Fic: The Case of the Golden Goose
Title: The Case of the Golden Goose
Author: Petriepuss
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash
Author notes: Part of the Blackcat series. English is not my first language; will greatly appreciate any tips for better writing. A short smutty piece as a break from a longer one I am working on. Thank you very much to my most wonderful beta: Booklady.
Word count: 1753
It was an evening in late March; Holmes had just returned from a day of fruitless research into our latest case in the miserable, drizzling spring weather. Bone weary and frustrated with the elusiveness of our current adversary, he had changed out of his wet outdoor attire, taken a long bath, and now looked warm and comfortable, lounging upon the sofa in his purple dressing-gown in a distinctly feline-like pose.
I had spend the afternoon thinking about my dear friend and companion, and how much my life has changed since the day we decided to co-inhabit the 221B Baker street residence, and, subsequently, my involvement as assistant and chronicler to the world’s first consulting detective. I had never experienced as close and as satisfying a relationship as the one which I enjoyed with my friend Sherlock Holmes; and three months ago, our intimate friendship had taken an unexpected turn.
Through an utterly curious, inexplicable event, we had awakened in each other’s arms last Christmas morning. To this day, we have not come up with a logical explanation; at least, not one which did not sound so absurd that any mention of it would warrant us a room in Bedlam. All efforts to search for the third party involved that night, the silken-furred, grey-eyed black tom, have drawn a blank. No one has seen a creature of that description near our lodging, and I have eventually had to concede that the creature was part of a most vivid, imaginative dream. As for my friend’s mysterious appearance, sans clothing, in my bed - for him, it was a puzzle to ponder during rainy days; for me, it was a divine intervention which granted my heart’s desire, and which I accepted as a most wondrous Christmas gift.
Sharing one’s life and heart with a brilliant genius does, however, have its drawbacks. I have learned in the last few months that my dear friend views, as he often does with eating and sleeping, all needs of the flesh as subject to the requirements of his chosen art. For the last few weeks I had been ignored, cast aside for a superbly planned burglary in one of our nation’s most prestigious institutes - the Bank of England. I had half a mind to force my attentions on the alluring creature now stretching sensuously before me, the snug robe wrapped tightly around his thin frame. Standing up from the wicker chair, this evening’s newspaper in hand, I sat down beside my lover on the settee.
“Holmes, will you like me to read you the agony column from the Evening Chronicle? I presume you have not had the time to read them.” I said, lowering my voice seductively, while placing a seemly casual hand upon his thigh.
“That is very thoughtful of you, Watson; I think I can hardly keep my eyes open any longer. To track through London in this dreadful weather has utterly exhausted me, and I am afraid I am done for the night.” He yawned, stretching his long legs momentarily, and watched me through half-closed lids.
“Hmm…Clearly the criminals in London have no respect for the weather, and work most diligently throughout the year. We should vote them into the Parliament.” Watching a very sleepy and relaxed Holmes, I felt a surge of desire at the sight of that usually dominating spirit lying so subdued before me. His body was lax with a lazy elegance; his head tilted back, exposing the long graceful line connecting the clean-shaven jaw, down the tender curve of his throat, to the pulse point near the half-hidden collar bone. I found my eyes trained to the faint pulsation at that point, the regular beats almost hypnotizing.
My poor exhausted Holmes, so…vulnerable… The image of my friend so placidly lying there, almost…displaying himself, inflamed within me a dark, purely animalistic want. Tossing the paper to the floor, I tore into his neatly wrapped torso and went for the jugular……and was astonished by his lack of clothing underneath.
My widened eyes caught the merest hint of a smile on the face of my insufferably smug companion, and I had to concede the battle, but not the war. Swallowing down the vicious, ravaging bites I had intended to deliver, I followed the contours of his graceful neck with the barest touch of lips, having discovered to my delight how the tickling sensation from my mustache would drive my lover to distraction. After three or four agonizingly slow passes, I slowly increased the pressure, and upon reaching the pulsing juncture, inflicted a gentle bite. I smiled to myself when this action incited the faintest cry from the man whose body lay beneath mine. Longing to taste his clean-scented skin, I finally used my tongue to outline the lovely triangle along the collarbone, up to the back of his ear, and then nibbled my way down along the curved ridge of his throat. As I settled in to lap and suckle the sensitive area between his neck and shoulder, a faint keening started somewhere deep within his chest.
Yes, the game is definitely afoot tonight, my dear friend.
