Title: The Injury
By: Pandapony
Pairing: Watson/Holmes
Fandom: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Feedback: Yes
Archive: Sure, just tell me where
Rating: NC-17
Series: Yes
Spoilers: No
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not me. No profit is made from this work. No offense is intended. Please do not read if you do not enjoy male/male romance.
Warnings: This story is very very naughty. Explicit Descriptions. Just be warned. Slash content (male/male sex). Violence, Anal, Oral, S/M.
Notes: Thank you, thank you, K_Haldane for being my amazing beta.

***

I had seen enough casualties during my service abroad to recognize the look of a man who has been injured in the groin. I cannot count how many times fellow soldiers would remain silent, hunched over, and in terrible pain, rather than submit their embarrassing ailments to medical care.

Nevertheless, I had mastered the art of convincing shy soldiers into allowing me to treat them. Shrapnel and bullets hit thighs and backsides as easily as arms and stomachs, and to a doctor, there was no difference, other than the sensitivity and sympathy of care.

This prior experience is what alerted me to the condition of my friend, Sherlock Holmes. The stiff way he walked; his hunched-over frame; the wide, glazed expression in his normally bright eyes; the sheen of sweat on his forehead - these were all clues to me that Holmes had injured himself in some unseemly location that evening.

We had parted ways that morning, and Holmes had gone on to investigate his most recent case without me. Feeling unneeded, I sulked in my club until supper time.

Over our meal together back at Baker Street, it was obvious something was amiss. He barely touched his food, and sat silently, wincing at every small movement. He answered my queries about the case curtly, with none of his usual enthusiasm.

As he rose from his chair, I watched him crumple over, then quickly right himself. He looked at me anxiously. Then he moved as casually as he could to his sitting chair beside the fire, where he lit his pipe and smoked rapidly and nervously.

I was not going to mention his wound at first. I had trusted him in the past to come to me with the small injuries which inflicted him in his line of work. And previously, he had shown no reservations in revealing the damages that had impaired him. One particular stab wound had struck him just below the hip bone, requiring some disrobing for me to tend it. Holmes had shown no shyness then, and was willing to let me near his more sensitive regions, albeit for only a short while, and with much scowling and disgruntled mumbling on his part.

But it was obvious this night that Holmes had no intention of coming to me with whatever humiliating injury he had endured. I would not have forced the issue. But I had no choice once I rose from my own seat and saw blood on his chair.

I waited until Mrs. Hudson returned to clear our room for the night. I then casually retrieved my medical bag from my bedroom and locked the sitting room door behind me. Holmes was too distracted to even notice this, an alarming sign in itself. His face was ashen, and he stared at the fire and smoked his pipe morosely.

I placed my bag on the dining table with a sigh. "All right, Holmes, let's have a look at it, then."

Holmes' eyes snapped to me. He turned even paler. "What are you talking about, Watson?"

I frowned. "I may not be able to determine the difference between twenty types of cigarette ash, but I can deduce when a man is suffering from a dangerous wound." I removed my jacket and rolled up my shirtsleeves.

Holmes looked away from me, puffing on his pipe. "I am fine."

"No, you're not." I pulled out my stethoscope.

"I do not require treatment." He would not look me in the eye. He stared at the fire with a slightly frightened expression.

"You could die if it is not treated."

"You cannot know that," he said hoarsely.

"I know that you are bleeding heavily enough to stain chairs," I told him calmly. "Don't be foolish, Holmes. I've seen all sorts of injuries in all sorts of places. I'm a surgeon. Now let me help you."

Holmes chewed his lip, hesitating. I had never seen him so nervous before. I began to speculate on the nature of his injury.

I immediately dismissed venereal disease. It came upon him too suddenly, and there was too much blood. He could have torn himself climbing over a fence, or been stabbed or shot. The more I considered the options, the more concerned I became. It had to be affecting his genitals, for him to be so embarrassed. If he was bleeding severely, it could be quite dangerous.

"Holmes." I crouched beside his chair, placing my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at me.

Holmes looked scared, and this in turn frightened me, as I have never before seen him lose his nerve.

"I cannot, Watson," Holmes whispered. He looked away once more. "I cannot show you."

"Please," I urged him. "It needs to be treated." I was terrified that his sense of propriety would end up costing him his life.

"You will look at me differently," he said quietly. "You will never treat me the same."

"Holmes." I leaned closer, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "For God's sake, trust me." I had no idea what he was talking about, but I knew I would not betray his faith in me.

Holmes finally looked up. He stared at me for a long moment, hesitating. Then he let out a shaky breath. "All right."

