Fic for cleflink: The Inferno Club, Part 1/3
Title: The Inferno Club
Recipient: cleflink
Author: swissmarg
Beta readers: thesmallhobbit, lorelei_lee1968
Verse: ACD
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Word count: 20K
Summary: "I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every time."
The real story behind The Adventure of the Illustrious Client.
Warnings: Mention of non-consensual BDSM (not involving Holmes or Watson)
Notes: Based on The Adventure of the Illustrious Client, which is my new favorite ACD story. This is omegaverse, but a kinder, gentler omegaverse in which there are no heats or mating frenzies.
Read on Archive of Our Own:
The Inferno Club
Read on LJ:
The basic facts of the tale of Baron Adelbert Gruner, Miss Violet de Merville, and Miss Kitty Winter will be familiar to loyal readers of both the Strand and court dockets, but I hope it will not come as a surprise when I divulge that some minor yet key details were withheld or altered in the publicly available report. I have been persuaded to present here an unabridged version for the archives of the Inferno Club, with the strict understanding that no copies are to be made and that the original will reside in the private collection, to be shared only with those of similar bent and used only for the enlightenment and improvement of that particular portion of the club's membership in those practices which are peculiar to it.
Little could we have known when my friend Sherlock Holmes passed me Colonel Sir James Damery's note that it would not only provide the supreme showcase for the great detective's remarkable and diverse talents, but also open a door that would fundamentally alter the course of our lives from that moment forward. It was not quite a year after the end of my second marriage when this remarkable case came to Holmes' attention. I have refrained from detailing my latter foray into wedlock in my published writing for various reasons, chief amongst them being respect for my former spouse and her reputation, but in no less part my own shame at the events which led to her petition for divorce fewer than five years after our wedding. It will be useful now, however, to touch on some pertinent points which may serve to illustrate my state of mind and set the stage for what came after.
The whole unfortunate affair was entirely my fault, of course. I should have known from the start that our natures were incompatible, but I deluded myself into believing that as I had passed the mark of two score years, my natural alpha drives and passions were no longer of consequence, or at least could be ignored in favor of such noble qualities as a temperate character, a firm and economic hand in running the household, and a generous indulgence of my running around with my pal Holmes, as she used to put it.
It wasn't long, however, before we both found ourselves frustrated and ill at ease. That "running around" had a tendency to whip up my blood and excite my temper, delivering me back to my homestead in a state which my dear first wife, Mary, had found pleasantly invigorating and eminently compatible with her omega biology.
My second wife, however, was a beta both in body and at heart, and naturally did not share the same proclivities and interests, although she never spoke a word of complaint. As a dutiful spouse, she did her best to accommodate me, and I in turn to avoid inconveniencing her, but our intimate interactions soon lost all semblance of warm spousal affection and became nothing more than a study in duty, denial, and dread.
Now that all is said and done, with the insight that so often comes after the fact, I believe the true source of my altered state lay not in the thrill of the adventure itself, but in the person of my companion, Sherlock Holmes. To witness the perfectly attuned interaction of the physical and the mental which he embodied, the lightning fast reactions of his razor-sharp mind and his finely honed physique, the noble heart reflected in those features as perfectly formed as if chiseled by the hand of a master, led to an admiration of both his form and his functions coupled with a fervor that bordered on obsession and a possessiveness which I judged entirely natural and innocent. I was after all not an invert and never considered that the life force which quickened in me at the sight and even thought of the great detective could be anything more than an expression of the deep bond of comradeship which often forms between men of many years' acquaintance, who have faced down death and celebrated life together. We were alpha brothers-in-arms, like-minded souls, companions in toil and tears, our mutual devotion transcending bonds of blood or marriage... and, as it transpired, the law.
Such was my condition, then, when Colonel Damery requested an audience that Thursday afternoon. The interview was intriguing but in the end did not seem the sort of thing that would attract Holmes' attention. In the first place, our visitor refused to name the benefactor who had sent him on his errand, and it is Holmes' sworn policy only to work for clients who divulge their full history to him. (I know now that he had deduced the identity of the bashful client by the end of Colonel Damery's first visit, although he did not reveal it to me. Consequentially, he never actually disregarded his credo.)
The second, more compelling point it seemed to me, was that there was no murder to be solved, no mystery at all to be discovered. Holmes' sole charge was to be the convincing of Miss De Merville not to marry the erstwhile Austrian wife-killer, Baron Adelbert Gruner. I speculated that Holmes' interest might have been piqued by the circumstances of the first Baroness Gruner's death, of which her husband was certainly the cause but for which he had neatly and under suspicious circumstances side-stepped being brought to justice. Not so; that which had stumped even the combined police forces of the kingdoms of Austria and Bohemia was deemed too mundane for Holmes' attention. Instead, he intended turning his intellect to matching wits with a man whom he declared - in chilling reminiscence of his unlamented departed nemesis, Professor James Moriarty - to be in possession of a complex mind, as all great criminals are, and accepted Colonel Damery's challenge.
~~.~~.~~
I suspected as soon as I saw Holmes from across the dining room at Simpson's later on that same evening that he was "shamming omega". He had a certain way of comporting himself, a slight looseness about the hips that invited thoughts of plush, slick flesh and a straight-legged gait that belittled his most salient alpha trait. My suspicion was confirmed as soon as I took my seat and the light, sweet scent wafted across the table. It was a perfume of his own invention, perfected over the years until not even I, who knew its origin, could distinguish it from the emanations of a born omega. Yet despite its verisimilitude it did not tempt me nor stir any desire in my loins. I know this was no fault of the concoction itself, as I had seen alphas falling over themselves to fawn on Holmes when he applied it. Instead, I was gripped by the usual irrational sense of unease that came over me whenever Holmes appeared before me in this guise.
He was a virtuoso in the art of costuming and disguise and through the course of our many years of acquaintance I had witnessed him in every form from rakish scoundrel and heavy-browed thug to gentried matron. Yet no alter ego agitated me to such a degree as that of the false omega, even (or perhaps especially) when the rest of him remained Holmes. It was wrong in the way of a two-headed calf or a midnight sun, and it made me want to do nothing more than tear his clothes off and cleanse his body of the false scent with my bare hands.
It was a confusing impulse, to say the least.
Holmes' accursed lips quirked ever so slightly with smug suffisance as he registered my uncontrolled reaction.
"The sole will be dry: the head waiter's cravat had a faint orange stain which--"
I tuned out the rest of his no doubt brilliant elucidations and looked around for a waiter so that I could order something stronger than the white wine which had already been decanted into a carafe on the table. He had even modulated his voice, pitching it slightly higher and softening his consonants. It was for Sir James' case, certainly. It was always for a case, as far as I was aware. I was suddenly disappointed, for that meant he might spring up in pursuit of some suspect at any moment. After a late afternoon spent wrestling with some financial matters associated with my practice, I had been looking forward to an unrushed dinner, followed by a long evening of cigars and brandy with Holmes back at his rooms in Baker Street.
When the waiter responded to my gesture, I ordered both a gin and the sole.
Holmes grinned openly and launched into a resumé of his plans for the investigation. I tamped down my unnecessary sentiments and attempted to be of some use, as a sounding board if nothing else, as he once again went over the facts. There was nothing new, aside from some suggestion that he might consult one of his underworld informants, until he let drop that he had visited the very villain himself, Baron Gruner, that afternoon.
My eyes widened. "You don't mean to say you called on him like that." I nodded meaningfully at his person, knowing he would understand me. The Baron was a devil of an alpha who made a living preying on omegas across the continent. To walk into his parlor under the pretense of being one was akin to a fly dropping in on a spider.
Holmes lifted his wine glass and held it delicately by the stem. His eyes gleamed in the unfamiliar yellow glow of the electric lights which had recently been installed in the establishment. "You heard Sir James' assertion that Gruner is said to have the whole of the omega gender at his mercy. I was interested to see how he would attempt to overcome me. I'm afraid I left disappointed in that regard."
"Holmes, this is no light matter," I said with a disapproving frown. "The man is notorious, the worst of his breed. There's no telling what he might have done."
Holmes appeared delighted at the scolding. "Good old Watson!" he exclaimed. "I assure you I was perfectly safe. He has breeding in him, all right. He is a real aristocrat of crime and an excellent antagonist. If there had been even the slightest suggestion of danger, I would have asked you to come along, my dear."
I should have been mollified by his last remark, but Holmes continued to sing Gruner's praises and I set to sawing at my dried-out - and by now cold - fish. I supposed I should count myself lucky that Holmes was merely amused by my reprimand rather than offended. It might have been taken as a disparagement of his abilities or judgment. I knew full well that Holmes could take care of himself and was quite a neat boxer when the occasion called for it. I put it down to the omega perfume. Perhaps it had an effect on me after all, although I could not deny that I had similar desires to protect and preserve my friend from harm even when he was acting his native alpha through and through.
