer out of fascinated, horrified, scientific intrigue.
“Some of my kind have been mistakenly called vampires for they feed strictly on blood. It is the most nourishing substance for us, and a single mouthful of quality blood can be enough to sustain one for weeks.” I watched closely as Watson’s eyes shuttered as he mentally arranged the facts and half-truths that he would reveal to me. I had no doubt that compiling a complete truthful file on the nature and existence of his species would be a pastime of mine in the years to come. “However, I find it to be an acquired taste, like dark chocolate; too rich, too bitter for my palette.
“My personal preference is for the sexual essences of humans. It is not as filling, nor as highly regarded gastronomically, but there is nothing quite like the heavy cream of your lover’s passion to round off a traditional meal of meat and potatoes. Each person produces a unique flavoring, you see, according to their individual character and moods. Some are as sweet as a French confection and others as exotic as imported spices.”
He reached a hand up to touch the underside of my throat with the tips of his fingers. “You, I think, would have a deep, old English flavor. I have imagined,” he let his hand fall to the weight of gravity, dragging the tops of his blunted fingernails down the length of my throat, “that it would be completely addicting and I would not stop until I ate you all up.
“And so, I have become a glutton in an attempt to distract my tongue from you with the taste of others. I have taken to over satisfying myself with the other available pies at the table lest I give in to the temptation of dipping my finger into yours and being unable to resist second helpings.”
I swallowed, once Watson's hand had finally left contact with my person. "Your other wives?"
"Ah, Norah was an icy treat best consumed quickly before she made a mess of things. I remember that you were not overly fond of her," he said with a sly sideways look at me. "And Flora was an amusing snack whilst you were engaged with your dealings with Moriarty."
"I believe that you have forgotten Miss Morrison, my friend."
Watson sniffed as if he'd smelled Gladstone passing air. "She was anxious enough to escape to her mother's before I'd time to fully sink my teeth into her," he waved his hand to clear the matter, or the smell of it, "so to speak."
I could not stop myself from smiling. "She was the one that got away, eh?" I teased him. My attempt at humor was muted by the transparent expression that came over his face. Through it I could see the residue of a pained memory. It was the face of the side of Watson which I was most familiar with.
"I had thought you to hold the honor," he confessed quietly, not as roguish and darkly appealing when discussing this subject: myself.
I swallowed a second time, for a more uncomfortable reason, and carefully attached my eyes to the fiddling and twitching of my hands in my lap.
"I had hoped that as smitten as you appeared to be with Miss Morstan... perhaps it would have..." Mentally I elongated my speech with the pre-rehearsed reasons justifying my lengthy stay away but found myself unable to express them verbally.
Watson pushed himself up into a sitting position and regarded me with his face at level with my own, although it was turned downwards.
"In terms of appealing to my, quite literal, sexual appetite, she was your equal in every way that I could imagine. I tried to preserve her as long as I could. I resumed my frequent trips to the more disreputable parts of town in an effort to offset my hunger which, lacking you as a focus, settled upon Mary. But ultimately I succumbed." He looked at me with what seemed to be actual shame. "I had thought that I would give myself the pleasure of consuming you through her, at least in spirit. Although, even in my mind's eye, she could be nothing more than an imitation."
I do not know why I thought that my next words would be appropriate or comforting in the least, given his regretful feelings of having metaphorically killed me during a period of weakness. "I would not be adverse to the idea of such sacrifice for your sake, John. Indeed, I would gladly offer myself to satisfy your needs," I said, surprisingly myself, in a sincere manner.
"Perish the thought! Holmes, after everything I have done to avoid overwhelming you with my passions--"
"Watson, I would not be a disagreeable recipient of your passions, I assure you."
"You mean far more to me than being a simple meal," he exclaimed, taking hold of my shoulders and shaking me. I grasped his upper arms in turn.
"Then you hold me that high in your regard as well as your dreams?" I inquired with an inflective note in my voice which I hoped conveyed the summary of my own amorous feelings as rooted in fancy as they were in the long years of an enduring friendship.
His reply was succinct: "Of course."
I licked my lips to prepare myself to speak and noticed that he visibly twitched from an aborted motion to incline his body towards mine as a result of the gesture.
"Given that we share a mutual wish for the pursuance of the possibility of establishing the foundations of a relationship...?" I hesitantly proposed the idea, gaining confidence when he nodded affirmatively. "I have no wish for you to-- that is, to starve yourself. I would hope you to be aware by now, Watson, that in your name, at least, I would be willing to suffer any degree of pain. If you find yourself in need of food suitable to your unique dietary requirements, my room is only--"
Watson pulled me close to him, our chests pressed against each other. "I will continue to endeavor to resist snacking on you so casually," he said with a milligram of black humor that was quickly mixing with the growing amount of arousal in the air around us. His voice subsequently lowered in volume and deepened in tone as he aligned our heads so that we were cheek to cheek, and spoke into my ear, with the corner of his mouth brushing against my skin. "You are my finest wine, Sherlock; I am saving you for a special occasion."
"For not too rare of an occasion, I hope," said I, thinking of the many years it had taken us to arrive at this day of enlightenment. "Allow me to be frank with you, my dear Watson, in saying that I fully expect you to commit to our relationship and abide by a state of monogamy. Yes, I understand everything that you have told me thus far," I held his head in place against mine to prevent him from pulling back to express a protest. "By monogamy I mean that you would restrict your partaking of the sexual essences, as you call them, to only that which comes from myself. Regarding any other sustenance or acts of flirtation you wish to indulge in, I am unconcerned. Provided, of course, that I am both the first and last thing in your mouth every day."
Watson laughed and his mirth vibrated my own body just as much and it did his. I felt him twist his head under my hand to press a closed mouth kiss to my cheek. "I am fortunate that you are so agreeable to my circumstances!" he said.
Flushed with pleasure from what I immediately considered our very first kiss, I released him and sat back. I wished to say something poignant, but in the face of his pleased expression I found myself with a lack of words. In the intimate atmosphere of our conversation, I again reverted to use of his first name.
"John...?"
He touched my face, carefully, as if afraid that the claws he did not have would scratch me. "I will be most careful with you, my dear, but you must promise to be vigilant in keeping me informed of your health during whatever we do together. I could not bear to lose you," again, I added mentally. "You are, first and foremost, my greatest friend, Holmes, and my life would not be so interesting without you."
"Having considered the evidence, I believe that I am safe of any danger you may pose. As you say, old friend, our friendship is our greatest asset. It is a consideration that was lacking with your previous lovers. Additionally," I quirked my mouth into a wry smile for him, "I have no intention of ever becoming the next Mrs. Watson and so I am saved from the fatal ending experienced by those women that have taken up the title."
Watson looked quite serious as he said, "If that is the case then, Holmes, I am afraid that I will never be able to make an honest man out of you."
I tapped the corner of his mouth with my finger and he gave in to the smile that he had been suppressing. Then, again lacking anything of meaning to say, I pressed the lips of our closed mouths together in our second kiss.
(If you know where the prompt is located, let me know please! And I will link it here. =] )