After the fall or the house is in truth, occupied by Sterling Snow
After the fall or the house is in truth, occupied by Ronald Malfoy 1984
I stumbled into 221b Baker Street, blinded. I realize as I make my way up to the sitting room that I haven’t paid any heed to my surroundings or the people around me. My dearest friend would be highly disappointed in my lack of observation, yet I can’t bring myself to care. I reach the desk and rummage around for the Moroccan case; I find it and bring it to my chair. It’s horribly ironic that I spent years lambasting and berating Holmes for his weakness of his 7 percent solution, but little else has been in my mind since…
I rolled up my sleeve and took off my tie, and with quick precision I fashioned a tourniquet and bound my arm. I took the needle in hand injected myself straight away. As the clear liquid invaded my body I became lax, and dropped the syringe with a clatter to the floor. Later Mrs. Hudson would find me, and in her infinite patience did not scold me but rather led me to Holmes’s bedroom tucking me into the very place where he caught his rare dreams. I inhaled deep from the pillow smelling pomade, pipe tobacco, and certain mysterious chemicals, probably from his various experiments. I wish I could bottle this scent to keep forever, but I can’t. I resolve that night even in my drug induced state I would leave when this phantom was gone. That was over a year ago, and nothing smells of him anymore, I had spent much of that first year in a drug induced lethargy. Many had visited: old clients, various Scotlandyarders, some Irregulars, even Mycroft descended from on high from the Diogenes. All tried to get me out of my depression but each was waved away without care. Mrs. Hudson attempted to make me take care of myself, but too little effect. After I could no longer feel his ghost I resolved to get my life back in order. I knew I could only mourn for so long, before I became a completely changed man. I knew Holmes would not approve, so I got Mycroft to give me money to start my own practice and all started to fall into place, however it was still a challenge to keep from the dens and cocaine. My old injuries acted up almost constantly but I put on a brave face for my patients and the world. Though I had my own lodgings, I kept coming back to 221b, visiting Mrs. Hudson for dinners, sometimes falling asleep in his bed. I could even swear I could smell faint wisps of the smell that I could during the first year. And that was the second year. The third year was another bad patch for me, I thought that I could soldier on, but I still needed to fill the void left over by my companion. I let my flat become a rat’s nest, literally. I spent most of my time back at the dens and at 221b; Mrs. Hudson took to her old role of nursemaid for me. She had always been so good to Holmes and I during our worst times, and I could not thank her enough. However an incident changed me again. I was down in the most seamy den chasing dragons and I heard a loud whistle and the room filled with the blinking of torches, shouting. I tried to break out of my reverie but could only plaster a Cheshire grin as the figure of Lestrade came into my vision. He snapped his fingers and a constable bearing a bucket of ice water splashed me in the face, the smoke from my pipe went out making me frown. He slapped me in the face, making my moustache buzz at the contact. I sobered and took his hand, he told me that I could continue my work as a consulting physician for them, telling me that I needed more than my mere practice and to keep myself busier. He yelled at me all through the walk back to Baker Street. Once ensconced in the sitting room, I immediately fell sleep in his chair. Most of my dreams where set back at the Reichenbach, two figures plummeting in a deathly ballet. Some however took on a more startling quality, though after a time I started not to mind even becoming to rely on them for my more private releases. They where ones of a rather sensuous nature, always of him. Tonight he was wearing his most severe black suit, kneeling between my legs his rather impressive nose nuzzling my virility. His deft fingers brushing my mustache entering into my mouth to be suckled. But things started to shift, I felt real hands on my face, heavily calloused quickly moving to the buttons on my vest. Then I felt the presences of a figure it the bottom of my feet. I daren’t look, but something awoke me, a familiar voice. “Watson, I simply am amazed at how thin you are.” He said; his voice like the heady plumb of pipe smoke. My eyes opened to look down at the face of a one Sherlock Holmes, my most intimate confidant! His grey green eyes gave me the most piercing once over, no doubt silently deducing my person, and what I was up to all these long years. He frowned and pulled me into a fierce hug and told me that if I ever dipped into his private stores that he would kill me. I broke our embrace with laugh and gave him a firm kiss, I would wait till morning for explanations, but for now I wanted, nay needed to touch him and for him to touch me. He continued his ministrations on my clothing as I started to do the same once I exposed enough skin I took a deep draught of scent noting that it had changed slightly, more spicy and altogether more masculine than I remember. Once done undressing, we retired to his room, him leading me by the hand all the while making an observation upon the fact that his bed was a body too small. My checks started to colour considerably at that. He shoved me down rather roughly onto his bed and pounced after me causing quite a clatter, I had hoped it did not awake Mrs. Hudson. He went about grazing his lips on almost ever surface of my body, making me tense. Also of note was that Holmes was proficient in the art of seduction, which hitherto I had thought him incapable of, knowing that he would never acknowledge his bases of desires. However giving his propensity to throw himself completely into analytical experimentation was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that he was not unresponsive during his administrations, if the feeling of his hard cock on my stomach was any indicator of interest. As he slid the helix of my ear into his mouth I had occasioned to use his first name, which came out grizzled and husky, a clear sign of lust. I then realized how little I used his first name out loud. It was always used with his last in introductions, in a way that suggesting to the one being introduced that they were deficient in intellect at not merely knowing the man on sight or singular quality of his presence. And I quite liked how it sounded, like a secret whispered by lovers the world over.