I was half lost in my muddled thoughts and still anticipating a quiet end to the evening when Holmes tossed his serviette abruptly onto his plate and rubbed his hands briskly together.
"Well now, Watson, finish your coffee. Friend Shinwell has invited us to his club, and we will need to stop off at Baker Street first."
~~.~~.~~
In my previously published account, I placed our appointment with Shinwell Johnson at Holmes' residence. In fact, we were to meet him - being one of Holmes' most valuable contacts amongst the less savory elements of the city - at a notorious club Johnson frequented. It will become clear why it was necessary to obfuscate on this point shortly.
"Nothing I can say will prepare you, Watson," Holmes explained once we had gained his rooms. He went straightaway to a cabinet and pulled out a box where he kept various accessories and embellishments for his disguises. "I will warn you only that it is a peculiar place, where ladies and gentlemen, alphas and omegas, gather to indulge in an exclusive form of entertainment. It will probably be most helpful if you think of it as a kind of clinic where its members may receive treatments they cannot find anywhere else. Oh, and put this on me, if you please."
He handed me a black leather band about an inch thick and a little longer than my forearm. It looked like nothing more than a very short belt, with a silver buckle at the end to fasten it.
"I'm afraid you're going to need to tighten your corset rather severely if you want to fit this," I joked.
"It goes around the neck," he corrected me, stepping close and lifting his chin.
He still smelled like omega, and the dichotomy was even more irritating in close quarters than it had been across the table earlier. Now that he was near enough for me to discern the wine from dinner on his breath, I also caught a whiff of a faint secondary note that I immediately identified as his own particular scent. I did not think it was marked enough for a stranger to be confused or suspect that he was anything other than the omega he portrayed, but I found myself leaning in to chase the fleeting olfactory trail back to its source, greedily inhaling the air that was infused with those precious emanations. Before I knew it I had the brief, disconcerting urge to lean in and sink my teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder at the back of his neck, but the horror at the realization that I was actually imagining bond-biting my alpha friend quickly doused the fantasy. I jerked back, momentarily dazed.
"Is it a token that will gain us admittance?" I asked presently. I knew that some clubs distributed a ribbon, scarf, pin, or other small item as a sign of membership, although I had never before heard of nor seen a leather strap around the neck serve such a purpose. The question was posed with what I felt was exemplary calm as I lifted the piece to place it against the pale skin of his exposed throat, resting my wrists on his shoulders to steady them and conceal the shakiness that had inexplicably come over me.
"A mere formality, nothing more," he assured me, but where he had lifted his chin I could see his pulse beating rapidly in the hidden hollow beneath his jaw, belying the detachedness of his words.
I hesitated again, my gaze flicking from that traitorous spot to his face. He had closed his eyes and flared his nostrils as if inhaling an elusive yet exquisite vapor, his features betraying a wistfulness and perhaps even desire that both surprised and disquieted me. For unless he had developed a strong and sudden affinity for tanned cow hide, the only other proximate source of a scent he rarely enjoyed so intimately was myself. I had not doused myself in a masking omega scent, and to judge by the pace at which my heart was presently hammering in my chest and the rising temperature inside my collar, I would be fairly reeking of alpha.
I became suddenly and pointedly aware of how close we were standing, the solid expanse of his chest mere inches from mine. For all that he gave the impression of having a narrow frame, it was an illusion caused by his height and the long, concealing mantles and cloaks he wore. He was in reality a powerful specimen, his musculature well developed and maintained in top form by the sparring matches in which he frequently participated.
I had never before wondered at his lack of interest in forming any intimate connections. He always said he had no use for omegas, and I took him at his word. Truly, there was no place for a mate in his life. He was satisfied with his dabblings and investigations, and the hours he kept would have driven any omega in their right mind to distraction. But in that moment - and truthfully, in many other moments during our acquaintance that I had habitually dismissed as preposterous and unlikely - I saw another possibility. Not that he was an invert; no, I did not believe he desired his own gender any more than he did either of the other two. But at that moment, I had to wonder if the tender look on his face were not a reflection of the same suppressed impulses to which I was subject from time to time, and had narrowly escaped succumbing to scant moments ago.
He must have noticed that I had paused in my task, as his eyes snapped open and his expression returned to its usual aloofness. I tried to do the same, the realization that my face was even more likely than his to have revealed my thoughts making it difficult to achieve. I hurriedly lowered my gaze to the buckle and fumbled to fasten it in place. My fingers could not help but brush his neck as I did so, and it took all my willpower not to continue the caress up to cup his jaw in my palm.
Finally, I snatched my hand away, clenching my fist. "Must you wear that hideous perfume?" I said gruffly.
He stepped back, straightening his waistcoat and craning his neck as if to test the feel of the leather circlet. "I'm afraid it is a requirement of the club that every alpha guest be accompanied by an omega and vice versa. And forgive me, Watson, but even with the assistance of the most potent chemicals, it would be quite obvious to even the most unobservant stooge that you are an alpha."
I blushed, thinking he was drawing attention to my unacted-upon impulses of moments ago and the resultant wash of alpha elixir coursing through my veins. Then his words penetrated even that red-hot layer of shame, and it dawned on me what he was proposing.
"Then I am to be... That is, you are to be..." I blustered, not quite sure why the idea disconcerted me as much as it did. Two gentlemen of opposing gender might easily attend a club together without being more than superficially acquainted. For surely he intended nothing further.
"A mere formality, as I said." He reached for his hat and held the door open whilst I gathered my own hat and cane.
"Will I not need a token as well?"
"You mean the collar? No, only one member of each pair wears one. You needn't fret; I have no doubt you will be a natural in your role tonight, Watson."
~~.~~.~~
It is difficult now to recall with any precision, as the memory of that first visit has since been overlaid with many subsequent ones, but I believe that the first thing which my senses registered when the heavy padded door of the Inferno Club swung open to admit us were the sounds. I was used to hearing voices upon entering a club: the murmur of conversation punctuated with bouts of laughter, greetings called out across the room or even the occasional raised tones of a heated argument. I was unprepared for the grunts accompanying the sharp report of leather on slick skin, the hissed intake of breath following the cutting slash of a birch switch through the air, the breathy, high-pitched pleas for "one more, please, sir," and the panting moans of intimate physical pleasure.
The next of my senses to be assaulted was my nose, as it was met by an odiferous melange of smells. Cigar smoke and candle wax, leather and oil, the briny tang of sweat and the biting odor of human exertion, the faintest metallic whiff of blood or iron paired with a strangely floral note, and most peculiarly a scent I associated exclusively with the medicinal application of the violet ray, which I had seen demonstrated at a conference in Paris just before the turn of the recent century. Whilst I had not yet procured a model for my own practice, it was already all the rage as a treatment for ailments ranging from arthritis to tumors. This alone might have supported Holmes' description of the place as a kind of medical institution, were it not for all the rest.
The room itself was unremarkable, resembling a tastefully appointed, if relatively large, parlor. Its walls were covered in wallpaper with a modern, dark green floral pattern and accessorized with the usual mirrors, portraits, and classical paintings. The gas lamps on the walls were turned down to achieve a nostalgic, twilight effect, which was further enhanced by the faint haze that hovered near the ceiling. The fashionably upholstered chairs and sofas scattered in clusters around the space offered ample opportunities for repose. Potted plants and vases filled with fresh flowers added the final touch of refinement. However, those were all details which utterly bypassed my notice that evening, their impact becoming inconsequential in comparison to the actors who peopled the scene, and the acts they were engaged in.
Here was an alpha man locked in the stocks, his trousers pulled halfway down to accommodate an omega woman - armed with a broad wooden paddle - in maltreating his bared bottom. There a female omega wearing nothing but a thin white shift, her arms held up by ropes suspended from a hook in the ceiling, being beaten by an alpha female wielding a tentacled flogger. And just over the shoulder of another gentleman, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a woman - I could not discern whether alpha or omega - draped across a lap and being spanked quite thoroughly with the switch I had heard before.
Each of these dioramas had attracted a handful or more observers, who stood by or lounged in one of the conveniently placed seats, watching the punishments - for such I assumed they were - with attitudes ranging from curiosity and appraisal to morbid fascination and outright lechery. The entire tableau resembled something out of a medieval manuscript on Catholic torture methods, yet I could not detect anything sinister in the atmosphere. Holmes had hesitated to describe this place in any detail, yet I was certain he would have warned me were there any danger or chance of harm coming to either of us.
I was about to turn to him and pose the first of the many questions urging themselves upon me when a nearby buzzing drew my attention. I looked to my right and discovered an omega man kneeling on all fours on top of a table, entirely nude, his legs spread and fixed in place with ropes threaded through metal loops on the sides of the table. The position exposed his most intimate parts in a shockingly graphic manner to all and sundry, but most especially to an alpha standing directly behind him.
