Title: Improprieties
Author: LavenderJade
Email: lavenderjade@comcast.net
Website: www.geocities.com/lavenderjade925
Fandom: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes/Watson/Mary
Archive: WWOMB; However Improbable; others please ask
Rating: [NC-17; FRAO]
Series: none
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for fun, not profit
Warnings: first time; threesome
Notes: This is my first story in this fandom. It is set approximately one year after Watson's marriage to Mary Morstan. It was inspired by two things. Firstly, somebody on the holmesslash list asked if there were any stories featuring a threesome with Mary. Having never met a threesome I didn't like, I felt obligated to produce one. Secondly, I found myself wondering: "What if Mary was a slasher like us?" And so ...

***

Chapter One: Mary

From the study doorway, I watched my husband closely. A year had passed since our wedding day, and I could not be happier.  John is a kindly man, a good provider with his medical practice, and perhaps best of all, he values my mind as much as my body.  I am no simpering child like so many 'ladies' of society.  No, I am very much my father's daughter, intelligent and well spoken - and somewhat willful. 

 

Although I had been denied the teachings of my own mother, I had been most fortunate in finding a post with dear Mrs. Forrester.  My employer had treated me almost as a daughter, and I suppose felt she had found in me a kindred spirit.  When John and I announced our marriage, she had taken me aside and offered to share certain ... secrets of the marriage bed.  Without my own mother to turn to, I eagerly accepted her generous offer.  I had long known that there was more to these matters than a 'proper lady' is supposed to know; however I had no idea how to discover them myself.  Fortunately, Mrs. Forrester was no more a 'proper lady' at heart than I.  She prepared me well, insisting that there was no shame in a woman taking as much pleasure as she gave.  As such, I was not only knowledgeable in the marriage bed, but a willing, nay, even eager participant.

 

I remember the shock on poor John's face when, on our wedding night, I had come to him without fear.  I knew that as a gentleman, he had some experience of women, but expected me to have none of men.  Of course I had no direct experience, however I knew intellectually what to expect.   My ... enthusiasm had taken him by surprise.  However, after the pleasures we discovered together that night, John counted himself a lucky man!

 

This night, however, I was watching closely to confirm something I had been wondering about since before our marriage.  For this night we had a dinner guest, John's former flat-mate, none other than the great Sherlock Holmes himself.  Holmes held a special place in both our hearts for his role in bringing us together in the course of a case I had begged his assistance in solving.  And of course, as John's best friend and colleague of many years.

 

Even before John had proposed to me, however, I had been taken by the relationship between the two men.  Holmes liked to present to the world the image of the cold, calculating logician, a man beyond the petty human distraction of emotions.  And yet, beneath that cold exterior, I was sure a human heart beat softly in the background.  And if any human being were to be permitted to see it, that man would be my John, his Watson.

 

A year ago when we had married, we had both been flush with the discovery of our love.  Holmes had of course made some half-hearted comments about the folly of following one's heart, but had taken his place at John's side on our wedding day.  While everyone else's attentions were on the bride and groom, I had the chance to watch the great man.  I was sure I had seen something in his eyes that day, a bitterness, a look of dreadful loss.  It had only lasted a moment, but I was sure I had seen it.  Since then, I have always felt a little guilty at taking John away from him.

 

Since our marriage, Holmes had visited us for dinner on a few occasions; more often, he stopped by later in the evening to chat with John in his study after supper.  Watching the two together over the past year had made me wonder if they themselves understood what there was between them.  So tonight, I watched my John as he greeted his old friend at the door, and throughout the evening.  Holmes was at his charming best; and yet I knew it to be an act.  My womanly intuition cut through the smokescreen, seeking out the emotions underneath.  Holmes was sad!  As if, after a year, he had finally admitted to himself that his Watson wasn't coming home to Baker Street after all.  To my eyes, he seemed a lost and lonely little boy who had lost his best friend.  But there was even more than that. 

 

John, too, seemed different around the great detective.  They sat now in his study; I stood in the doorway watching them for a few minutes before entering to deliver their coffee.  At times, the bond between them seemed almost a physical thing, something you could hold in your hands.  Oh, they argued vociferously about this and that, enjoying the debate for its own sake.  But every now and then, a look, a softening of the voice, that spoke the truth.  I nodded to myself, delivered the coffee, and retired for the evening.