Pulling loose the knot around the robe, my hand started its journey of exploration down the object of my affection. The smooth white skin felt cool to the touch, but for the heel of my palm now leaving a fiery trail for the fingers to follow; and when they were curved to apply the lightest of scratches from newly trimmed nails, the apathetic façade my dear Holmes tried to put on was most satisfyingly shattered. His heated body unconsciously pressed towards the contact, and his breathing became shallow and hurried. A heady scent of arousal rose from the lightly moist skin, and as my fingers lingered on the soft curl on his lower abdomen, knuckles brushed against the quivering hardness, I knew the game would play out in my favor tonight. Sitting up straight to savor the vision before me, I brought up my left hand to forcefully cover Holmes mouth while my right went for the prize. The resulting muffled howl, I must say, was most gratifying.
For a while, I drank in the beautiful visage of a writhing detective; his eyes were dazed and unfocused, and a lovely flush went all the way from his face to the exposed torso. His hips lifted involuntarily to meet my closed fist, and whimper of protests issued from his covered mouth; his mastery of self for once defeated by a new addiction, one which only I could provide.
Abruptly, I stopped my ministrations at the sound of footsteps on the stair. Withdrawing my hands briskly, I quickly tossed the previously discarded newspaper onto my companion, just as Mrs. Hudson opened the door with the dinner tray carefully balanced in her capable hands.
“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, would you like to have your dinner now? It is such a dreadful night that I thought an early dinner and a warm bed would be an excellent idea.”
“Wonderful! Mrs. Hudson. How thoughtful of you. Please, let me help you with that tray.” I stood up and went to help our landlady with the heavily laden tray, while discretely shielding a frantically fidgeting Sherlock Holmes attempting to busy himself with the evening paper.
As I gently closed the door, I turned and gazed at my dear friend hidden behind open sheets of evening paper, no doubt mortified by the near discovery, and had to laugh at the absurd image before me.
“Holmes, you do realize that the paper you have been holding is upside down? If that is a new method in decoding the agony column….”
“Of course, that’s it!” Holmes suddenly ejaculated, “Watson, you have saved the day for our formerly luckless client, to the sum of one hundred thousand pounds! Look, this is the message I was sure would be there yesterday, but could not find despite reading diligently through all last night’s evening papers.”
Holmes sat up and pointed out a short passage from one of the advertising columns.
A Jackson pen comes complete with a
dock made by the finest Scandinavian
PM marble, the pen itself consisting of
nine inches of pristine goose feather
meeting with a metal tip engraved with
gold lettering finish. Definitely the
Goose pen of choice for our noble
customers.
“Now, Watson, it would appear to be quite a normal advisement; however…” Holmes turned the paper around, so now it was upside-down in front of me. “Read the first word of that column, from the bottom up,” he said in a gleeful tone.
“Customers. Goose. Gold. Meeting. Nine. PM. Dock. A….My god, Holmes! Could this be -”
“Yes, my dear fellow! The customer of the eggs from the golden goose - their code word for the Bank of England - will meet on Royal Albert, the only dock with an initial A, at 9 o’clock tonight. We must hurry! Bring your revolver; I will have need of your keen marksmanship tonight. We will pick up Lestrade on the way.”
As Holmes rushed past me to pull open the door, no doubt intent on shouting down an instruction for a cab, I took hold of his outstretched wrist and stepped in to pin him against the wall. “Holmes… may I suggest a change of attire? While I found your bare chest unbelievably…delicious…” My tongue darted out to caress the reddish-purple mark on his neck as a way of demonstration, “I find myself rather unwilling to share my unique knowledge of your anatomy with the citizenry at large.”
His gasp was quickly stifled. “A clear case of oversight in the heat of moment, my dear Watson. I shall rectify the situation immediately.”
The next moment my back hit a hard surface as Holmes’ long frame flipped us around, seemly intent on pressing me into the wall. He proceeded to kiss me most ardently, at the same time rubbing against my crotch in a most lewd fashion. A most embarrassing moan escaped my closely engaged mouth, as I felt the space around me contract down to two blazing points: the hot, desperate lips sealing against mine, and the constricting tightness underneath which his equally urgent member was rocking against.
Then it all disappeared. Half dazed, I opened my eyes and saw Holmes’ untied robe swirling behind him as he strode hurriedly into his bedroom. His voice floated towards me as I stood motionless in a veritable stupor of desire.