The latter was of middle years, with a high forehead, thick black mustache, and ruddy complexion that spoke of a penchant for horses and hunting. He was fully clothed, but even from my disadvantageous angle I could not miss the prominent protuberance swelling his trousers beneath his belt. The omega on the table was likewise signalling readiness for connubial congress, his sex flushed red and swollen, the hairs surrounding it dark with moisture from the copious amounts of the clear mucous material it was secreting that would ease his lover's entrance. Even at a distance of several feet, I could smell the evidence of his interest and could not help my body responding instinctively to his intense omega scent.
I surmised that we were witnessing another spanking - for what purpose I could not fathom, for it appeared both alpha and omega were highly pleased with each other - when I was surprised to see the alpha reach his hand forward, wielding the violet ray whose distinctive scent I had apprehended earlier. Rather than pressing the glass wand firmly against his omega's skin to achieve the proper therapeutic affect, however, to my horror he carefully guided it between the bound man's legs until it was a finger's breadth away from the vestigial member which hung limply beneath his belly, and held it steady there in the air. I cringed, anticipating the crack of discharge and the bright violet light which arced from the instrument to the helpless appendage. The omega jerked forward against his bonds and cried out a word that might have been "Nine!" even as the crowd (for the display had garnered a respectable audience in addition to Holmes and myself) gasped in unison.
I must have cried out as well, or given some other indication of my instinct to rush forward and preserve the poor fellow, for I instantly felt a hand at my elbow, a body at my side, and a familiar voice in my ear.
"Observe, Watson," it admonished.
The brutal alpha was now stroking the abused omega's rump, murmuring praises with an expression of such tenderness on his face I could not believe it was the very same man who had moments ago administered such a cruel treatment. The omega was breathing heavily, his flanks heaving and his head hung down between his shoulders. The alpha bent over to drop a kiss onto his omega's buttock while his hand slid in between. It was impossible to see what he did there, but the omega seemed to approve, rolling his hips and making sounds that drove even more of my own blood into places where it would soon become troublesome. Common dignity demanded that I look away, yet I felt compelled to discover the purpose of the exercise. Holmes had urged me to observe; ergo, it followed that there must be something he wished for me to discover.
Just when the omega seemed on the verge of completion, the alpha abruptly withdrew and straightened. "One more," he said, his voice betraying how far gone he was himself despite the authoritative tone. "Just one more, darling. I know you can do it."
The omega nodded and firmed his back, bracing for the inevitable. I watched along with the others now in breathless fascination as the alpha moved the buzzing apparatus forward once more, and this time when the report sounded and the omega croaked out, "Ten!" before collapsing into a shuddering heap cradled in his alpha's arms, I felt not disgust and shock but pride, relief and approval that he had withstood the test.
"A rather extreme initiatory ritual," I muttered to Holmes beneath the excited murmuring of the other guests, for I now believed that was what these trials were.
The horrible suspicion had already begun to form in my gut that the two of us would be expected to undergo a similar ordeal when Holmes replied, "That was no initiation, Watson. That was the main event. It is for this purpose that the club was founded, and that its members gather."
I raised my eyes to his in confusion and disbelief, but again before I could pursue the matter we were hailed by a large, red-faced man with the blotchy skin of the scorbutic and a pungent, sour aroma I often picked up from other alphas, Holmes and a scant handful excepted. I took an instant and virulent dislike to him. His vivid black eyes revealed the cunning mind hidden behind his coarse exterior, and I knew before he spoke that this was Shinwell Johnson.
"Well, Holmes, I see you've found your way down to Hell." Johnson clapped one fat hand on his shoulder and shook Holmes' hand vigorously with the other. I didn't like the way his beady eyes gleamed greedily as he took note of the collar around my companion's neck, and I stepped up to Holmes' side. If I had understood the rules of this place, I was his alpha tonight, and I did not intend to let another usurp my role.
"Dr. Watson and I have just arrived."
"A doctor, is he!" Then, turning to me: "I wonder what you make of all of this."
"I am baffled," I admitted.
"It's all in good fun, you'll see," Johnson assured me. "There are some who like to pack a wallop and some who like to get walloped. Ha! Well, you will see indeed."
"You mentioned something about an omega who might have some information for us," Holmes cut in before I could formulate a reply to those rather cryptic remarks.
Johnson looked from Holmes to me in surprise. "You let him speak for you? If he were my sub, he'd get a lash or two for that." I was unfamiliar with the term he used, but understood that his statement was an insult to the both of us. Holmes might not genuinely be my omega, but even if we had not been playing at it, I would have bristled at the attempt to impugn my alphahood and challenge our relationship.
Holmes, however, was not intimidated. "As long as it were a tongue-lashing, I'd be willing to take the licks," he adroitly parried.
It appeared this was a satisfactory answer, as Johnson threw back his head and roared with laughter. "By God, there's one for the books. For that I'll tell you Kitty Winter's the gal you want." He shoved his chin back toward the couple with the violet ray.
The omega had now been released from his bonds, and his alpha was helping him down from the table with the assistance of a slim, flame-haired young omega woman. She might have been pretty were it not for the pinched set of her pale face and the marks which only years of hard, sinful living can leave behind. She bore a white sheet, which she draped around the male omega's shoulders. As it settled, I noticed that he wore a collar around his neck similar to the one Holmes had had me put on him. It was not identical, however, being broader and brown. The alpha had no collar at all, and the female omega - Kitty Winter, I presumed - displayed a pretty silver trinket gleaming proudly around her slender neck.
I looked around at the other couples playing out their scenes, realizing that the victims all had collars of different shapes and sizes whereas the perpetrators' necks were bare. Shinwell Johnson did not have a collar, which made me distrust him even more. Had Holmes not said that alphas were only admitted together with an omega? Where then was his? And why had he insisted on Holmes coming here, tonight, when we might have conducted the interview in Holmes' rooms instead?
I was distracted from my suspicions by the sight of Johnson's meaty hand moving toward Holmes. I was on the verge of knocking it away before I could even think about it, until I realized he was only stopping Holmes from moving toward Miss Winter and the others.
"Here now, you've only just arrived," Shinwell Johnson said in a jovial enough sort of manner that made me want to knock a tooth or two out of his head. "What about a bit of fun before you get down to business?"
"That won't be necessary," Holmes rejoined, and I quite agreed. The sooner we were quit of this place, the better.
"I don't know, Mr. Holmes," Johnson said with a hard glint in his flinty eyes. "I say it is. After I went to all the trouble of wrangling you an invitation."
"And if I say that time is of the essence, and that a woman's life is at stake?"
"Then I say you'd best make up your mind, or Kitty'll keep for another time. Go on then, be a sport. Dr. Watson's seen a thing or two he likes anyway, I'll warrant." His dark gaze flicked down my body, as if picking up every sign of my involuntary reactions to the sights, sounds, and smells around us, and most particularly of the wanton omega.
"I've seen some things I haven't liked much," I said directly, not caring if it angered our interlocutor.
The good-natured sheen on Johnson's countenance wavered, letting something uglier show through. "No one's twisting your arm, Doctor. I reckon there's plenty of Doms here can show Holmes a thing or two."
"That won't be necessary," Holmes said loftily. "Dr. Watson and I will find something suitable, I am sure. I simply wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to meet Miss Winter."
"Oh, no chance of that," the incorrigible Johnson assured us, hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. "She's on the job, you see."
"What job is that?" I asked. She and the other couple had disappeared in the time we had been making our acquaintance.
"Nothing fancy, just helping them get settled who want someplace to finish up in private." Johnson leered at me, as if daring me to misunderstand his meaning.
Recalling the alpha's distended trousers and solicitous kisses, the omega's flushed, wet entrance and needy gasps, there was no possibility of that. I believe Johnson hoped I would react with disgust and shock so that he would have an excuse to rescind the invitation that had allowed me to accompany Holmes that night. Holmes, of course, would never hear of leaving until he had achieved his purpose, and I could not let him stay alone. I was certain that Johnson would be only too eager to offer his services to an abandoned omega.
I returned the stare and said only, "We are prepared to wait."
"Then we're all agreed!" The scoundrel rubbed his hands jovially. "You'll go a round or two and when you're done, your gal will be there to yak. I don't mind telling you I'll be interested to see what you fancy."
So that's how it was: we must succumb to the fellow's prurient curiosity in exchange for an interview with the informant. An ugly barter, and not one I was pleased to have entered into. We moved away from the odious alpha into the relative anonymity of the crowd, but I felt his sharp gaze following us. Had we really just agreed to engage in some act of personal violence in exchange for an audience with a hostess of debauchery?
"This is madness, Holmes," I muttered as I followed him deeper into the room.
"A moment of insanity, perhaps. But it will serve a purpose."
"I won't hurt you," I warned him.
But he dismissed my objection out of hand. "It won't be any worse than I've had in the ring."