 

That evening, after Holmes left, John joined me in our bed.  I wasn't the least bit surprised that this night, John made no move to touch me.  He never did after one of Holmes' visits.  As we settled down for the night, I spoke.

 

"It was good to see Mr. Holmes again, wasn't it, dear?"

 

"Hmm ...yes, yes of course, Mary."

 

"Is something wrong, John?"

 

"What?  Why do you ask?"

 

"You seem ... preoccupied."

 

Watson sighed.  // She is almost as perceptive as Holmes himself! // "Something seemed, ... odd about him tonight, my dear.  He insisted that nothing was wrong, but ..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

 

I gave a soft laugh.  "Can it be, my dear, that you truly don't know?  Never figured it out in all these years you have known him?"

 

John looked at me, perplexed.  "Whatever are you talking about, my dear?"

 

"John, he loves you."

 

He glared at me, knowing what I was saying, but refusing to accept it.  "As a brother, you mean?"

 

"You know very well what I mean.  He loves you, John, just as I love you.  Can't you see that?"

 

"Mary!  Are you saying that he is ... is ..."

 

"One who prefers the company of his own sex?  John, dear, you have told the world in your stories how little regard he holds for the fairer sex.  Is this such a stretch?"

 

"But Mary!  Why ... why me?"

 

"Oh, my poor husband.  You men can be so blind to matters of the heart.  Think of it this way, my love.  He knows his proclivities, and thanks to societal pressures, he does not want to act on them.  So he proclaims himself the emotionless machine of logic so that no one - male or female - will even think of assaulting his fortress.  Except for the one man who has ever gotten inside - his loyal companion Watson.  It is obvious to anyone seeing you two together that yours is a special friendship indeed.  You have seen more of his naked soul than any other human alive, save perhaps his brother, and they remain distant. And despite his chosen façade, he IS human, John.  Whether he admits it or not, he needs to know somebody cares about him.  And you do.  How could he not respond to that?"

 

John peered at me then through half-slitted eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.  "You make it sound logical, my dear.  I wonder how he would respond to your analysis?"

 

"Are you going to present it to him?"

 

"What?  Are you mad?  Wouldn't it only cause him more pain to know that I know?"

 

"That would depend.  Although even if you plan to refuse him, at least knowing would be better than forever wondering if it was possible."

 

"IF I plan to refuse him?  Woman, what on earth are you thinking?  I have married you, pledged myself to you and no other.  Even if I were so inclined toward men, and I am NOT!, I would never break my vows to you."

 

I looked at my husband with a deep and abiding affection.  "Of course not, my dear.  I know that you have no inclination toward men in general.  But I ask you this, my love.  Not men, but THIS man.  The one and only Holmes.  Tell me your feelings don't run deeper than one would consider 'normal?'"

 

At this point, my John blushed deeply.  I continued.  "You never thought of your affection for him in this light before, have you my dearest?"

 

"No ... of course not ..." he managed to sputter out.

 

I reached out and gently caressed his cheek.  "John, dearest, you know I am most tenderly inclined toward Mr. Holmes for the part he played in bringing us together.  And because I know how much he means to you.  If you wanted to consider this, I would not object.  Indeed, I will admit I find the thought most ... intriguing."

 

At that, John's eyes became wide.  "Mary, my dear, you never cease to amaze me.  To even say such a thing!"

 

I silenced him with a kiss.  "Think on it, my love."

***

Chapter Two: Watson

It had been a fortnight since Holmes joined Mary and me for dinner, which had led to the most discomforting conversation that night in our bed.  My wife has convinced herself, using methods that on the surface seem frighteningly similar to Holmes's, that he is in love with me.  And that further, I myself might actually be capable of returning this abnormal sentiment. 

 

And perhaps most shocking of all, she admits that she finds the idea ... intriguing. 

 

No.  After a fortnight of not being able to concentrate on anything else, I find my own feelings to be the most shocking of all.  I fear she is correct, about him - and about me.  Now that I have opened my eyes to the idea, I can look back on our years together and suddenly certain looks, certain moods of his now make sense.  As to my own feelings, I have long known that Holmes means more to me than anyone else save my dearest Mary.  I cannot say why, since he is a man who does not encourage such closeness, indeed actively shuns it.  Perhaps that is why; the rarity of such an event makes it all the more precious.  I am the only person he has permitted within his defenses, and I cherish that. 