“Come on, Watson! There is not a moment to lose!”
End
Author: Petriepuss
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash
Author notes: Part of the Blackcat series. English is not my first language; will greatly appreciate any tips for better writing. A short smutty piece as a break from a longer one I am working on. Thank you very much to my most wonderful beta: Booklady.
Word count: 1753
It was an evening in late March; Holmes had just returned from a day of fruitless research into our latest case in the miserable, drizzling spring weather. Bone weary and frustrated with the elusiveness of our current adversary, he had changed out of his wet outdoor attire, taken a long bath, and now looked warm and comfortable, lounging upon the sofa in his purple dressing-gown in a distinctly feline-like pose.
I had spend the afternoon thinking about my dear friend and companion, and how much my life has changed since the day we decided to co-inhabit the 221B Baker street residence, and, subsequently, my involvement as assistant and chronicler to the world’s first consulting detective. I had never experienced as close and as satisfying a relationship as the one which I enjoyed with my friend Sherlock Holmes; and three months ago, our intimate friendship had taken an unexpected turn.
Through an utterly curious, inexplicable event, we had awakened in each other’s arms last Christmas morning. To this day, we have not come up with a logical explanation; at least, not one which did not sound so absurd that any mention of it would warrant us a room in Bedlam. All efforts to search for the third party involved that night, the silken-furred, grey-eyed black tom, have drawn a blank. No one has seen a creature of that description near our lodging, and I have eventually had to concede that the creature was part of a most vivid, imaginative dream. As for my friend’s mysterious appearance, sans clothing, in my bed - for him, it was a puzzle to ponder during rainy days; for me, it was a divine intervention which granted my heart’s desire, and which I accepted as a most wondrous Christmas gift.
Sharing one’s life and heart with a brilliant genius does, however, have its drawbacks. I have learned in the last few months that my dear friend views, as he often does with eating and sleeping, all needs of the flesh as subject to the requirements of his chosen art. For the last few weeks I had been ignored, cast aside for a superbly planned burglary in one of our nation’s most prestigious institutes - the Bank of England. I had half a mind to force my attentions on the alluring creature now stretching sensuously before me, the snug robe wrapped tightly around his thin frame. Standing up from the wicker chair, this evening’s newspaper in hand, I sat down beside my lover on the settee.
“Holmes, will you like me to read you the agony column from the Evening Chronicle? I presume you have not had the time to read them.” I said, lowering my voice seductively, while placing a seemly casual hand upon his thigh.
“That is very thoughtful of you, Watson; I think I can hardly keep my eyes open any longer. To track through London in this dreadful weather has utterly exhausted me, and I am afraid I am done for the night.” He yawned, stretching his long legs momentarily, and watched me through half-closed lids.
“Hmm…Clearly the criminals in London have no respect for the weather, and work most diligently throughout the year. We should vote them into the Parliament.” Watching a very sleepy and relaxed Holmes, I felt a surge of desire at the sight of that usually dominating spirit lying so subdued before me. His body was lax with a lazy elegance; his head tilted back, exposing the long graceful line connecting the clean-shaven jaw, down the tender curve of his throat, to the pulse point near the half-hidden collar bone. I found my eyes trained to the faint pulsation at that point, the regular beats almost hypnotizing.
My poor exhausted Holmes, so…vulnerable… The image of my friend so placidly lying there, almost…displaying himself, inflamed within me a dark, purely animalistic want. Tossing the paper to the floor, I tore into his neatly wrapped torso and went for the jugular……and was astonished by his lack of clothing underneath.
My widened eyes caught the merest hint of a smile on the face of my insufferably smug companion, and I had to concede the battle, but not the war. Swallowing down the vicious, ravaging bites I had intended to deliver, I followed the contours of his graceful neck with the barest touch of lips, having discovered to my delight how the tickling sensation from my mustache would drive my lover to distraction. After three or four agonizingly slow passes, I slowly increased the pressure, and upon reaching the pulsing juncture, inflicted a gentle bite. I smiled to myself when this action incited the faintest cry from the man whose body lay beneath mine. Longing to taste his clean-scented skin, I finally used my tongue to outline the lovely triangle along the collarbone, up to the back of his ear, and then nibbled my way down along the curved ridge of his throat. As I settled in to lap and suckle the sensitive area between his neck and shoulder, a faint keening started somewhere deep within his chest.
Yes, the game is definitely afoot tonight, my dear friend.