I mulled this over as we began our circuit, ostensibly on the lookout for a role to emulate, but I was barely aware of the intimate scenes which played out before us. The only thought in my mind was how to get away from this place without having to inflict pain on my beloved friend. It was true that the acts we had witnessed here so far seemed designed not to cause any permanent damage, and that Holmes had been subjected to worse in his life. I knew he spoke the truth when he said he would not be bothered by a few slaps. Still, I could not see my way clear to raise a hand against him, much less a weapon. Yet I knew he would insist, not only in order to be granted access to Kitty Winter but because he would not want to back down from the challenge and lose face with Johnson.
I had one more objection, too. There was an erotic element to many of the demonstrations being put on around us. Contrary to what one might presume, my concern was not touching or being touched in an intimate manner by an alpha, or more to the point, by Holmes. At least not in broader theory. It would be akin, I imagined, to certain explorations on both living subjects and corpses which we were called upon to undertake as students at the medical college. Admittedly, as I would be the subject in this case, I was not anticipating with any large degree of enthusiasm being forced to do so under the eyes of dozens of strangers. But that was still not what had a lump of worry forming in my gut.
I had been able to convince myself quite easily up to this point that it didn't really matter if it came out that Holmes was not truly an omega. At worst, we would be given a scolding and escorted out of the club. However, if we began to engage in anything that so much as hinted at a more intimate connection and Holmes' true gender were to be discovered, we would instantly place ourselves in a precarious position in the eyes of the law.
It was possible that Johnson, for one, knew of Holmes' farce already. Their acquaintance extended back several years, and I did not know whether Holmes had been careful to always apply his perfume and affect his omega qualities on previous occasions. Was that why our host had been so insistent that Holmes and I participate in the night's events? Was he hoping to trap Holmes, or create an opportunity for later blackmail? It was doubly frustrating because I had no chance to draw Holmes aside and share with him my concerns. Yet how many times in the past had I voiced some objection or other, only to discover that Holmes had accounted for and defended against every one, and half a dozen more besides? No, I had to trust that he had prepared for every eventuality, and that we would bear no ill consequences of the night's further course.
We stopped behind a cluster of people surrounding another couple. The nude, collared alpha was standing upright, blindfolded and with a rope wrapped several times around his lower abdomen and hips, trapping his arms at his sides. I was so distracted by the sight of his engorged purple cockstand protruding from between two of the coils of rope, and his bollocks painfully squeezed between two more, that I didn't notice at first the three or four long-stemmed thorny roses wedged in between his buttocks like some kind of unnatural tail.
His omega, a tall, long-nosed woman with carefully coiffed hair and an expression of intense concentration, was rolling the stem of another rose over his bare chest, taking care to prick his nipples every time she passed over them. Tiny spots of blood dotted his skin, and his entire body was taut with tension. After a moment, I understood that he was trying to remain as still as possible under the torture, for every involuntary twitch would cause the thorns trapped between his gluteal muscles to gouge further into the sensitive skin.
The audience apparently approved wholeheartedly of the display, following every move with rapt attention and whispering enthusiastically at every gasp from the trussed-up subject. It was like something out of Dante's most fecund and nefarious fantasies, which almost made me laugh when I remembered where we were. But the momentary insight was quickly pushed aside by the renewed spark of prurient interest unfurling in my loins. It was merely an empathetic response, of course, yet I wondered what it was about the treatment he was undergoing that caused such an enthusiastic reaction in him. Were the nerves somehow misled into signalling pain as pleasure, similar to the sense of cold that was induced through the application of warm eucalyptus oil?
"You find this intriguing," Holmes said in my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear amongst the other couples likewise sharing their opinions between themselves.
"I am intrigued and bewildered by the entire premise of this place," I admitted. "But I cannot muster any enthusiasm for the practice. I am afraid I will not be able to strike you, but if I had to choose anything it would be something along these lines."
"Really, Watson?" Holmes peered at me curiously. "I would have pegged you for a more combative man. Now I am the one who is intrigued."
"Not... the baser responses," I struggled to explain. "I mean the restraints and the more... gentle methods. But even then..." I tried to imagine applying the thorns to Holmes' fair skin, pressing hard enough to puncture the surface and draw his life's blood out of his body. I had done surgery countless times, cut into bodies both living and dead, removed arms and legs, eyes and spleens, been splattered from head to foot with blood, bile, and feces, and rarely shied away from the task. Yet the thought of harming Holmes in even a minor way without a healing purpose, was utterly revolting and repugnant to me. I would do it, of course, if he insisted, but it would be at the cost of great inner struggle.
Holmes continued to stare at me, his brow furrowed. "But Watson, where is that pugilistic fellow so often found in the thick of the fray? I did not imagine this would be so unusual a task; you have never shied away from employing your fists before."
"Against an enemy deserving of reprimand or punishment," I pleaded. "Not my dearest, most beloved companion."
His studious expression collapsed as understanding arrived. He drew me aside to a quiet corner, away from the slaps and cries that continued to resound through the room.
"My dear Watson, forgive me. I have made an error in judgment." His contrition appeared genuine, a condition as astonishing as it was rare.
Nevertheless, relief flooded through me. It was not often that Holmes miscalculated, but coming here to meet Shinwell Johnson had brought us no satisfaction. Even if it meant he lost the chance to find out whatever it was that Kitty Winter knew, it would be better for us to leave this place and return to the safety and sanctuary of Baker Street.
Holmes continued, "I had thought you would prefer to take charge, as a military man. But I failed to account for sentiment. I am afraid it is unfamiliar territory to me. Never mind, we won't dwell on it any longer. Remove the collar from my neck, if you please."
I gladly complied. I had not liked it on him in the first place, and my dislike for it had only increased once I understood its significance. Holmes did not deserve such treatment as was doled out to the guests in this strange place.
"I am confident we can find another way to talk to Miss Winter without going through Shinwell Johnson, if you still feel it necessary for the case," I explained in an attempt to console him.
"Naturally, although it may be too late by then. Gruner is the type who would push for an elopement if he senses the hounds of the opposition nipping at his heels. But if you will trust me just a little longer, Watson, I believe we can wrap up this end of the investigation quite neatly tonight."
"I trust you implicitly, Holmes. Simply tell me what I may do."
"Oh, the faith you place in me, Watson. I hope only that it is not misguided. I am going to ask something of you which you may find terrible, but I pray that when I do, you understand it signifies nothing less than my complete faith in you. And before I speak further, I give you my solemn promise to do nothing that would cause you any kind of mortal pain or suffering. Your welfare is primary to me."
His words gave me pause as possibilities rushed through my head: that I abandon him here, that I denounce him, perhaps even that I commit a violent act against some third person (oh that it would be Shinwell Johnson), but I had not brought my gun and I feared that any of the guests here would simply laugh and beg for more if I were to attack them with my fists. I had no hope of guessing what he might require of me, but no matter what it might be, my answer was plain:
"I am your man," said I.
"Then wear my collar," was his solemn response.
It was quite possibly the last thing I might have imagined he would say. Presently, I came to my senses enough to become aware that I was still holding the thing. I had unwittingly crushed it in my fist, so great was my contempt for what it signified. And now my closest friend was asking me to take on its burden and - if I understood correctly, and I was certain I did - to submit myself to whatever punishment, pain, exposure, and humiliation it held in store.
I had just told him I would do anything, yet now I felt the need to qualify: "Not for that devil Johnson. Anything but that," I growled.
Holmes looked as horrified as I had felt at the thought of the rogue touching him. "Never!" he cried. "Watson, that you would think me capable of allowing such a thing! I will be your commander, director and guide. I will select a task I am confident you will be able to master, and you will scintillate. Yes, the more I consider it the more I like it. I think this trial will be quite interesting after all."
I could see him warming to the idea and knew then that I could not deny him. Where would the harm be, after all? I had to admit that none of the subjects we had seen being worked upon tonight had exhibited any displeasure with their position. Quite the opposite, in fact. I did not understand how pleasure might be gained from being struck, beaten, whipped, or pricked, but it was not necessary for me to enjoy it. I needed only to follow Holmes' command, to allow him to lead me through this as a foot soldier follows his captain through the territory of the enemy. There might be injuries suffered along the way, but the true and valiant leader would ultimately bring his troops across to safety and victory. I had long since recognized that Holmes truly was my commander in this strange civilian world, the one upon whom I relied, in whom I had implicit faith, not because of his great intelligence but because of his great heart.
I agreed.
Holmes asked for the collar and placed it around my neck. It was still warm and supple from his skin, and smelled ever so faintly of him. This, at least, I did not mind. If there were nothing more to it, I might even have been pleased to receive such a token of him. Once he had it fastened, he fussed with it until he was satisfied with its position, turning the buckle to the back so that it would not scrape against my Adam's apple.
"You wear it well," he said finally, his voice low. He lifted his eyes from the leather band to my face and smoothed his hands down my shoulders. I was taken aback at the fierce pride mixed with tenderness I saw in him then.
"As I wear it for you, it is my privilege to do so."
Visibly touched, Holmes squeezed my shoulders once more and stepped back, muttering something about needing to find several items.