 

I suppose I have been aware for quite a while now that what passes between us is deeper than what most men share.  I have told myself that it is a brotherly affection I feel for him.  But I think even I have known that to be less than honest.  I do miss terribly those evenings we spent together at Baker Street.  The feeling of being beside him, day in and day out.  I have never been one who is interested in his own sex, and yet now I find the thought of touching him ... intriguing.  Mary, dear Mary, what have you done to me?

 

Before I drive myself crazy with this, I have decided to confront Holmes.  If Mary's initial premise is incorrect, I have no further reason to test my feelings on the subject.

 

And so, after shutting down my practice for the afternoon, I hailed a cab and set it heading to Baker Street.  The ever-efficient Mrs. Hudson met me at the door.

 

"Why Dr. Watson!  How good to see you, sir!  I hope all is well with you and the Missus?"

 

"Couldn't be better, my dear lady.  Tell me, is Holmes in?"

 

She nodded happily.  "You just go right on up, then!"

 

"Thank you, my good lady!"

 

A certain trepidation gripped my heart as I climbed the stairs to my old chambers.  I had been here a few times since my marriage, but not since I had learned to think of the events of those days in a different light.  What if I was wrong?  Would Holmes be offended?

 

I ran out of time for worry as I came to the top of the stairs.  Holmes had undoubtedly heard my voice below.  He sat in his chair, reading a monograph of some sort, and yet I could see his lips curved in a smile.  Without looking up, he spoke.  "Sit, Watson.  I shall be finished here in a moment."

 

I felt strangely relieved that he still treated me as if I lived there, not as a guest to be greeted formally.  I took my familiar place and picked up a magazine, flipping through it while I waited his pleasure.  Finally, he put the small book down and turned to look at me. 

 

I was at once struck by the sparkle in those gray eyes; it seemed my presence truly pleased him.  I couldn't help smiling at him.  "You're looking well, Holmes."

 

He raised an eyebrow.  "I'm sure you didn't cab all the way across town to comment on my health, Watson.  What is on your mind?"

 

I sighed.  He wasn't going to make this easy.  I decided to make light of Mary's suggestion.  With a small laugh, I shrugged.  "Women are the most curious creatures sometimes, Holmes."

 

His eyes narrowed.  "Watson, you know I have little experience with the fair sex.  Most of them are so vapid, so ... useless."

 

I nodded.  "But I think even you will agree that my Mary is not of that ilk?"

 

Here, Holmes nodded.  "She is a worthy partner for you, Watson."  Did his praise seem somehow ... grudging? 

 

I smiled.  "Yes she is.  But after your last visit, she surprised even me.  It seems she has applied your methods of reasoning to matters of the heart.  And has drawn a surprising conclusion."

 

The frown was back.  "And what is that?"

 

"She believes that you ... love me."  For now, I would leave my own response out.

 

Holmes became very quiet.  Finally he said, "And how did she arrive at this conclusion?"

 

I recounted to him her logic.  He stood up and turned away from me, facing out the window.

 

"You know, Watson, I never thought to apply logic to something so illogical as love.  And yet even here, its power holds."  He fell silent, staring out the window.

 

When he next spoke, it was as if his voice was a million miles away.  "I suppose this means the end of our friendship, then?"

 

I could not see his face, but the sadness in his voice was painful to hear.  I had not been sure how I would react if he affirmed the assumption.  But in that moment, I knew I had no other choice. 

 

"No, Holmes!  Never that!  I swear to you."

 

At my words, he turned around, and I could see the brightness of tears in his eyes.  His expression was one of confusion.  "Watson?  You are not disgusted with me?"

 

"How could I be?  You are still the same man I have known and admired all these years. And ... loved."

 

Now he was even more confused.  "Loved?"

 

I came to him and gently laid a hand on one tense shoulder.  "Until that night, I had thought it to be a platonic feeling, brotherly in nature if somewhat more intense than usual.  Now I am not so sure."

 

Holmes stared at me as if I had become some alien object.  "This cannot be ..."

 

I smiled weakly at him.  "Holmes, I am still not sure exactly what I feel."

 

"What about Mary?"

 

I laughed.  "She finds the idea of ... us ... 'intriguing.'"

 

His eyebrows nearly climbed off the steep brow.  I grinned.   "My Mary is a most exceptional woman, Holmes.  In many ways.  On our wedding night, she taught ME things about love.  She is not so faint of heart as her sisters."

 

"Indeed, not!"  I think the poor boy was becoming overwhelmed.  We both were.