I reached for my medical bag immediately, before he could change his mind.

"Not here," Holmes said, eyes darting towards the door.

I nodded. "Why don't you step inside your bedroom and change into your dressing robe. I'll return in a moment."

I made my way to my bedroom, mostly to provide an excuse to grant Holmes some privacy and a chance to undress alone.

I returned a few minutes later and knocked on his door before entering. He sat on the edge of his bed, naked except for the dressing robe which he had pulled tightly around his thin frame. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes firmly focused on the floorboards of his room. He paleness had been replaced with an embarrassed flush.

I sat beside him in his only spare chair and measured his heart rate. I also took his temperature.

"What happened?" I asked finally. I pulled the thermometer from his mouth. A slight fever, 99 degrees, but no cause for alarm.

"I..." Holmes flushed further. "I'm afraid I got carried away."

"You?" I smirked. To my relief, Holmes smiled nervously back. "I can't imagine," I mused. I patted his shoulder. "Lay down. Let's have a look."

Holmes looked at me then, with all severity.

"This will affect our friendship," he began, but I quickly clucked my tongue at him and pushed him downwards.

"Shut up, Holmes," I scolded. "There is nothing that you could say or do that would change my affections for you."

That seemed to assuage his concerns. He swallowed, and then lay down. To my surprise, however, he loosened his robe and lay on his stomach, burying his face in his hands.

I hid my surprise and slowly but confidently lifted the edge of his robe.

I expected to see an injury to his buttocks. When I saw his back side unblemished, I looked lower.

"Spread your legs, Holmes," I said curtly. Holmes was shaking. But I had to look. I reached down and spread his thighs apart.

And I froze in shock. His bleeding was from his rectum. His opening was stretched, red, and swollen.

He shuddered as I stared at his violated opening for a second longer. Then I snapped into action. I took a roll of gauze from my bag and pushed it against his opening.

"Hold on, old chap," I said, patting his shoulder affectionately. "I'm going to get more cotton wool."

I fled the room before I could see his face. Outside, I let out the breath I was holding. My shock was palpable. I quickly poured myself a drink and downed it with all haste.

I could not believe it.

Holmes was a sodomite! Or else he had been violated against his will. In either case, it was not what I had mentally prepared myself for. All of the implications came rushing to my mind. Certain details about my friend began to make sense. As my mind raged, I made my way to my bureau and pulled out some cotton wool dressings, and also refilled my drink. I poured one for Holmes as well, and then stood outside his bedroom door for another few seconds, steadying my nerves.

When I marched back in, Holmes looked at me, his face washed with terror. He even had tears in his eyes, which I had never seen before. He was sitting upright again, uncomfortably curled around himself.

"Oh God..." his voice hitched. "Watson-"

"-Hush." I handed him a brandy. "Drink this." I clanked my glass against his. He jerked, startled.

I drank mine, and then motioned for him to do the same. "Come on, Holmes. Drink up. This is going to hurt."

Holmes' eyes grew wide. "Why?"

"Because you've done a fine job botching up your backside. Once I find the tear I'm most likely going to have to apply a salve, which is going to be an unpleasant experience for you."

"And you," Holmes whispered, looking away.

I smiled slightly. "Do not worry about me. I have done this before. It is you who will be feeling badly by the end of the night. So drink your brandy, and then lie back down. That's an order."

Holmes seemed to relax slightly. He drank up and lay back down as he had been told.

Holmes still shuddered, but was quiet as I tended to him. As I did so, I recalled the one other time I had done this, for some mates of mine in the army.

It was not as though I were so naïve as to not understand what had happened here. I myself had experimented freely with my classmates in boarding school, and even had a few sinful evenings during my military service where events had progressed this far. I suppose that was a large part of my shock. I had always known that I was susceptible to both male and female charms. But I had never imagined Sherlock Holmes succumbing to the temptations of forbidden flesh. He was so clean, so proper, so dignified. It was almost impossible for me to imagine him engaged in filthy sexual acts.

And yet here indeed was evidence before me. I managed to finally clean him enough to determine the location and severity of the tear. To my relief, it was not very long, but it was near a blood vessel, which was the cause of the extensive bleeding.

I prepared an injection of morphine. I moved up to Holmes' arm and rubbed his bare skin briskly. He looked at me carefully.

"What is that?" he asked skeptically.

"Morphine," I told him.

Holmes' lips flickered in a small smile. "I thought you disapproved of my use of drugs."

I smiled back. "I do. But in this case, I'm making an exception." I pricked him with the needle, and he hissed in surprise.