Recipient: cleflink
Author: swissmarg
Beta readers: thesmallhobbit, lorelei_lee1968
Verse: ACD
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Word count: 20K
Summary: "I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every time."
The real story behind The Adventure of the Illustrious Client.
Warnings: Mention of non-consensual BDSM (not involving Holmes or Watson)
Notes: Based on The Adventure of the Illustrious Client, which is my new favorite ACD story. This is omegaverse, but a kinder, gentler omegaverse in which there are no heats or mating frenzies.
Read on Archive of Our Own:
The Inferno Club
Read on LJ:
The basic facts of the tale of Baron Adelbert Gruner, Miss Violet de Merville, and Miss Kitty Winter will be familiar to loyal readers of both the Strand and court dockets, but I hope it will not come as a surprise when I divulge that some minor yet key details were withheld or altered in the publicly available report. I have been persuaded to present here an unabridged version for the archives of the Inferno Club, with the strict understanding that no copies are to be made and that the original will reside in the private collection, to be shared only with those of similar bent and used only for the enlightenment and improvement of that particular portion of the club's membership in those practices which are peculiar to it.
Little could we have known when my friend Sherlock Holmes passed me Colonel Sir James Damery's note that it would not only provide the supreme showcase for the great detective's remarkable and diverse talents, but also open a door that would fundamentally alter the course of our lives from that moment forward. It was not quite a year after the end of my second marriage when this remarkable case came to Holmes' attention. I have refrained from detailing my latter foray into wedlock in my published writing for various reasons, chief amongst them being respect for my former spouse and her reputation, but in no less part my own shame at the events which led to her petition for divorce fewer than five years after our wedding. It will be useful now, however, to touch on some pertinent points which may serve to illustrate my state of mind and set the stage for what came after.
The whole unfortunate affair was entirely my fault, of course. I should have known from the start that our natures were incompatible, but I deluded myself into believing that as I had passed the mark of two score years, my natural alpha drives and passions were no longer of consequence, or at least could be ignored in favor of such noble qualities as a temperate character, a firm and economic hand in running the household, and a generous indulgence of my running around with my pal Holmes, as she used to put it.
It wasn't long, however, before we both found ourselves frustrated and ill at ease. That "running around" had a tendency to whip up my blood and excite my temper, delivering me back to my homestead in a state which my dear first wife, Mary, had found pleasantly invigorating and eminently compatible with her omega biology.
My second wife, however, was a beta both in body and at heart, and naturally did not share the same proclivities and interests, although she never spoke a word of complaint. As a dutiful spouse, she did her best to accommodate me, and I in turn to avoid inconveniencing her, but our intimate interactions soon lost all semblance of warm spousal affection and became nothing more than a study in duty, denial, and dread.
Now that all is said and done, with the insight that so often comes after the fact, I believe the true source of my altered state lay not in the thrill of the adventure itself, but in the person of my companion, Sherlock Holmes. To witness the perfectly attuned interaction of the physical and the mental which he embodied, the lightning fast reactions of his razor-sharp mind and his finely honed physique, the noble heart reflected in those features as perfectly formed as if chiseled by the hand of a master, led to an admiration of both his form and his functions coupled with a fervor that bordered on obsession and a possessiveness which I judged entirely natural and innocent. I was after all not an invert and never considered that the life force which quickened in me at the sight and even thought of the great detective could be anything more than an expression of the deep bond of comradeship which often forms between men of many years' acquaintance, who have faced down death and celebrated life together. We were alpha brothers-in-arms, like-minded souls, companions in toil and tears, our mutual devotion transcending bonds of blood or marriage... and, as it transpired, the law.
Such was my condition, then, when Colonel Damery requested an audience that Thursday afternoon. The interview was intriguing but in the end did not seem the sort of thing that would attract Holmes' attention. In the first place, our visitor refused to name the benefactor who had sent him on his errand, and it is Holmes' sworn policy only to work for clients who divulge their full history to him. (I know now that he had deduced the identity of the bashful client by the end of Colonel Damery's first visit, although he did not reveal it to me. Consequentially, he never actually disregarded his credo.)
The second, more compelling point it seemed to me, was that there was no murder to be solved, no mystery at all to be discovered. Holmes' sole charge was to be the convincing of Miss De Merville not to marry the erstwhile Austrian wife-killer, Baron Adelbert Gruner. I speculated that Holmes' interest might have been piqued by the circumstances of the first Baroness Gruner's death, of which her husband was certainly the cause but for which he had neatly and under suspicious circumstances side-stepped being brought to justice. Not so; that which had stumped even the combined police forces of the kingdoms of Austria and Bohemia was deemed too mundane for Holmes' attention. Instead, he intended turning his intellect to matching wits with a man whom he declared - in chilling reminiscence of his unlamented departed nemesis, Professor James Moriarty - to be in possession of a complex mind, as all great criminals are, and accepted Colonel Damery's challenge.
~~.~~.~~
I suspected as soon as I saw Holmes from across the dining room at Simpson's later on that same evening that he was "shamming omega". He had a certain way of comporting himself, a slight looseness about the hips that invited thoughts of plush, slick flesh and a straight-legged gait that belittled his most salient alpha trait. My suspicion was confirmed as soon as I took my seat and the light, sweet scent wafted across the table. It was a perfume of his own invention, perfected over the years until not even I, who knew its origin, could distinguish it from the emanations of a born omega. Yet despite its verisimilitude it did not tempt me nor stir any desire in my loins. I know this was no fault of the concoction itself, as I had seen alphas falling over themselves to fawn on Holmes when he applied it. Instead, I was gripped by the usual irrational sense of unease that came over me whenever Holmes appeared before me in this guise.
He was a virtuoso in the art of costuming and disguise and through the course of our many years of acquaintance I had witnessed him in every form from rakish scoundrel and heavy-browed thug to gentried matron. Yet no alter ego agitated me to such a degree as that of the false omega, even (or perhaps especially) when the rest of him remained Holmes. It was wrong in the way of a two-headed calf or a midnight sun, and it made me want to do nothing more than tear his clothes off and cleanse his body of the false scent with my bare hands.
It was a confusing impulse, to say the least.
Holmes' accursed lips quirked ever so slightly with smug suffisance as he registered my uncontrolled reaction.
"The sole will be dry: the head waiter's cravat had a faint orange stain which--"
I tuned out the rest of his no doubt brilliant elucidations and looked around for a waiter so that I could order something stronger than the white wine which had already been decanted into a carafe on the table. He had even modulated his voice, pitching it slightly higher and softening his consonants. It was for Sir James' case, certainly. It was always for a case, as far as I was aware. I was suddenly disappointed, for that meant he might spring up in pursuit of some suspect at any moment. After a late afternoon spent wrestling with some financial matters associated with my practice, I had been looking forward to an unrushed dinner, followed by a long evening of cigars and brandy with Holmes back at his rooms in Baker Street.
When the waiter responded to my gesture, I ordered both a gin and the sole.
Holmes grinned openly and launched into a resumé of his plans for the investigation. I tamped down my unnecessary sentiments and attempted to be of some use, as a sounding board if nothing else, as he once again went over the facts. There was nothing new, aside from some suggestion that he might consult one of his underworld informants, until he let drop that he had visited the very villain himself, Baron Gruner, that afternoon.
My eyes widened. "You don't mean to say you called on him like that." I nodded meaningfully at his person, knowing he would understand me. The Baron was a devil of an alpha who made a living preying on omegas across the continent. To walk into his parlor under the pretense of being one was akin to a fly dropping in on a spider.
Holmes lifted his wine glass and held it delicately by the stem. His eyes gleamed in the unfamiliar yellow glow of the electric lights which had recently been installed in the establishment. "You heard Sir James' assertion that Gruner is said to have the whole of the omega gender at his mercy. I was interested to see how he would attempt to overcome me. I'm afraid I left disappointed in that regard."
"Holmes, this is no light matter," I said with a disapproving frown. "The man is notorious, the worst of his breed. There's no telling what he might have done."
Holmes appeared delighted at the scolding. "Good old Watson!" he exclaimed. "I assure you I was perfectly safe. He has breeding in him, all right. He is a real aristocrat of crime and an excellent antagonist. If there had been even the slightest suggestion of danger, I would have asked you to come along, my dear."
I should have been mollified by his last remark, but Holmes continued to sing Gruner's praises and I set to sawing at my dried-out - and by now cold - fish. I supposed I should count myself lucky that Holmes was merely amused by my reprimand rather than offended. It might have been taken as a disparagement of his abilities or judgment. I knew full well that Holmes could take care of himself and was quite a neat boxer when the occasion called for it. I put it down to the omega perfume. Perhaps it had an effect on me after all, although I could not deny that I had similar desires to protect and preserve my friend from harm even when he was acting his native alpha through and through.