 

I took a deep breath.  "Holmes, I really am not sure what I want here.  I ... couldn't bring myself to consider the options until I knew for sure."

 

He nodded, drawing back into himself.  "Of course, Watson ..."

 

I couldn't let this end with him looking so forlorn.  I closed the distance between us.  "This much, I can do, my friend."  My arms drew him into an embrace, pulling him close.  It was more than brotherly, and yet not quite overtly sexual. In that moment I think I realized how alone he'd been all these years.  Married only a year, I was already used to the casual reassurance of touching one's mate.  But he had never had anyone to break that barrier.  Haltingly, his arms came up and wrapped around me.  I could feel his labored breathing, as the unaccustomed emotion shook his body.

 

"Easy, old chap," I softly murmured into his ear.  I held him until once again he was still.

***

Chapter Three: Holmes

Watson's visit left me entirely unnerved.  For so long I worked to conceal that which I was sure would poison our friendship.  Watson had always been an entirely proper gentleman.  How could he be so accepting of what society saw as an almost unspeakable evil?  Something which I had never truly come to terms with in myself?  I suppose it was in my teens that I first realized that the fair sex did not hold the same attraction to me as it did for most of my schoolmates.  The need to hide my desires from myself helped form the persona I adopted.  As a youth, I immersed myself in my studies to the exclusion of all else, including - or perhaps especially - any hint at a social life.  The quest for knowledge, the rigors of the scientific mind, became my whole life, so that by the time I met Watson, I had truly driven all the offending thoughts from my brain.

 

But over the years of our association, something had changed.  I did not intend for him to become anything more than the payer of half the rent.  But my intentions were for naught.  He became first a companion when I simply needed assistance with a case.  I am not at all certain when I first thought of him as a friend.  I hadn't had anyone I could consider a friend since my childhood.  Even then, I did not anticipate the danger.

 

I do remember vividly the night things changed.  Oddly enough, nothing special was happening at the time.  We were between cases.  Perhaps it was the fact that I had nothing specific to occupy my mind that allowed certain buried thoughts to come to the surface.  I dreamed that night, dreamed of things I had wanted to do but never done.  Dreamed of doing them with my dear Watson.  I woke in the early hours before dawn, my body deep in the throes of passion.  I had not felt such sensations in far too many years.  I regret that I was so weak that I indulged myself, bringing myself to completion, then lying there in my bed awake until it was time to rise.  My mind was racing during those quiet hours.  I knew that this could not be allowed to happen again, and that more than anything, Watson must have no idea.  For by this time, he was far more important to me than I had ever wanted any person to be.  Knowledge of my unclean thoughts would surely destroy that friendship.

 

And so for three years now, I had successfully hidden it from him.  When he announced his engagement to Mary, I was of two minds.  On the one hand, I was deeply saddened that he would be leaving our digs in Baker Street, depriving me of his constant companionship.  But on the other, I realized that the chances of my making an error revealing my sordid secret were drastically diminished.  It was this thought that I held on to as I stood by Watson's side at the wedding, showing the world the face of a loyal friend who was deeply happy for his friend's happiness.  There had been one brief moment when seeing him kissing his blushing bride, my secret pain had flared and made itself known.  I thought no one could have seen it.  But Mary had been facing me when she had been released from that kiss, and apparently the new Mrs. Watson not only saw, she observed.

 

It seems entirely strange to me that I have been undone by my own methods applied to an area I had never thought to apply them to, and by a woman, no less.  Watson is correct; his Mary is truly an exceptional woman.  Looking back on his words, it seems to me that she is encouraging him in this endeavour.  What did he say ... 'She finds the thought of ... us ... intriguing.' And Watson himself indicated that he was considering the idea.  How very extraordinary!  My mind is constantly recalled to that embrace, something I had never dared hope to feel.  Emotions long buried assail my mind.  It is a good thing I have no active case at the moment, for I fear I would be of little use to anyone at this time.   For truly now I am lost.  Do they know they hold my very life in their hands?  I cannot pressure Watson; if he comes to this, he must do so of his own free will, with the understanding of his wife.  It occurs to me to wonder what role she plays in this?  She finds it intriguing - will he talk to her in their marriage bed about what we two do elsewhere?  From what he has told me, she is a most enthusiastic partner in their lovemaking, unlike most ladies of current society are supposed to behave.  Could she be so wanton as to want to join us?  If so, could I? 