I watched his body for its reaction. Once I saw him loosen, begin to relax due to the drug, I began my work. It was a difficult angle to address, and my prodding and poking and sitting between Holmes' legs no doubt made him extremely uncomfortable, so I tried my best to distract him by assuaging my curiosity.

"Who did this to you?" I asked him. As I applied the salve, he flinched.

"No one of importance." He sounded curt.

I sighed. "Holmes. You cannot do this again."

Holmes glanced back at me, eyebrows drawn together.

I realized I had not been clear. "-No, no, I mean... bugger whomever you want," I said. "I don't care. But you cannot treat your body so violently."

Holmes' face blushed a furious red. He looked away.

I continued to apply salve inside of him. "You are more likely to injure yourself from this point forward. If you are going to engage in such activities, you must use a lubricant-"

"-Yes, thank you, I know the laws of friction," Holmes snapped. He glared at me.

My lips twitched. "Really? Because it appears here that you have completely missed the concept."

Holmes eyed me carefully. Obviously, my reaction was not what he expected at all.

"Use a lubricant," I stressed once more. "It does not have to be so... rough."

Holmes watched my ministrations in silence for a minute. And then, in a very quiet voice, he said, "I like it rough."

There was a stirring, distant, in my groin. I couldn't believe it. For years we had been intimate friends, and I had never thought of Holmes in that fashion. But the idea of him being passive, splayed below me on the bed as I pounded him into the mattress gave me a shiver of arousal.

It was I that broke eye contact then. His stare was piercing, challenging, as if he were now trying to bait me, trying to get me to be offended by him. I would not play.

I turned my focus to applying the salve around his opening. As I did so, I caught the brief flicker of movement from his groin, but I did not say anything.

"Well, I hope your partner found it worthwhile to treat you so despicably," I scolded him, hoping once more to get out who this mysterious man was. Holmes didn't answer my question. As I re-packed my belongings, I had to ask again. "Who was he?"

"No one," he said again. After a moment, he added "a rent boy."

"Oh, Holmes..." I shook my head at him.

He glared. "Well, it's not as if I could ask YOU to assist me with such a service, could I?" he snapped back. As soon as he said it, he looked away, and turned pale once more.

I could feel a stirring in my groin again. God, I had never considered having him as a bed partner all these years. But had he been thinking such thoughts about me?

I patted his bare buttocks affectionately. "All done. You may dress now."

Instantly he sat back up, covering himself. He grimaced as the movement no doubt moved the salve inside of him.

"Although I would not wear any trousers you are very fond of for a few days," I added. I raised an eyebrow at him. "And you are to be restricted to bed rest for at least twenty-four hours. No movement. Do you understand?"

Holmes scowled and opened his mouth as if to protest, but then decided not to. He just sighed, wrapping his robe tighter around himself and moving to sit at the edge of his bed once more.

"Let me know if it starts to sting very badly," I told him, getting up. I did not want to leave him - I was desperately curious to find out more about this side of him I had never suspected - but I also could tell he wanted me far, far away from him. His body language was cold, unfriendly.

"I'll check on the wound in a week," I said. I made my way to the door. I smiled at him. "Rest now. Take it easy."

Suddenly Holmes reached out and fiercely grabbed my elbow. His grip pinched my skin. I looked at him in surprise.

He stared at me, eyes wide. "You are not upset by this revelation?"

I stared down at him. He looked fragile. I often forgot he was younger than me, given his superior intellect, his confidence, his quirky personality. But at moments like this, I saw the insecurities which lingered under the surface of his great mind. He was just a man like anyone else, I reminded myself. A man with faults, with fears, with feelings.

I swallowed, and then placed my hand affectionately on the top of his head. "Holmes, I never know what to expect with you. Yes, I am surprised. But I am not upset. If I became upset every time you did something shocking, I would have been put in an asylum years ago." I laughed then, and he smiled too, warmly, his eyes finally lifting their gloom, brightening once more. In truth, his grey eyes, when he was happy, were startlingly beautiful. He reached for my hand and squeezed it.

"Thank God, Watson. Thank you. I could not bear the loss of your friendship. I thought..." he looked away for a moment, and then took a deep breath and stared at me once more. "I thought you would be appalled. I see now that I have not been very observant. Although you have proven yourself time and time again to be open-minded, understanding, and loyal, I still doubted whether this last sordid fact about me would slip past your sense of morality."

"I meant it when I said there is nothing you could do that would change my affections," I told him. I briefly considered mentioning that I myself had experimented sexually with men in my younger days. But I decided that it was a conversation that would be exhausting, and he needed rest more than anything else. I tousled his thick black hair and ran my hand to the back of his neck, squeezing affectionately. "Now go to sleep. Your body needs to heal."