I was half lost in my muddled thoughts and still anticipating a quiet end to the evening when Holmes tossed his serviette abruptly onto his plate and rubbed his hands briskly together.
"Well now, Watson, finish your coffee. Friend Shinwell has invited us to his club, and we will need to stop off at Baker Street first."
~~.~~.~~
In my previously published account, I placed our appointment with Shinwell Johnson at Holmes' residence. In fact, we were to meet him - being one of Holmes' most valuable contacts amongst the less savory elements of the city - at a notorious club Johnson frequented. It will become clear why it was necessary to obfuscate on this point shortly.
"Nothing I can say will prepare you, Watson," Holmes explained once we had gained his rooms. He went straightaway to a cabinet and pulled out a box where he kept various accessories and embellishments for his disguises. "I will warn you only that it is a peculiar place, where ladies and gentlemen, alphas and omegas, gather to indulge in an exclusive form of entertainment. It will probably be most helpful if you think of it as a kind of clinic where its members may receive treatments they cannot find anywhere else. Oh, and put this on me, if you please."
He handed me a black leather band about an inch thick and a little longer than my forearm. It looked like nothing more than a very short belt, with a silver buckle at the end to fasten it.
"I'm afraid you're going to need to tighten your corset rather severely if you want to fit this," I joked.
"It goes around the neck," he corrected me, stepping close and lifting his chin.
He still smelled like omega, and the dichotomy was even more irritating in close quarters than it had been across the table earlier. Now that he was near enough for me to discern the wine from dinner on his breath, I also caught a whiff of a faint secondary note that I immediately identified as his own particular scent. I did not think it was marked enough for a stranger to be confused or suspect that he was anything other than the omega he portrayed, but I found myself leaning in to chase the fleeting olfactory trail back to its source, greedily inhaling the air that was infused with those precious emanations. Before I knew it I had the brief, disconcerting urge to lean in and sink my teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder at the back of his neck, but the horror at the realization that I was actually imagining bond-biting my alpha friend quickly doused the fantasy. I jerked back, momentarily dazed.
"Is it a token that will gain us admittance?" I asked presently. I knew that some clubs distributed a ribbon, scarf, pin, or other small item as a sign of membership, although I had never before heard of nor seen a leather strap around the neck serve such a purpose. The question was posed with what I felt was exemplary calm as I lifted the piece to place it against the pale skin of his exposed throat, resting my wrists on his shoulders to steady them and conceal the shakiness that had inexplicably come over me.
"A mere formality, nothing more," he assured me, but where he had lifted his chin I could see his pulse beating rapidly in the hidden hollow beneath his jaw, belying the detachedness of his words.
I hesitated again, my gaze flicking from that traitorous spot to his face. He had closed his eyes and flared his nostrils as if inhaling an elusive yet exquisite vapor, his features betraying a wistfulness and perhaps even desire that both surprised and disquieted me. For unless he had developed a strong and sudden affinity for tanned cow hide, the only other proximate source of a scent he rarely enjoyed so intimately was myself. I had not doused myself in a masking omega scent, and to judge by the pace at which my heart was presently hammering in my chest and the rising temperature inside my collar, I would be fairly reeking of alpha.
I became suddenly and pointedly aware of how close we were standing, the solid expanse of his chest mere inches from mine. For all that he gave the impression of having a narrow frame, it was an illusion caused by his height and the long, concealing mantles and cloaks he wore. He was in reality a powerful specimen, his musculature well developed and maintained in top form by the sparring matches in which he frequently participated.
I had never before wondered at his lack of interest in forming any intimate connections. He always said he had no use for omegas, and I took him at his word. Truly, there was no place for a mate in his life. He was satisfied with his dabblings and investigations, and the hours he kept would have driven any omega in their right mind to distraction. But in that moment - and truthfully, in many other moments during our acquaintance that I had habitually dismissed as preposterous and unlikely - I saw another possibility. Not that he was an invert; no, I did not believe he desired his own gender any more than he did either of the other two. But at that moment, I had to wonder if the tender look on his face were not a reflection of the same suppressed impulses to which I was subject from time to time, and had narrowly escaped succumbing to scant moments ago.
He must have noticed that I had paused in my task, as his eyes snapped open and his expression returned to its usual aloofness. I tried to do the same, the realization that my face was even more likely than his to have revealed my thoughts making it difficult to achieve. I hurriedly lowered my gaze to the buckle and fumbled to fasten it in place. My fingers could not help but brush his neck as I did so, and it took all my willpower not to continue the caress up to cup his jaw in my palm.
Finally, I snatched my hand away, clenching my fist. "Must you wear that hideous perfume?" I said gruffly.
He stepped back, straightening his waistcoat and craning his neck as if to test the feel of the leather circlet. "I'm afraid it is a requirement of the club that every alpha guest be accompanied by an omega and vice versa. And forgive me, Watson, but even with the assistance of the most potent chemicals, it would be quite obvious to even the most unobservant stooge that you are an alpha."
I blushed, thinking he was drawing attention to my unacted-upon impulses of moments ago and the resultant wash of alpha elixir coursing through my veins. Then his words penetrated even that red-hot layer of shame, and it dawned on me what he was proposing.
"Then I am to be... That is, you are to be..." I blustered, not quite sure why the idea disconcerted me as much as it did. Two gentlemen of opposing gender might easily attend a club together without being more than superficially acquainted. For surely he intended nothing further.
"A mere formality, as I said." He reached for his hat and held the door open whilst I gathered my own hat and cane.
"Will I not need a token as well?"
"You mean the collar? No, only one member of each pair wears one. You needn't fret; I have no doubt you will be a natural in your role tonight, Watson."
~~.~~.~~
It is difficult now to recall with any precision, as the memory of that first visit has since been overlaid with many subsequent ones, but I believe that the first thing which my senses registered when the heavy padded door of the Inferno Club swung open to admit us were the sounds. I was used to hearing voices upon entering a club: the murmur of conversation punctuated with bouts of laughter, greetings called out across the room or even the occasional raised tones of a heated argument. I was unprepared for the grunts accompanying the sharp report of leather on slick skin, the hissed intake of breath following the cutting slash of a birch switch through the air, the breathy, high-pitched pleas for "one more, please, sir," and the panting moans of intimate physical pleasure.
The next of my senses to be assaulted was my nose, as it was met by an odiferous melange of smells. Cigar smoke and candle wax, leather and oil, the briny tang of sweat and the biting odor of human exertion, the faintest metallic whiff of blood or iron paired with a strangely floral note, and most peculiarly a scent I associated exclusively with the medicinal application of the violet ray, which I had seen demonstrated at a conference in Paris just before the turn of the recent century. Whilst I had not yet procured a model for my own practice, it was already all the rage as a treatment for ailments ranging from arthritis to tumors. This alone might have supported Holmes' description of the place as a kind of medical institution, were it not for all the rest.
The room itself was unremarkable, resembling a tastefully appointed, if relatively large, parlor. Its walls were covered in wallpaper with a modern, dark green floral pattern and accessorized with the usual mirrors, portraits, and classical paintings. The gas lamps on the walls were turned down to achieve a nostalgic, twilight effect, which was further enhanced by the faint haze that hovered near the ceiling. The fashionably upholstered chairs and sofas scattered in clusters around the space offered ample opportunities for repose. Potted plants and vases filled with fresh flowers added the final touch of refinement. However, those were all details which utterly bypassed my notice that evening, their impact becoming inconsequential in comparison to the actors who peopled the scene, and the acts they were engaged in.
Here was an alpha man locked in the stocks, his trousers pulled halfway down to accommodate an omega woman - armed with a broad wooden paddle - in maltreating his bared bottom. There a female omega wearing nothing but a thin white shift, her arms held up by ropes suspended from a hook in the ceiling, being beaten by an alpha female wielding a tentacled flogger. And just over the shoulder of another gentleman, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a woman - I could not discern whether alpha or omega - draped across a lap and being spanked quite thoroughly with the switch I had heard before.
Each of these dioramas had attracted a handful or more observers, who stood by or lounged in one of the conveniently placed seats, watching the punishments - for such I assumed they were - with attitudes ranging from curiosity and appraisal to morbid fascination and outright lechery. The entire tableau resembled something out of a medieval manuscript on Catholic torture methods, yet I could not detect anything sinister in the atmosphere. Holmes had hesitated to describe this place in any detail, yet I was certain he would have warned me were there any danger or chance of harm coming to either of us.
I was about to turn to him and pose the first of the many questions urging themselves upon me when a nearby buzzing drew my attention. I looked to my right and discovered an omega man kneeling on all fours on top of a table, entirely nude, his legs spread and fixed in place with ropes threaded through metal loops on the sides of the table. The position exposed his most intimate parts in a shockingly graphic manner to all and sundry, but most especially to an alpha standing directly behind him.