 

And what if they decide no?  Could I go on, knowing that Watson knows of my desires and rejects me?  He assures me our friendship would remain regardless.  Would friendship be enough?  And now that the dam has been broken, could I stuff these unwanted emotions and desires back into their cage?

 

For now I can but wait and wonder.  Before he left, Watson invited me to join them this week-end to discuss the matter further.  Three days hence.  I am not sure my nerves can stand it.  My first thought is to reach for the cocaine, to lose myself in its embrace, let the days pass all but unnoticed.  But I can almost hear the reproach in Watson's voice, begging me not to.  I know he is correct, my body pays a high price for those few hours of oblivion.  For him, I will forego it for now.  When I return home, if they have rejected me, then I will give myself over to oblivion.  For now, the violin will have to be my solace.

 

For hours that night, I played.  Soft, romantic melodies, sweet seduction.  After a while I found my mind wandering where I had forbid it to go.  Images of my dear Watson filled my mind.  The feel of his skin beneath my fingers and lips was as silk.  His fingers hesitantly returned my caresses as we slowly unclothed each other.  The first touch of our lips was like an electric current running through my body, such sweet ecstasy.  Finally, I pulled away the last of his clothing, revealing his swollen manhood, hard and eager for my touch. 

 

It was too much for me to bear; I cast the violin aside and frantically tore at my trousers, freeing my own member.  As my mind pictured my hand on Watson's prick, in reality it grasped my own, and in short order I shuddered with release.  For a goodly while, I did not move, paralyzed by the power of what should have been a simple bodily function.  No, I realized, this genie would not be put back into the bottle now.  For good or ill, it was out.  Now all my hope lay in the hands of my dearest friend.

***

Chapter Four: Together

By the time Saturday afternoon came, both John and I were eagerly anticipating Holmes' arrival.  It took my dear husband a while to sort through his feelings on the matter, but after his visit to Holmes earlier in the week which confirmed my theory, he found he could no longer hide the truth from himself. 

 

I had the cook prepare a light supper, then gave her the rest of the night off.  We wanted no interruptions this evening.  Although I knew Holmes disdained women, still I wore my most fetching dress.  I hoped my presence would not put him off too much, for I dearly wanted to see the two of them together.  I wish I knew why the idea so fascinated me; it was certainly well beyond what a proper lady should desire.  But then, many of my desires would be considered improper.  I considered myself incredibly fortunate to have found a husband who was willing to indulge me.

 

At long last we heard the sound of a cab arriving, and moments later the knock at the front door.  John opened it to admit his dear friend. 

"Holmes!  So good of you to join us.  Please, come in."

 

I took his coat, using the opportunity to observe them.  Holmes' uncertainty was plain to see, indeed, it was almost painful to behold.  I realized then just how much he feared losing his Watson, now that his secret was known.  John also looked vaguely uncomfortable, which did nothing to reassure his friend.  //Men! // I sighed.  // So hopeless when it comes to matters of the heart! //

 

The men went into John's study while I went to set out the dinner.  Since it was all prepared in advance, it did not take long before I called them to table.  I do not know what they discussed in that short time alone; I can only presume from the looks on their faces that the one subject they both wished to discuss had been avoided studiously.

 

John sat at the head of the table, with myself to his right and Mr. Holmes to his left, directly across from me.  I could not bear to see him suffer so needlessly.  I reached across the table and gently lay my hand over his.

 

"Mr. Holmes, please, do not fear.  All will be well.  Enjoy your dinner, then we shall all relax together.  If that pleases you?"

 

"Mary!"  I fear my forthrightness was a bit much for my husband. But it served its purpose, for Mr. Holmes visibly relaxed and favored me with a shy smile.

 

"No, Watson, she is correct.  I fear I have been much too concerned about what has remained unspoken to have derived any enjoyment at all from this supper before us.  I am most grateful for Mrs. Watson's reassurance."

 

Even so, throughout dinner there remained an underlying tension in the room.  Conversation came in fits and starts.  I realized that I needed to take that tension and subvert it to my goals.  A word here, an innuendo there, and the mood began to shift.  When at last the interminable meal was ended, we were at least in the right frame of mind.