He pulled up onto his knees which were still straddling my stomach and fixed me with a stair, his brow knit with concentration and his finger pressed upon his thin but wholly sensuous lips. He was looking into my eyes yet seeing miles away, as if something great was puzzling him. I must admit then that all my eyes were doing was trailing down his thin and wiry frame eventually settling on his aforementioned cock. He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”
“Elementary”, said he.
And that was how he came back to me, and the beginning of many more glorious adventures…
Not quite the End.
FANFICTION
pairing: jeremy brett's sherlock holmes/ david burke's doctor watson
length: two-ish chapters
rating: M for heavy slash and drug use
summery: watson takes the fall harder than expected.
cat: hurt/comfort, romance
I stumbled into 221b Baker Street, blinded. I realize as I make my way up to the sitting room that I haven’t paid any heed to my surroundings or the people around me. My dearest friend would be highly disappointed in my lack of observation, yet I can’t bring myself to care. I reach the desk and rummage around for the Moroccan case; I find it and bring it to my chair. It’s horribly ironic that I spent years lambasting and berating Holmes for his weakness of his 7 percent solution, but little else has been in my mind since…
I rolled up my sleeve and took off my tie, and with quick precision I fashioned a tourniquet and bound my arm. I took the needle in hand injected myself straight away. As the clear liquid invaded my body I became lax, and dropped the syringe with a clatter to the floor. Later Mrs. Hudson would find me, and in her infinite patience did not scold me but rather led me to Holmes’s bedroom tucking me into the very place where he caught his rare dreams. I inhaled deep from the pillow smelling pomade, pipe tobacco, and certain mysterious chemicals, probably from his various experiments. I wish I could bottle this scent to keep forever, but I can’t. I resolve that night even in my drug induced state I would leave when this phantom was gone. That was over a year ago, and nothing smells of him anymore, I had spent much of that first year in a drug induced lethargy. Many had visited: old clients, various Scotlandyarders, some Irregulars, even Mycroft descended from on high from the Diogenes. All tried to get me out of my depression but each was waved away without care. Mrs. Hudson attempted to make me take care of myself, but too little effect. After I could no longer feel his ghost I resolved to get my life back in order. I knew I could only mourn for so long, before I became a completely changed man. I knew Holmes would not approve, so I got Mycroft to give me money to start my own practice and all started to fall into place, however it was still a challenge to keep from the dens and cocaine. My old injuries acted up almost constantly but I put on a brave face for my patients and the world. Though I had my own lodgings, I kept coming back to 221b, visiting Mrs. Hudson for dinners, sometimes falling asleep in his bed. I could even swear I could smell faint wisps of the smell that I could during the first year. And that was the second year. The third year was another bad patch for me, I thought that I could soldier on, but I still needed to fill the void left over by my companion. I let my flat become a rat’s nest, literally. I spent most of my time back at the dens and at 221b; Mrs. Hudson took to her old role of nursemaid for me. She had always been so good to Holmes and I during our worst times, and I could not thank her enough. However an incident changed me again. I was down in the most seamy den chasing dragons and I heard a loud whistle and the room filled with the blinking of torches, shouting. I tried to break out of my reverie but could only plaster a Cheshire grin as the figure of Lestrade came into my vision. He snapped his fingers and a constable bearing a bucket of ice water splashed me in the face, the smoke from my pipe went out making me frown. He slapped me in the face, making my moustache buzz at the contact. I sobered and took his hand, he told me that I could continue my work as a consulting physician for them, telling me that I needed more than my mere practice and to keep myself busier. He yelled at me all through the walk back to Baker Street. Once ensconced in the sitting room, I immediately fell sleep in his chair. Most of my dreams where set back at the Reichenbach, two figures plummeting in a deathly ballet. Some however took on a more startling quality, though after a time I started not to mind even becoming to rely on them for my more private releases. They where ones of a rather sensuous nature, always of him. Tonight he was wearing his most severe black suit, kneeling between my legs his rather impressive nose nuzzling my virility. His deft fingers brushing my mustache entering into my mouth to be suckled. But things started to shift, I felt real hands on my face, heavily calloused quickly