Holmes looked at me with such affection, I could have sworn it was love. But then it disappeared from his features, as quickly as it had come, and he yawned and turned away from me. I turned down his gas lamps as I made my way to my own lonely room, bewildered and amazed by this latest information about him.

***

In the morning, I awoke to find Holmes sitting at the dining table, reading through the morning papers and smoking. I immediately prepared to launch into a long diatribe about the meaning of bed rest, when he suddenly held out his hand to me.

"Please, no lectures, Watson." He smiled warmly. "I am aware of your advice, and I give you my word that I will not stray from the sitting room all day."

"You're supposed to be laying down," I scolded him anyways. I sat across from him and opened up the tray to reveal a healthy portion of eggs and ham from Mrs. Hudson. I sniffed and moaned in appreciation.

"I was hungry," Holmes told me.

I raised an eyebrow. Holmes' appetite was a fickle thing, and I expected him to have lost it completely after such a night as last. But his plate confirmed his claim, showing only trace remnants of what seemed to be a large meal. Holmes poured me some coffee, and even added my cream.

"Thank you," I said. I started into my eggs, pulling one of the papers from Holmes' stack.

"Besides, I wanted to share breakfast with you," Holmes said casually. He put out his cigarette. "I have not seen much of you lately, what with your practice getting to be so busy."

"And your case," I added, looking up to see his expression. I had a nagging suspicion that this "case" of his was nothing of the sort. It had been an excuse to indulge his carnal appetites. Strangely, this lie made me feel better. I did not like being excluded from his work, and knowing that there was a chance he had kept me out of it simply because there was no case pleased me.

"Hm. Yes, indeed," Holmes said, eyeing me carefully. "Well, no matter. I believe this will be a productive day nevertheless. I intend to finally organize my clippings."

"Thank heavens," I said. His notes and clippings had been piling up in every flat surface of the sitting room for six months now. It was getting to be a desperate mess.

"Assuming I have your permission to engage in such strenuous work, Doctor?" Holmes raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched in suppressed mirth. He was certainly in a better mood than yesterday.

I smirked back at him. "You have my permission. As long as you take it gently, and lie down in your bed if you feel the need."

The words caused a flush of heat through my body. I quickly looked down to my plate, and shoveled some ham into my mouth. Good Lord, was this really going to happen every time I said something even mildly suggestive? What had happened to my mind?

Holmes watched me carefully. I could feel his gaze piercing me, even though I did not raise my glance to meet his.

"As you say," he said quietly. He watched me like a hawk as I ate the rest of my meal in haste.

I ran several errands that afternoon. To my relief, when I returned home, Holmes was still in our rooms, dutifully sorting through a mountain of clippings placed around him on the carpet. He was surrounded by articles, and humming to himself as he smoked and catalogued.

I unfolded the paper and stretched out on the settee above him. I intended to read, but I found myself distracted by my friend on the floor. I studied him silently. I had known him for so long, and yet now, knowing this new fact about him, I could not help but be amazed. Holmes was a sodomite. He was not the virgin I imagined him to be, but rather experienced, and receptive to sexual advances. I imagined him with another man, and my thoughts flushed my entire being with a hot ache. It was so absurd, imagining Holmes pleasuring another, and yet, now, I could almost see it, see him engaged thus.

How had I thought him cold and unfeeling? He had so often professed his lack of interest or capacity to love, I had convinced myself. But surely I had been fooled. I knew Holmes better than anyone, and knowing him, I should have detected the lie. There were moments when Holmes showed almost heartbreaking tenderness towards me. His great love of Mrs. Hudson, while usually masked behind insults, was apparent. Even his fondness for Mycroft and Lestrade was without question. This was a man of deep feeling, who had taken on the pretence of being heartless and calculating.

And why the pretence? Surely to hide his unconventional nature. I had always accepted Holmes' bohemian lifestyle, but only now connected it with other aspects of his personality. His flair for the dramatic; his tender touches to my shoulder in times of need; his keen eyes shining when a handsome gentlemen came to call upon us for aid; all of these little clues that told me I had been wrong in assuming him to be nothing more than a machine.

It is truly remarkable how one missing piece can make an entire puzzle snap into place. This was the clue I had been seeking for years in understanding the singular personality of my friend. And knowing such, knowing that he had trusted me with such a critical clue, left me feeling content with the great bond between us.

***

For several days, Holmes and I were engaged in a most frightful mystery, the details of which I am not at liberty to disclose. Due to the nature of this case, neither Sherlock Holmes nor myself had much time at home, let alone together, and so it was well over a week before I was able to check up on my friend and inquire as to his well-being.