 

 

As Mary cleared the table, I took Holmes back into the study and poured each of us a stiff brandy.  I know I certainly needed it to calm my nerves.  I studied him as we stood there, not speaking, seeing him as I had never seen him before.  The long, lean body.  His hands, so deft at manipulating his laboratory apparatus or his violin.  Those piercing gray eyes, now softened as never before.  He looked at me expectantly, and I suddenly realized that I held his heart in my very hands.  Mary was correct; underneath the façade of the Great Detective there truly was a human soul, which at this moment was painfully vulnerable.

 

I reached out to touch his hand as Mary had at the table, intending to offer reassurance.  I was unprepared for my own body's reaction to that simple contact.  It was as though a current of electricity ran through me.  Our eyes locked; I knew that he had felt it as well. 

 

"Watson, I ..."

 

I shook my head, reaching out my hand to touch his lips, silencing him.  "Now is not the time for words, my friend."  My pulse was racing as I closed the distance between us.  I now knew for sure that Mary had been correct; my feelings for him ran much deeper than I had allowed myself to acknowledge.  Looking into his eyes, I saw the strangest mixture of desperation and hope and fear.  My fingers slid over his cheek, the gentlest of caresses.  His breath was coming short and shallow as he stood immobile.  I wrapped my fingers around his neck and pulled his face to mine.  His lips were parted, not from intent, I think, but simply because that's where they were when I made contact. 

 

At first he simply stood there, nearly paralyzed, I think.  But finally his arms came up to embrace me as he responded to my kiss.  His hunger began to blossom as we explored each other's mouths, first tentatively, then with more vigor.  Yet even then, I could feel him trembling in my arms.  // He has not done this before ... with anyone! // I realized with a start, and determined in that moment to make this worth his long wait.  My own arms pulled him closer, one hand buried in the slick black hair as the other slid under his coat to rest in the small of his back.

 

By the time we broke apart, gasping for breath, my own manhood was swollen and tender.  I never would have anticipated such a reaction, and yet it was now undeniable.  And undeniably pleasurable.  While I had thoroughly enjoyed the marriage bed with Mary, there was something about this which heightened the passion.  Perhaps it was the illicit nature of the act.  Or perhaps it came from knowing that I was the only one Holmes could trust.  Whatever the reason, I found myself almost giddy with the passion.

 

I allowed my hand to slide down his long neck, over his cravat, and down his chest.  With both hands, I pushed his coat from his shoulders.  He cooperated, allowing me to remove the coat, which I placed over the back of a chair.  My own soon followed it.

 

As I turned back toward him, I happened to glance at the doorway.  Mary stood there, a Mona Lisa smile on her face.  I realized she had been watching us.  That knowledge sent another thrill through my body, and I reached again for Holmes.  This time he responded immediately, his tongue questing deeply into my mouth.  Unencumbered by our coats, our hands slid up and down across our backs.  I shifted slightly to one side so that our groins nestled side by side, delighted to find him as excited as I was.  I let my hands slide down, pulling him closer.  He moaned softly into my mouth and I felt him twitch within his trousers. 

 

Once again separating, I pulled him down to sit beside me on the sofa.  He gazed at me with the tenderest expression I had ever seen on his face.  "Oh, Watson!" he sighed. 

 

I smiled and once again caressed his cheek.  The roughness was so different from my Mary's soft skin.  He turned his head slightly to place a kiss on my palm.  I reached out with my other hand to tug at his cravat, freeing his collar.  A few more buttons and his long neck was exposed.  I found myself hungering to taste it, leaning forward to lick along the tender spot at the bend.  This drew a surprised gasp from Holmes.  I continued to suck at his neck as my hands finished unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers.

 

I sat up to gaze at his upper body, now displayed for me.  A few hairs scattered across the center disappeared under the fabric of his trousers.  Otherwise, his chest was bare.  A few scars were visible from his exploits over the years.  His nipples stood at taut attention, just begging for my touch.  Mary had taught me just how pleasurable that could be for a man - something I simply had never thought about before.  I bent once again to kiss him, this time letting my hand float over his chest, seemingly randomly, but actually intent on brushing over those hard nubs.  Again he gasped at the unexpected sensation.

 

Holmes leaned back into the corner of the sofa, offering himself to me.  Again, our eyes met; now his expression was dreamy, something I had never expected to see there.  Unable to resist any longer, I bent down to suckle one nipple while my fingers teased at the other.  A deep groan of pleasure escaped his lips.  I wondered absently just how limited his experience truly was. And yet I knew, because I knew him, that he would not have normally even indulged himself alone in his bedroom.  He would have denied himself this as he denied all associated with the softer emotions.