The latter was of middle years, with a high forehead, thick black mustache, and ruddy complexion that spoke of a penchant for horses and hunting. He was fully clothed, but even from my disadvantageous angle I could not miss the prominent protuberance swelling his trousers beneath his belt. The omega on the table was likewise signalling readiness for connubial congress, his sex flushed red and swollen, the hairs surrounding it dark with moisture from the copious amounts of the clear mucous material it was secreting that would ease his lover's entrance. Even at a distance of several feet, I could smell the evidence of his interest and could not help my body responding instinctively to his intense omega scent.
I surmised that we were witnessing another spanking - for what purpose I could not fathom, for it appeared both alpha and omega were highly pleased with each other - when I was surprised to see the alpha reach his hand forward, wielding the violet ray whose distinctive scent I had apprehended earlier. Rather than pressing the glass wand firmly against his omega's skin to achieve the proper therapeutic affect, however, to my horror he carefully guided it between the bound man's legs until it was a finger's breadth away from the vestigial member which hung limply beneath his belly, and held it steady there in the air. I cringed, anticipating the crack of discharge and the bright violet light which arced from the instrument to the helpless appendage. The omega jerked forward against his bonds and cried out a word that might have been "Nine!" even as the crowd (for the display had garnered a respectable audience in addition to Holmes and myself) gasped in unison.
I must have cried out as well, or given some other indication of my instinct to rush forward and preserve the poor fellow, for I instantly felt a hand at my elbow, a body at my side, and a familiar voice in my ear.
"Observe, Watson," it admonished.
The brutal alpha was now stroking the abused omega's rump, murmuring praises with an expression of such tenderness on his face I could not believe it was the very same man who had moments ago administered such a cruel treatment. The omega was breathing heavily, his flanks heaving and his head hung down between his shoulders. The alpha bent over to drop a kiss onto his omega's buttock while his hand slid in between. It was impossible to see what he did there, but the omega seemed to approve, rolling his hips and making sounds that drove even more of my own blood into places where it would soon become troublesome. Common dignity demanded that I look away, yet I felt compelled to discover the purpose of the exercise. Holmes had urged me to observe; ergo, it followed that there must be something he wished for me to discover.
Just when the omega seemed on the verge of completion, the alpha abruptly withdrew and straightened. "One more," he said, his voice betraying how far gone he was himself despite the authoritative tone. "Just one more, darling. I know you can do it."
The omega nodded and firmed his back, bracing for the inevitable. I watched along with the others now in breathless fascination as the alpha moved the buzzing apparatus forward once more, and this time when the report sounded and the omega croaked out, "Ten!" before collapsing into a shuddering heap cradled in his alpha's arms, I felt not disgust and shock but pride, relief and approval that he had withstood the test.
"A rather extreme initiatory ritual," I muttered to Holmes beneath the excited murmuring of the other guests, for I now believed that was what these trials were.
The horrible suspicion had already begun to form in my gut that the two of us would be expected to undergo a similar ordeal when Holmes replied, "That was no initiation, Watson. That was the main event. It is for this purpose that the club was founded, and that its members gather."
I raised my eyes to his in confusion and disbelief, but again before I could pursue the matter we were hailed by a large, red-faced man with the blotchy skin of the scorbutic and a pungent, sour aroma I often picked up from other alphas, Holmes and a scant handful excepted. I took an instant and virulent dislike to him. His vivid black eyes revealed the cunning mind hidden behind his coarse exterior, and I knew before he spoke that this was Shinwell Johnson.
"Well, Holmes, I see you've found your way down to Hell." Johnson clapped one fat hand on his shoulder and shook Holmes' hand vigorously with the other. I didn't like the way his beady eyes gleamed greedily as he took note of the collar around my companion's neck, and I stepped up to Holmes' side. If I had understood the rules of this place, I was his alpha tonight, and I did not intend to let another usurp my role.
"Dr. Watson and I have just arrived."
"A doctor, is he!" Then, turning to me: "I wonder what you make of all of this."
"I am baffled," I admitted.
"It's all in good fun, you'll see," Johnson assured me. "There are some who like to pack a wallop and some who like to get walloped. Ha! Well, you will see indeed."
"You mentioned something about an omega who might have some information for us," Holmes cut in before I could formulate a reply to those rather cryptic remarks.
Johnson looked from Holmes to me in surprise. "You let him speak for you? If he were my sub, he'd get a lash or two for that." I was unfamiliar with the term he used, but understood that his statement was an insult to the both of us. Holmes might not genuinely be my omega, but even if we had not been playing at it, I would have bristled at the attempt to impugn my alphahood and challenge our relationship.
Holmes, however, was not intimidated. "As long as it were a tongue-lashing, I'd be willing to take the licks," he adroitly parried.
It appeared this was a satisfactory answer, as Johnson threw back his head and roared with laughter. "By God, there's one for the books. For that I'll tell you Kitty Winter's the gal you want." He shoved his chin back toward the couple with the violet ray.
The omega had now been released from his bonds, and his alpha was helping him down from the table with the assistance of a slim, flame-haired young omega woman. She might have been pretty were it not for the pinched set of her pale face and the marks which only years of hard, sinful living can leave behind. She bore a white sheet, which she draped around the male omega's shoulders. As it settled, I noticed that he wore a collar around his neck similar to the one Holmes had had me put on him. It was not identical, however, being broader and brown. The alpha had no collar at all, and the female omega - Kitty Winter, I presumed - displayed a pretty silver trinket gleaming proudly around her slender neck.
I looked around at the other couples playing out their scenes, realizing that the victims all had collars of different shapes and sizes whereas the perpetrators' necks were bare. Shinwell Johnson did not have a collar, which made me distrust him even more. Had Holmes not said that alphas were only admitted together with an omega? Where then was his? And why had he insisted on Holmes coming here, tonight, when we might have conducted the interview in Holmes' rooms instead?
I was distracted from my suspicions by the sight of Johnson's meaty hand moving toward Holmes. I was on the verge of knocking it away before I could even think about it, until I realized he was only stopping Holmes from moving toward Miss Winter and the others.
"Here now, you've only just arrived," Shinwell Johnson said in a jovial enough sort of manner that made me want to knock a tooth or two out of his head. "What about a bit of fun before you get down to business?"
"That won't be necessary," Holmes rejoined, and I quite agreed. The sooner we were quit of this place, the better.
"I don't know, Mr. Holmes," Johnson said with a hard glint in his flinty eyes. "I say it is. After I went to all the trouble of wrangling you an invitation."
"And if I say that time is of the essence, and that a woman's life is at stake?"
"Then I say you'd best make up your mind, or Kitty'll keep for another time. Go on then, be a sport. Dr. Watson's seen a thing or two he likes anyway, I'll warrant." His dark gaze flicked down my body, as if picking up every sign of my involuntary reactions to the sights, sounds, and smells around us, and most particularly of the wanton omega.
"I've seen some things I haven't liked much," I said directly, not caring if it angered our interlocutor.
The good-natured sheen on Johnson's countenance wavered, letting something uglier show through. "No one's twisting your arm, Doctor. I reckon there's plenty of Doms here can show Holmes a thing or two."
"That won't be necessary," Holmes said loftily. "Dr. Watson and I will find something suitable, I am sure. I simply wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to meet Miss Winter."
"Oh, no chance of that," the incorrigible Johnson assured us, hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. "She's on the job, you see."
"What job is that?" I asked. She and the other couple had disappeared in the time we had been making our acquaintance.
"Nothing fancy, just helping them get settled who want someplace to finish up in private." Johnson leered at me, as if daring me to misunderstand his meaning.
Recalling the alpha's distended trousers and solicitous kisses, the omega's flushed, wet entrance and needy gasps, there was no possibility of that. I believe Johnson hoped I would react with disgust and shock so that he would have an excuse to rescind the invitation that had allowed me to accompany Holmes that night. Holmes, of course, would never hear of leaving until he had achieved his purpose, and I could not let him stay alone. I was certain that Johnson would be only too eager to offer his services to an abandoned omega.
I returned the stare and said only, "We are prepared to wait."
"Then we're all agreed!" The scoundrel rubbed his hands jovially. "You'll go a round or two and when you're done, your gal will be there to yak. I don't mind telling you I'll be interested to see what you fancy."
So that's how it was: we must succumb to the fellow's prurient curiosity in exchange for an interview with the informant. An ugly barter, and not one I was pleased to have entered into. We moved away from the odious alpha into the relative anonymity of the crowd, but I felt his sharp gaze following us. Had we really just agreed to engage in some act of personal violence in exchange for an audience with a hostess of debauchery?
"This is madness, Holmes," I muttered as I followed him deeper into the room.
"A moment of insanity, perhaps. But it will serve a purpose."
"I won't hurt you," I warned him.
But he dismissed my objection out of hand. "It won't be any worse than I've had in the ring."