Pulling loose the knot around the robe, my hand started its journey of exploration down the object of my affection. The smooth white skin felt cool to the touch, but for the heel of my palm now leaving a fiery trail for the fingers to follow; and when they were curved to apply the lightest of scratches from newly trimmed nails, the apathetic façade my dear Holmes tried to put on was most satisfyingly shattered. His heated body unconsciously pressed towards the contact, and his breathing became shallow and hurried. A heady scent of arousal rose from the lightly moist skin, and as my fingers lingered on the soft curl on his lower abdomen, knuckles brushed against the quivering hardness, I knew the game would play out in my favor tonight. Sitting up straight to savor the vision before me, I brought up my left hand to forcefully cover Holmes mouth while my right went for the prize. The resulting muffled howl, I must say, was most gratifying.
For a while, I drank in the beautiful visage of a writhing detective; his eyes were dazed and unfocused, and a lovely flush went all the way from his face to the exposed torso. His hips lifted involuntarily to meet my closed fist, and whimper of protests issued from his covered mouth; his mastery of self for once defeated by a new addiction, one which only I could provide.
Abruptly, I stopped my ministrations at the sound of footsteps on the stair. Withdrawing my hands briskly, I quickly tossed the previously discarded newspaper onto my companion, just as Mrs. Hudson opened the door with the dinner tray carefully balanced in her capable hands.
“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, would you like to have your dinner now? It is such a dreadful night that I thought an early dinner and a warm bed would be an excellent idea.”
“Wonderful! Mrs. Hudson. How thoughtful of you. Please, let me help you with that tray.” I stood up and went to help our landlady with the heavily laden tray, while discretely shielding a frantically fidgeting Sherlock Holmes attempting to busy himself with the evening paper.
As I gently closed the door, I turned and gazed at my dear friend hidden behind open sheets of evening paper, no doubt mortified by the near discovery, and had to laugh at the absurd image before me.
“Holmes, you do realize that the paper you have been holding is upside down? If that is a new method in decoding the agony column….”
“Of course, that’s it!” Holmes suddenly ejaculated, “Watson, you have saved the day for our formerly luckless client, to the sum of one hundred thousand pounds! Look, this is the message I was sure would be there yesterday, but could not find despite reading diligently through all last night’s evening papers.”
Holmes sat up and pointed out a short passage from one of the advertising columns.
A Jackson pen comes complete with a
dock made by the finest Scandinavian
PM marble, the pen itself consisting of
nine inches of pristine goose feather
meeting with a metal tip engraved with
gold lettering finish. Definitely the
Goose pen of choice for our noble
customers.
“Now, Watson, it would appear to be quite a normal advisement; however…” Holmes turned the paper around, so now it was upside-down in front of me. “Read the first word of that column, from the bottom up,” he said in a gleeful tone.
“Customers. Goose. Gold. Meeting. Nine. PM. Dock. A….My god, Holmes! Could this be -”
“Yes, my dear fellow! The customer of the eggs from the golden goose - their code word for the Bank of England - will meet on Royal Albert, the only dock with an initial A, at 9 o’clock tonight. We must hurry! Bring your revolver; I will have need of your keen marksmanship tonight. We will pick up Lestrade on the way.”
As Holmes rushed past me to pull open the door, no doubt intent on shouting down an instruction for a cab, I took hold of his outstretched wrist and stepped in to pin him against the wall. “Holmes… may I suggest a change of attire? While I found your bare chest unbelievably…delicious…” My tongue darted out to caress the reddish-purple mark on his neck as a way of demonstration, “I find myself rather unwilling to share my unique knowledge of your anatomy with the citizenry at large.”
His gasp was quickly stifled. “A clear case of oversight in the heat of moment, my dear Watson. I shall rectify the situation immediately.”
The next moment my back hit a hard surface as Holmes’ long frame flipped us around, seemly intent on pressing me into the wall. He proceeded to kiss me most ardently, at the same time rubbing against my crotch in a most lewd fashion. A most embarrassing moan escaped my closely engaged mouth, as I felt the space around me contract down to two blazing points: the hot, desperate lips sealing against mine, and the constricting tightness underneath which his equally urgent member was rocking against.
Then it all disappeared. Half dazed, I opened my eyes and saw Holmes’ untied robe swirling behind him as he strode hurriedly into his bedroom. His voice floated towards me as I stood motionless in a veritable stupor of desire.
“Come on, Watson! There is not a moment to lose!”
End