He was unsurprisingly dismissive of his injury and loathe to repeat the inspection. However, upon my insistence, he dutifully agreed to prepare himself and I joined him in his bedroom to check on his progress.

"Ouch."

"Sorry." The lighting was terrible. Holmes refused to turn up the lamps, and so I was operating in shadow. Luckily, I had performed dozens of surgeries in the dark during the war. But it was difficult enough trying to be gentle in the awkward position between Holmes' legs. Now I couldn't see as well.

"Ouch!" he said again, as I prodded his injury. I was pleased to feel that it had healed nicely.

"If you had turned up the lamps as I had instructed, I would not be doing this by feel," I snapped at him. "You will just have to suffer if you want to do it in the dark." Again the words, suggestive, arousing. I swallowed to keep my focus. I reminded myself that what my task here was anything but sexual.

But I could see Holmes' scrotum, crushed against the bed. The skin was smooth, almost shiny, a delightful pink color. I could smell his groin, salty and musky. His back side had healed quite nicely, and now presented itself as a delectable round opening, stretched enough to allow a lovely entrance.

I shook my head once more. I had to clear my mind. I had always held very strongly to my ethic of removing all sexual connotation whilst dealing with patients. People could detect such things, and there is nothing more abhorrent than a doctor taking advantage of his relationship with the injured.

But even though I considered myself an adequate actor, somehow, Holmes knew me too well, or was too great a student of human body language to allow my uncomfortable arousal from remaining undetected.

"You all right, Watson? You seem flushed."

"Stop moving," I told him, pushing his lower back down against the bed. I used the tip of my finger to feel the edges of the healed tear, and Holmes sucked in breath.

"There," I told him. I patted his buttocks again affectionately. They were so pale, so perfect. Not a hair marred their alabaster surface. I wanted to run my fingers between them. "All done."

Holmes immediately shifted to get up, but I pressed him back down. "Hold on, let me apply more salve." It was needed, I told myself. He needed it for healing. But as I spread the warm gel onto my fingers, I began to wonder if it was really necessary at this stage. His healing had been rapid and complete. What good would the salve do now?

I rubbed the salve inside with slow, gentle movements. As I did so, I could see Holmes shift uncomfortably on the bed. My attentions were giving him an erection, and his member grew against the mattress.

"Watson! That's enough!" he finally hissed, pulling away from me.

I quickly regained my composure. "Sorry, Holmes. I just don't want to have to do this again."

"You won't." He tied his robe shut and scooted as far away from me as possible. He looked towards his wall. His profile was stunning. But his cheeks were bright red, and his eyes looked large and burned with arousal and misery. He obviously had no idea that I had enjoyed touching him there. He thought he was the only one who had inappropriate feelings.

"Well then. All better." I cleared my throat and put my belongings back into my bag. Holmes was silent.

"Sit for a minute," he said as I made to leave. I sat beside him on the bed, and smiled warmly.

"Yes?"

He looked at me briefly. "I want to apologize. You have gone far beyond the call of duty and of friendship in your... ministrations."

I squeezed his shoulder. "Holmes, if you had only seen some of the things I've had to do since getting my medical degree." I laughed then, and he seemed to relax once more.

"Oh? What is the worst case you have treated?" he asked.

I leaned back as I thought about it. "It has to be poor Johnson, from the second brigade," I told him. Holmes lit a cigarette for me, and I smoked it as we talked. "He got an entire hatchet up the back side."

Holmes grimaced. "How awful."

"Indeed." I was finally relaxed now as well. "And once I had a patient - a woman - who had developed a habit of pleasuring herself with various household objects."

Holmes' eyes grew very wide. "How filthy!"

"Mm. It must have served her quite well, until something got stuck. That was an awkward case to resolve."

I saw that my stories had achieved their intended purpose, which was to make him relax once more. He smiled languidly at me.

"I see then that my own depravity is hardly news to a medical man of your experience."

"As long as there have been men buggering each other, Holmes, there will be the need for doctors to tend to them."

Holmes' mouth opened, agape at my coarseness. But then he choked on his laughter. "So true, my dear Watson, so true!"

I squeezed his arm once more. I liked the feel of him under my fingers, warm and solid. "But if its all the same to you, I would prefer that you keep your activities from hurting you in the future." I hesitated. I knew I was overstepping my boundaries, but as his friend and his doctor, I could not help myself. "And Holmes... no more rent boys, all right? Go to a gentlemen's club. Go somewhere else. But the boys on the street are likely to give you something far worse than a sore backside. Syphilis is on the rise."