moving to the buttons on my vest. Then I felt the presences of a figure it the bottom of my feet. I daren’t look, but something awoke me, a familiar voice. “Watson, I simply am amazed at how thin you are.” He said; his voice like the heady plumb of pipe smoke. My eyes opened to look down at the face of a one Sherlock Holmes, my most intimate confidant! His grey green eyes gave me the most piercing once over, no doubt silently deducing my person, and what I was up to all these long years. He frowned and pulled me into a fierce hug and told me that if I ever dipped into his private stores that he would kill me. I broke our embrace with laugh and gave him a firm kiss, I would wait till morning for explanations, but for now I wanted, nay needed to touch him and for him to touch me. He continued his ministrations on my clothing as I started to do the same once I exposed enough skin I took a deep draught of scent noting that it had changed slightly, more spicy and altogether more masculine than I remember. Once done undressing, we retired to his room, him leading me by the hand all the while making an observation upon the fact that his bed was a body too small. My checks started to colour considerably at that. He shoved me down rather roughly onto his bed and pounced after me causing quite a clatter, I had hoped it did not awake Mrs. Hudson. He went about grazing his lips on almost ever surface of my body, making me tense. Also of note was that Holmes was proficient in the art of seduction, which hitherto I had thought him incapable of, knowing that he would never acknowledge his bases of desires. However giving his propensity to throw himself completely into analytical experimentation was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that he was not unresponsive during his administrations, if the feeling of his hard cock on my stomach was any indicator of interest. As he slid the helix of my ear into his mouth I had occasioned to use his first name, which came out grizzled and husky, a clear sign of lust. I then realized how little I used his first name out loud. It was always used with his last in introductions, in a way that suggesting to the one being introduced that they were deficient in intellect at not merely knowing the man on sight or singular quality of his presence. And I quite liked how it sounded, like a secret whispered by lovers the world over.
He pulled up onto his knees which were still straddling my stomach and fixed me with a stair, his brow knit with concentration and his finger pressed upon his thin but wholly sensuous lips. He was looking into my eyes yet seeing miles away, as if something great was puzzling him. I must admit then that all my eyes were doing was trailing down his thin and wiry frame eventually settling on his aforementioned cock. He burst into a single laugh, as was his custom when the game was afoot and regarded me with an expression of devotion “my dear Watson, a thousand apologies.” I could see him evade from the task at hand, to bring him back I simultaneously kissed him and placed my hand around his cock and started to work at it as if it were my own. Holmes placed his hands on the wall arching his back and exulted a baritone hum as I attended to my duties. As I continued, his face changed, it was exactly how it looked as if he was in the stalls listening to a beautiful violin solo. His ecstatic countenance was truly a thing to behold, mixed in with his low moans and erratic bursting laugh it was almost too much and I wanted more. I broke the spell to suggest a more vigorous activity to which he heartily agreed. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table to pulled out a fresh tin of crème. His eyebrows shot up at the implication, that it was not the same tin I had found three year previous. Again my cheeks went dark and I gave him a coy smile. I watched in fascination as he prepared himself for me, greasing him up, then myself. He hungrily thrust into me with no compunction. We both gasped at the sudden tightness as he soon found an agreeable rhythm. After sometime it seems, our joint climax was imminent, and we both came with not a small bit of gusto. Holmes exited me with a small murmur of thanks, which touched my heart know he truly had one of his own. For an hour, we lay there talking of his three years away, how he was going to make himself known to me with a shout, but held back because he knew how dangerous it would be for me if he still lived. With all the rush of his tale and the fact that we had “sleep together”, made me be brazen with my emotions and I told him with feeling, stern and true, “I love you Sherlock Holmes.”
“Elementary”, said he.
And that was how he came back to me, and the beginning of many more glorious adventures…
Not quite the End.
FANFICTION
pairing: jeremy brett's sherlock holmes/ david burke's doctor watson
length: two-ish chapters
rating: M for heavy slash and drug use
summery: watson takes the fall harder than expected.
cat: hurt/comfort, romance