 

But tonight that denial had ended.  He put his trust in me, and I was honor-bound to return it intact.  I gazed down at him, displayed before me, knowing what should come next.  But for a moment I hesitated.  Could I really do this - touch him in that most intimate manner?  I glanced up at Mary, who still stood silently in the doorway of the study.  Her smile reassured me, and finally I allowed my hand to slide further downward, over the quite conspicuous bulge in his trousers.

 

As I did it I realized that he had seen me look to her.  For just a moment panic crept into his gaze as he realized we were being watched.  But the pleasure of direct contact made him forget.  I felt his manhood jump under my touch, as he moaned and sighed.  As I continued to caress him, I watched as an expression of wonder and joy overtook his usually severe features.  Something deep in my heart seemed to burst as I realized that I could bring him such joy.  All my apprehension vanished in that moment; now I wanted more than ever to bring him to the ultimate release.

 

My hands made short work of freeing him from his trousers, exposing his throbbing member to my hungry eyes.  I ran my fingertips over it, enjoying the feel of the soft, velvety flesh.  I bent to kiss him as my fingers wrapped around his shaft.  He trembled again, now with passion rather than fear.  His manhood filled my hand, so hot and hard.  I was all but laying on top of him as he writhed and moaned beneath me.  Some part of me heard Mary move into the room for a better view, but now it didn't matter.  We were both caught up in the moment. 

 

It wasn't long before I felt him tense up, his release but moments away.  I freed myself from his hungering mouth and hands, bringing my lips down to his groin and swallowing him whole.  The sensation was too much for him, and he exploded immediately with a powerful cry.  The hot, bitter liquid filled my mouth, choking me, but I would not let go until the last convulsions left his body quite limp.

 

I remained slumped over his body, stretched out over the sofa.  My head rested on his chest and I could hear his heart pounding heavily inside.  Much to my amazement, I felt his arm wrap around me and his fingers slide into my hair.  I closed my eyes, floating in the warmest feeling of contentment I had ever felt.

 

 

I don't know how long we lay there; for once my senses were of no use to me, having been utterly overwhelmed by our activities.  All I knew was that every nerve in my body seemed to have exploded, sending wave after wave of pleasure through me.  It had never been like this the few times I had been forced to complete the act alone.  I wondered idly why this simple bodily function felt so different when shared.  But my mind refused to focus on the question.  Seemingly without my will, my hands moved over Watson's body, holding him close.  I didn't want this moment to end.

 

But as my heartbeat and breathing slowed back to normal I realized that while I had taken great pleasure in Watson's attentions, he was still mostly dressed.  And I could feel his erection pressing into my leg.  I wanted desperately to do for him as he had done for me, but I was uncertain of how to go about it.

 

Finally, he moved, pulling himself out of my arms.  I felt a pang of sadness at the end of that precious moment.  He gazed down at me tenderly, reaching one hand to caress my cheek.

 

"Holmes?  Are you all right?"

 

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice yet. 

 

He smiled at me.  "A bit overwhelming?"

 

"Yes," I finally managed to force words from my mouth.  "Watson, I ... I want to ... return ... but I'm not sure how ..."

 

That was when I realized Mary had entered the room.  She came over to us and knelt before the couch, reaching a hand out to touch each of us. 

 

"Perhaps I could show you how?" She turned to Watson.  "Would you like that, John?  The both of us attending you?"

 

Watson's eyes grew quite wide at that suggestion; even my addled senses could tell that he found the idea most agreeable.  He gazed at me.

 

"Holmes?"

 

How could I deny him after what he had done for me?  I nodded.  Mary stood, making room for us to get up as well, then took me by the hand, leading me back to their bedroom.  Watson followed like an eager puppy.

 

Once there, she turned to her husband.  "John, dear, really, you are far too dressed for this stage of the game.  Mr. Holmes, would you mind helping me?"

 

I found myself kissing him as my fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt.  Once it was free, Mary pulled it off from behind.  Watson put his arms around me then and pulled me close so that our bodies were touching, skin to skin from the waist up.  The warmth of his body, the softness of the curls which covered his chest, seemed somehow alien to me, so different from my own body.  And yet so wonderful to touch.  It seemed that my senses were suddenly returning to me, heightened now, so that the feel of him, the smell of him, were as real to me as the sight of him.  It was a powerful sensation; leaving me feeling somewhat light-headed.

 

He released me and turned once again to his wife.  "Your turn, my dear."