Holmes' mirth instantly departed. He pulled his arm out of my grasp. "Enough advice for one day, Watson. Now leave me alone."

"I'm just worried about your health."

"Let me take care of my own body, thank you."

I had much more I wanted to say on the issue, but I was merciful, and left him alone.

***

It was late in the evening, two months later, that Holmes returned with a flush expression on his face, and a nervous look in his eye. He helped himself to brandy, and lit a cigarette, sitting in his chair by the fire.

I had stayed up to finish my novel, but now put the book down to better take in the details of my friend, and make a few observations of my own.

The most startling was the fact that I could smell sex on him.

Part of me wondered if he always came home, stinking of his sin, and I had never bothered to notice it. Regardless of his past behaviors, I could smell it on him now, that unmistakable scent of man's release, mingling with the smell of his sweat, and a musky scent that was all Holmes.

Looking at him more closely, I saw that he no longer wore the cufflinks that he had left our suites with. His cravat was obviously tied in haste. And there was a richness to his red lips, a swollen quality, that suggested strenuous oral activity.

My own body flushed at the very thought of it. Those lips, Holmes' lips, sucking upon a man's erection, the idea was so absurd, and yet so delectable, I squirmed in my chair.

Holmes looked over at me, concerned. "What are you doing, Watson?"

I stared at him sternly. "I am wondering if you used enough lubricant this time."

Holmes' mouth gaped open in shock. I suppose that for a man who was so good at discovering other people's secrets, he believed his own to be impenetrable. And yet I had apparently hit close to the mark, for he looked as though he were going to be sick, studying my face as if I were a wizard. In any other circumstance, I would have smiled, justified in giving Holmes a taste of his own medicine.

Instead, however, I just sighed, shaking my head. "Holmes... Why can't you treat your body with more respect?"

Holmes flushed a bright red and looked away from me, staring into the fire. He smoked silently for a long time. And then finally he threw his fag into the flames, and narrowed his eyes at me.

"What I do with my body is my own concern," he told me coldly.

"Not your concern alone," I said, closing my book firmly and sitting up to glare at him. "You and I have a partnership together here at Baker Street. I would be sorely put out if you contracted a fatal disease."

Holmes snorted. "That is your concern? I catch a venereal disease, and you are out half the rent?"

"You know that is not what I mean," I said lowly. "I would be devastated if anything happened to you. But you are taking risks that far outweigh even your deplorable cocaine addiction."

"Stop lecturing me," Holmes spat. He stood to leave.

"I will not!" I shouted, standing up with him. I was suddenly furious, furious that he would pleasure street urchins, mindless of the dangers, ripping his body apart in his desire for rough play. "I am your doctor, as well as your friend, and I cannot stand by and watch you destroy yourself!"

Holmes' eyes flashed dangerously. In two steps he crossed the room to me, glaring at me. "Are you worried for my reputation?"

"I'm worried sick for your physical well-being!" I said angrily. "God, Holmes, fornicating with prostitutes who physically hurt you as they sodomize you is absolutely awful!" I cried, not realizing how hurt I was by his actions until I said this out loud.

"You have no idea how it feels," he said.

I took a deep breath. "On the contrary, Holmes, I do. I do know how it feels. And I STILL advise you to be gentler."

Holmes jerked back. He stared at me in absolute shock.

"You?" he whispered, aghast.

I nodded.

"When?"

"In boarding school. And with a few chaps in the army."

Holmes gagged on unspoken words. When he regained his composure, he narrowed his eyes at me. "I would never have guessed. You seemed the quintessential ladies' man."

"I am," I said. "I love women. But that doesn't mean I didn't experiment in my youth. After all, I had read medical texts which were mildly suggestive."

I moved towards him, calming the torrent of emotions throbbing in my breast. I gripped his arm.

"Holmes. I am not a complete dullard. I understand why you engage in this activity. I myself have fallen prey to the lure of such delights. But if you continue to treat yourself so deplorably, and with such unseemly partners, you could lose everything. Your health, your livelihood, and yes, as you have pointed out, your reputation as well."

He looked petulant. Almost like a child, I thought. I had seen the carefree bohemian side of my friend, but never this side, pouting, childish.

I sighed loudly. "Holmes, do not-"

He kissed me. Suddenly, my words were pushed from my mouth by his tongue, plunging inside of me, all of my thoughts fleeing with my words. I stood frozen, wrists held by his stronger hands, and he kissed me long and hard, and I did not resist. In fact, when he finally did pull away for a breath, my body was flush, aching for more.