I mulled this over as we began our circuit, ostensibly on the lookout for a role to emulate, but I was barely aware of the intimate scenes which played out before us. The only thought in my mind was how to get away from this place without having to inflict pain on my beloved friend. It was true that the acts we had witnessed here so far seemed designed not to cause any permanent damage, and that Holmes had been subjected to worse in his life. I knew he spoke the truth when he said he would not be bothered by a few slaps. Still, I could not see my way clear to raise a hand against him, much less a weapon. Yet I knew he would insist, not only in order to be granted access to Kitty Winter but because he would not want to back down from the challenge and lose face with Johnson.
I had one more objection, too. There was an erotic element to many of the demonstrations being put on around us. Contrary to what one might presume, my concern was not touching or being touched in an intimate manner by an alpha, or more to the point, by Holmes. At least not in broader theory. It would be akin, I imagined, to certain explorations on both living subjects and corpses which we were called upon to undertake as students at the medical college. Admittedly, as I would be the subject in this case, I was not anticipating with any large degree of enthusiasm being forced to do so under the eyes of dozens of strangers. But that was still not what had a lump of worry forming in my gut.
I had been able to convince myself quite easily up to this point that it didn't really matter if it came out that Holmes was not truly an omega. At worst, we would be given a scolding and escorted out of the club. However, if we began to engage in anything that so much as hinted at a more intimate connection and Holmes' true gender were to be discovered, we would instantly place ourselves in a precarious position in the eyes of the law.
It was possible that Johnson, for one, knew of Holmes' farce already. Their acquaintance extended back several years, and I did not know whether Holmes had been careful to always apply his perfume and affect his omega qualities on previous occasions. Was that why our host had been so insistent that Holmes and I participate in the night's events? Was he hoping to trap Holmes, or create an opportunity for later blackmail? It was doubly frustrating because I had no chance to draw Holmes aside and share with him my concerns. Yet how many times in the past had I voiced some objection or other, only to discover that Holmes had accounted for and defended against every one, and half a dozen more besides? No, I had to trust that he had prepared for every eventuality, and that we would bear no ill consequences of the night's further course.
We stopped behind a cluster of people surrounding another couple. The nude, collared alpha was standing upright, blindfolded and with a rope wrapped several times around his lower abdomen and hips, trapping his arms at his sides. I was so distracted by the sight of his engorged purple cockstand protruding from between two of the coils of rope, and his bollocks painfully squeezed between two more, that I didn't notice at first the three or four long-stemmed thorny roses wedged in between his buttocks like some kind of unnatural tail.
His omega, a tall, long-nosed woman with carefully coiffed hair and an expression of intense concentration, was rolling the stem of another rose over his bare chest, taking care to prick his nipples every time she passed over them. Tiny spots of blood dotted his skin, and his entire body was taut with tension. After a moment, I understood that he was trying to remain as still as possible under the torture, for every involuntary twitch would cause the thorns trapped between his gluteal muscles to gouge further into the sensitive skin.
The audience apparently approved wholeheartedly of the display, following every move with rapt attention and whispering enthusiastically at every gasp from the trussed-up subject. It was like something out of Dante's most fecund and nefarious fantasies, which almost made me laugh when I remembered where we were. But the momentary insight was quickly pushed aside by the renewed spark of prurient interest unfurling in my loins. It was merely an empathetic response, of course, yet I wondered what it was about the treatment he was undergoing that caused such an enthusiastic reaction in him. Were the nerves somehow misled into signalling pain as pleasure, similar to the sense of cold that was induced through the application of warm eucalyptus oil?
"You find this intriguing," Holmes said in my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear amongst the other couples likewise sharing their opinions between themselves.
"I am intrigued and bewildered by the entire premise of this place," I admitted. "But I cannot muster any enthusiasm for the practice. I am afraid I will not be able to strike you, but if I had to choose anything it would be something along these lines."
"Really, Watson?" Holmes peered at me curiously. "I would have pegged you for a more combative man. Now I am the one who is intrigued."
"Not... the baser responses," I struggled to explain. "I mean the restraints and the more... gentle methods. But even then..." I tried to imagine applying the thorns to Holmes' fair skin, pressing hard enough to puncture the surface and draw his life's blood out of his body. I had done surgery countless times, cut into bodies both living and dead, removed arms and legs, eyes and spleens, been splattered from head to foot with blood, bile, and feces, and rarely shied away from the task. Yet the thought of harming Holmes in even a minor way without a healing purpose, was utterly revolting and repugnant to me. I would do it, of course, if he insisted, but it would be at the cost of great inner struggle.
Holmes continued to stare at me, his brow furrowed. "But Watson, where is that pugilistic fellow so often found in the thick of the fray? I did not imagine this would be so unusual a task; you have never shied away from employing your fists before."
"Against an enemy deserving of reprimand or punishment," I pleaded. "Not my dearest, most beloved companion."
His studious expression collapsed as understanding arrived. He drew me aside to a quiet corner, away from the slaps and cries that continued to resound through the room.
"My dear Watson, forgive me. I have made an error in judgment." His contrition appeared genuine, a condition as astonishing as it was rare.
Nevertheless, relief flooded through me. It was not often that Holmes miscalculated, but coming here to meet Shinwell Johnson had brought us no satisfaction. Even if it meant he lost the chance to find out whatever it was that Kitty Winter knew, it would be better for us to leave this place and return to the safety and sanctuary of Baker Street.
Holmes continued, "I had thought you would prefer to take charge, as a military man. But I failed to account for sentiment. I am afraid it is unfamiliar territory to me. Never mind, we won't dwell on it any longer. Remove the collar from my neck, if you please."
I gladly complied. I had not liked it on him in the first place, and my dislike for it had only increased once I understood its significance. Holmes did not deserve such treatment as was doled out to the guests in this strange place.
"I am confident we can find another way to talk to Miss Winter without going through Shinwell Johnson, if you still feel it necessary for the case," I explained in an attempt to console him.
"Naturally, although it may be too late by then. Gruner is the type who would push for an elopement if he senses the hounds of the opposition nipping at his heels. But if you will trust me just a little longer, Watson, I believe we can wrap up this end of the investigation quite neatly tonight."
"I trust you implicitly, Holmes. Simply tell me what I may do."
"Oh, the faith you place in me, Watson. I hope only that it is not misguided. I am going to ask something of you which you may find terrible, but I pray that when I do, you understand it signifies nothing less than my complete faith in you. And before I speak further, I give you my solemn promise to do nothing that would cause you any kind of mortal pain or suffering. Your welfare is primary to me."
His words gave me pause as possibilities rushed through my head: that I abandon him here, that I denounce him, perhaps even that I commit a violent act against some third person (oh that it would be Shinwell Johnson), but I had not brought my gun and I feared that any of the guests here would simply laugh and beg for more if I were to attack them with my fists. I had no hope of guessing what he might require of me, but no matter what it might be, my answer was plain:
"I am your man," said I.
"Then wear my collar," was his solemn response.
It was quite possibly the last thing I might have imagined he would say. Presently, I came to my senses enough to become aware that I was still holding the thing. I had unwittingly crushed it in my fist, so great was my contempt for what it signified. And now my closest friend was asking me to take on its burden and - if I understood correctly, and I was certain I did - to submit myself to whatever punishment, pain, exposure, and humiliation it held in store.
I had just told him I would do anything, yet now I felt the need to qualify: "Not for that devil Johnson. Anything but that," I growled.
Holmes looked as horrified as I had felt at the thought of the rogue touching him. "Never!" he cried. "Watson, that you would think me capable of allowing such a thing! I will be your commander, director and guide. I will select a task I am confident you will be able to master, and you will scintillate. Yes, the more I consider it the more I like it. I think this trial will be quite interesting after all."
I could see him warming to the idea and knew then that I could not deny him. Where would the harm be, after all? I had to admit that none of the subjects we had seen being worked upon tonight had exhibited any displeasure with their position. Quite the opposite, in fact. I did not understand how pleasure might be gained from being struck, beaten, whipped, or pricked, but it was not necessary for me to enjoy it. I needed only to follow Holmes' command, to allow him to lead me through this as a foot soldier follows his captain through the territory of the enemy. There might be injuries suffered along the way, but the true and valiant leader would ultimately bring his troops across to safety and victory. I had long since recognized that Holmes truly was my commander in this strange civilian world, the one upon whom I relied, in whom I had implicit faith, not because of his great intelligence but because of his great heart.
I agreed.
Holmes asked for the collar and placed it around my neck. It was still warm and supple from his skin, and smelled ever so faintly of him. This, at least, I did not mind. If there were nothing more to it, I might even have been pleased to receive such a token of him. Once he had it fastened, he fussed with it until he was satisfied with its position, turning the buckle to the back so that it would not scrape against my Adam's apple.
"You wear it well," he said finally, his voice low. He lifted his eyes from the leather band to my face and smoothed his hands down my shoulders. I was taken aback at the fierce pride mixed with tenderness I saw in him then.
"As I wear it for you, it is my privilege to do so."
Visibly touched, Holmes squeezed my shoulders once more and stepped back, muttering something about needing to find several items.