 

Mary obligingly turned around, presenting him with an interminably long line of buttons down the back of her dress.  I realized why women had to have maids to help them dress; I doubt she could have gotten into or out of that contraption on her own.  It seemed constructed just to slow down the process in situations such as this.  But finally they were all open and the dress fell from her shoulders.  She pushed it down to the floor and stepped out of it, now wearing only undergarments.  Watson pulled her to him, kissing her, and I felt a pang in my heart as I had at their wedding.  As delightful as this day was, it would always be secondary to him; she was his wife, the one he was promised to.  Something we could never share, even if she hadn't come along. 

 

I must have made some small sound of despair, because she turned toward me and reached out a soft hand to caress my cheek.  "No, Mr. Holmes.  You owned his heart long before I came along."

 

Watson also turned to me.  "She is right, Holmes.  I tried to deny it, but it is true. I am just lucky that she does not hate me for it."  He gazed at both of us with undisguised affection, and I realized that they were telling me the truth.  Then Watson pulled me close again, claiming my mouth in a passionate kiss. 

 

The next thing I was aware of, we had tumbled down onto the bed, with Mary on the opposite side of him.  Watson rolled over onto his back, giving us both access.  Mary smiled at me over his chest and reached for my hand, placing it on her husband's chest.  I followed her lead, letting my fingers find one stiff nipple as she found the other.  Watson gave a delighted gasp at the dual touch.  She bent down and began kissing and sucking on his earlobe; I imitated on the other side.  Eventually our mouths replaced our hands on his nipples as the hands crept further south.  My hand trembled as I first touched Watson's prick through his trousers, but his smile of delight convinced me to continue.  Mary's hand also caressed him, causing him to thrash about in his pleasure.  He spread his legs, inviting us to take further liberties.  Mary's hand slid down to caress the inside of his thighs while I continued my more northerly attentions.

 

"Dear lord!"  he gasped. 

 

Mary laughed at his exclamation.  "Told you you'd like it, John."  She glanced at me, noting that our activities were causing something of a renaissance in my body's interest.  "I think Mr. Holmes does, too!"

 

I found myself blushing deeply, unable to hide my growing interest.  Watson chuckled.  "So it seems, my dear, so it seems!"

 

Mary took pity on me then and returned her attentions to her husband, loosing his trousers to focus attention on his swollen member.  I must admit that I stared at it; so large and powerful it was.  She offered it to me, and I could not refuse.  My hand shook as I first stroked it, feeling the heat of the skin and the hardness underneath.

 

"Oh, yes!"  Watson sighed happily.  He lifted his hips, letting Mary pull away his trousers as I manipulated him.  Mary's hand found its way to the heavy sac below.  Watson groaned happily under our combined touch.  After my own reaction earlier, I wondered how he had lasted this long.  I realized that he must have some level of control over his body that I lacked, perhaps simply from lack of experience. 

 

I knew the signs of extreme arousal intellectually, but it was quite a different matter to observe them first hand, and to know that I was responsible for them.  Watson's face was flushed, his breathing quick and shallow.  Seeing him respond in this way to my touch seemed to have an equal effect on myself.  I wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given me.  Hesitantly, I bent over him, reaching out at first with only my tongue.  He tasted of salt, and of musk.  A single drop of fluid oozed from his opening.  I caught it on my tongue and spread it around the bright red crown.  Watson moaned with pleasure. 

 

Finally, I allowed myself to suck him into my mouth, feeling a shudder run through his body as I did so.  He was so large I could not take it all at once; but soon I felt Mary's hands and lips working at the base and balls.  I think he cried out as she sucked one side into her mouth.  Then I had to focus on the amazing quantity of hot bitter liquid which filled my mouth.

 

After what seemed an eternity of body-wracking spasms, Watson fell back to the bed, exhausted.  Mary settled her head on his left shoulder and I on his right.  I felt wondrously peaceful and contented just then.  Mary's hand reached across his chest to stroke my cheek.  I found myself smiling warmly at her, this woman who had thrown my life into such turmoil.  "You are part of our family, Mr. Holmes.  I hope you know that now."

 

Her words left me shaken.  For the first time in my life, I felt affection for a woman.  Without her, I doubt Watson would have ever found the courage to discover his true feelings for me.  And I would have remained alone.  I looked up and saw Watson smiling beatifically at both of us. 

 

"I know ..." I whispered softly.

***

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