He had a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now I know how to shut the esteemed Dr. Watson up."

I narrowed my eyes at him. I intended to sound cross, but the waver in my voice gave away my true feelings. "Holmes! You cannot just kiss me and imagine that the argument is over! I still wish to discuss-"

He kissed me again. I groaned into his mouth, but let him claim me. I had forgotten the heat of holding another man, the power. Mary had been small, warm, and soft. Holmes was burning, his flesh igniting mine where we touched, and he was all muscle, his lean body pressing against mine. He took several steps forward and I was pressed back, stumbling as we continued to kiss, until he pinned me against the wall. His arms locked around my head and he braced himself with his hands against the wall.

"Do you like that, Watson?" he purred in my ear. I had never known his voice to be so velvety, so dark and arousing. Holmes had changed before my very eyes, from cold and calculating to hot and passionate. I felt dizzy from the revelation.

My voice shook as I spoke. "If you think I'm going to pleasure you moments after you have had some street urchin inside of you, you are sorely mis-"

Holmes crouched and palmed the outside of my trousers with his hands. My head lolled back and I moaned. He silently and deftly unbuckled my trousers and unbuttoned my flies. Before I could stop him, my member was free, large and bright red. I had no moment to think, to question, when he suddenly engulfed it in his mouth and swallowed me down.

I moaned as though I were dying. I had no idea fellatio could feel this good. Holmes, a master of all he studied, had perfected his art, and pulled me deep into his throat, using his throat muscle to constrict around me in rhythm, pumping me with such ecstasy I believe I may have even started weeping.

And then, with the same speed as his lips had fallen upon me, he withdrew. I groaned in disappointment, and reached out for him.

His features were tinged pink, eyes wild, lips swollen. Without saying a word he grabbed me by my arm and forcefully led me into his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him and locked it.

"Holmes," I began shakily. I had to regain some control over the situation. This was spiraling out of control. My mind was foggy, stunned by the power of his mouth upon me. "Listen to me. Before we-"

Once again, my words were consumed by his lips. He pressed me hard against the locked door and kissed me with such ferocity I could taste blood. My mind was swirling away from me, I could think no longer, only feel, my need engorged, heavier than it ever had been, prick standing at attention above my lowered trousers. As he kissed me, Holmes reached down and unbuttoned his own trousers, kicking off his shoes, pulling his legs free of all clothing. He thrust his tongue so far down my throat I thought I had momentarily consumed him. And then he pulled away and moved to the bed, crouching on his hands and knees before me.

I was not thinking. I could no longer think. I moved behind him and spread his cheeks open, looking at his tight hole, his heavy, warm balls, the thickness and heat of his erection. The sight was so tempting I had no choice but to rub my cock at his entrance, wetting his flesh with my pre-cum.

"Fuck me," Holmes whispered hoarsely. He pushed back against the tip of my prick.

"No." Saying so was as difficult as cutting off my own arm. I wanted him so badly I felt as though I would die if I didn't plunge into him. But I had seen this very delectable sight before me ravaged, and I was not about to do the same.

"Fuck me!" Holmes growled. He reached behind me to guide my prick into him. For a moment, I could feel the tip of my prick slip into the confines of his muscle, and I groaned. But I used all my strength and will power to pull back out.

"Lubricant," I hissed, pulling back. I was desperate now. I scanned the room for anything, cursing myself for not having my medical bag nearby, cursing the world for not conveniently placing lubricant every ten feet or so.

Holmes face contorted in frustration. "Damn it!" he hissed, furious, and then suddenly he scrambled from me and fumbled frantically in his bedside drawer. He pulled out some cream that he used for removing his disguises. "Use this. Hurry, Watson!"

I did not need his command to comply. I opened the jar with trembling hands and coated my member evenly. I then coated two fingers and pressed the first inside of him. The moment I did, Holmes thrust backwards, impaling himself on whatever he could get on. He moaned.

"More!" he cried out. He sounded strangled. I pushed two fingers inside of him, gently and first, and then faster, deeper, even though I could tell by the size of his opening that he did not need such careful preparation. But I had to regain control of the situation. I would not abuse him, no matter how he forced his hand.

"For God's sake, Watson!" Holmes cried. I could no longer hold back, and I thrust into him, hard and all the way, moaning as I could feel his skin stretch and accommodate my width. Oh god, it was so tight, and so warm. I could feel the soft burning of Holmes' insides in my groin, through my chest, in my head, the heat of his core radiating through my entire nervous system. I plunged into him recklessly, spurred on by his bucking movements. He pushed and twisted himself against me, and he had stopped talking altogether, his eyes closed in bliss, sweat beading on his forehead as he took me fully inside of him.

I reached down to stroke his shaft and he hissed between his teeth. "No!" he cried, slapping my hand away. "I'll finish too fast. I want-" I stroked him again, wanting to keep control, and indeed, the second I pumped him in time with a deep internal stroke, he cursed in French and came, his essence spurting hot and voluminous in my hand.

I was only a second behind him. I felt as though I was deep enough to reach his heart. I shivered and exploded, my body trembling with the force of my release. It lasted far longer than I had expected, longer than I thought my poor heart could bear. When it was over, I pulled from inside of him and Holmes sucked in his breath. He collapsed on his stomach with a groan, and I lay beside him, panting, trying to steady my heart.

Holmes did not look at me. His eyes were closed, but he had a sweet half-smile upon his lips, and looked as content as a cat in a sunbeam. When I finally had my shaking under control, I sat back up. I did not like the way Holmes had winced when I withdrew, and so I took advantage of his prone position and knelt beside his backside, opening him up gently to look and make sure I had not done any damage.

"There's no need to be concerned, Watson, I'm fine." Holmes' voice was muffled by the bedspread. He didn't move an inch. But I could hear the amusement in his voice.

Indeed, his opening, while wide and wet with lubrication and semen, looked undamaged.

"I still plan on having that argument with you," I told him, laying back down on the bed beside him.

Holmes' body shook with his laughter, which was muffled as well. "Wait until I wake up then. Sometime next week." He yawned, and then looked at me fondly. "For God's sake, Watson, you are well-endowed, aren't you?"

I blushed. "I... that is, I..."

"You should have warned me."

"When? I couldn't get a word in edgewise." I closed my eyes. Other than the overpowering smell of sex in the room, I was quite cosy and didn't really feel like moving until next week either.

Holmes lazily threw his arm over my belly and nestled closer. His arm was heavy, a dead weight, and it felt inexplicably marvelous.

I wanted to broach the subject of sexual safety. After all, now, in a dimming glow of sexual release, I realized I had just fornicated with a man who had been sleeping with prostitutes. I was worried about infection, as I doubted that Holmes, in his urgency, ever thought far enough to protect himself against sexual disease.

But before I could open my mouth to voice my question, Holmes yawned again and moved his head closer, his face turned so that his lips were right against my ear. "I did not have intercourse with anyone else tonight, Watson, if that is what you are fearing." How he read my mind, I still do not know. He chuckled. "Although I will say that I had some fun in other ways."

"For all I know, you are full of diseases," I mumbled.

"Mm. Share them with me."

"That sounds so unappealing, Holmes."

"Whatever I have, I have. I will not acquire new ones, unless they are from you."

I turned to face him, resting my head on my hand, propped up on my elbow. "What do you mean? You are swearing off rent boys?"

Holmes smirked. "Do you honestly think I will make do with anything else once I've had this inside me?" To emphasize his point, he reached down and fondled my large but wilting member.

I shook my head. "My blushes, Holmes. I had no idea you were so crass."

He barked in laughter and then leaned over to kiss me gently. The taste of him drove me senseless. How many years had we wasted, not kissing? I could have been kissing like this every night.

"I will solely attend to my doctor's wishes, from this point forward," Holmes said solemnly.

"Hm." I didn't believe him, but I was too sated and tired to say anything else. But the slick feel of skin cream was upon me, the stickiness of his release, and I realized we were both in precarious danger of falling asleep with such incriminating evidence splashed loudly across our persons.

I lifted up his heavy arm. "Well, come on then, attend my wishes," I said hoarsely, forcing myself to sit up.

Holmes cracked open an eye and glared at me. "Again? Watson, I may be a remarkable man, but even I have limits on stamina."

I slapped his bottom. "No, you fool, let's go have a bath. You are decidedly messy."

Holmes rubbed his hands over his face. "I am indeed. I can feel you sloshing about inside me-"

"-Holmes!" I cried, scandalized. I had no idea he could be so foul.

Holmes just chuckled. "I am merely stating the obvious." With a sudden burst of energy, he sat up, and then pulled me by my hand into the adjacent bathroom.

"You see to the hot water. I'll fetch your robe and night shirt for you."

"Thank you." As he turned to leave, I could not help but reach out and run my hand along the smooth plane of his spine. He shivered, and stood still. He then looked over his shoulder, his grey eyes gleaming, a smile flirting along his lips.

"You will have your hands upon me shortly, my dear." He then smiled fully, beautifully, and left to fetch my robe.

I smiled back at his disappearing form, and turned my attention to the water.

***