This was written in response to a challenge from the sherlockkink meme. Comments are very much appreciated (especially if more x-rated stories are desired).

Watson closed his eyes, and just for a moment enjoyed the overwhelming silence of the house on Baker Street, before he investigated its cause. He stifled a groan as he rose from his chair by the fire and made his way to the room that had ceased its incessant noise for the past three hours. He limped his way up the stairs and found himself standing outside of the door of one silent detective. He heaved a sigh and pushed open the door, admittedly unprepared for the sight that he found.

There was Sherlock Holmes, master detective and intellectual giant, standing in front of a mirror decked out in a full-length maroon dress, applying rouge to his lips. Watson could only stand agape as his friend continued to make himself up as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Holmes, what the devil are you doing?" Watson managed to gasp out, after several moments of complete and utter shock.

"I am preparing to extract some answers from our suspect, and you, dear fellow, are going to help me." Holmes replied, running kohl around his eyes.

Watson couldn't help but laugh. He'd found himself in many a situation with the detective, but this could quite possibly be the oddest. He couldn't wrap his mind around his friend who was fully tarted up and wearing a wig. The man managed to look more obscene then any seasoned prostitute (minus, off course, the perpetual 5 o'clock shadow).

"How do you plan to get any information from Mr. Denvermen dressed as that?" Watson questioned, trying to ignore the intense stare reflected in the mirror.

"Mr. Denvermen may present himself to be quite the aristocrat, but rumor has it that he has a penchant for brothels. I will disguise myself as a lady of the night and then use my methods to find out if he truly had any role in the death of the unfortunate heiress. If, however, he is to evade my advances I will need you to stand at the ally entrance and catch him before he escapes." Holmes replied before securing a black necklace around his throat, drawing a glance from Watson.

"I understand there is a method to your madness," Watson said, "but I fail to find the logic in this one. You are hinging this whole endeavor on the idea that Denvermen will choose you over the scores of women available. I mean this is the kindest sense, but Holmes you haven't even shaved your chest hair."

Holmes ignored Watson's comments and set about sliding on a pair of black gloves. He adjusted the wig and began to walk towards the door.

"Watson all I need you to do is watch the door. I will be perfectly safe and I will manage to entice Denvermen into giving me the information that I need. Walk with me," and with that Holmes was walking down the stairs.

Watson followed him, but couldn't ignore the growing feeling of fear. He could not afford to lose Holmes now, and his imminent departure from Baker Street made him afraid that no one would keep the detective in check. They were out the door, but Watson found that he couldn't ignore the danger any longer.

"Holmes, listen to me there are other ways of doing this. If you are found out you could be killed," he plied. "Let us figure something else out, something that would be sensible and less dangerous."

"Watson, I have thoroughly thought this out, and this is the most efficient way of obtaining the evidence we need. It will be simple and quick. I will be fine."

Maybe it was Watson's growing affection for Holmes or simply a misplaced sense of responsibility, but he knew he could not let his friend enter such a dangerous situation.

"Holmes, I cannot allow you to enter that brothel, especially dressed like a common-" Watson stooped dead in his tracks as soon as he noticed that his comrade had disappeared into the night. He looked around and shouted his name, but knew he had been given the slip. He allowed himself a smile as he realized that only Homes could slip away on an empty street and dressed in a most flamboyant manner.

Watson stood in the middle of the street for a minute or two, before a sense of panic sunk in. He could no longer deny his romantic feelings for his friend, as he had been trying to do unsuccessfully for the past month. The fear that overrode all of his other emotions was a glaring fact that Watson's affection for Holmes had grown into something quite different. He roamed the streets yelling Holmes' name for an hour, before realizing that his friend would not be found until he wanted to be.

Watson walked back through the rain to their shared residence and he settled in by the fire to get dry. He found he could not sleep and sat himself in an armchair by the front door, with a glass of brandy in his hand. Minutes turned into hours, and soon it was 1 o'clock in the morning. Holmes had still not arrived back and Watson began to work himself into a state of frenzy. He could no longer sit still and stood by the window watching for his comrade. Finally, after a tense hour and a half, a figure made its way towards the house.

Watson hurried towards the door and waited for Holmes to come inside. Once he did Watson could see the considerable tear at the front of the maroon dress and the scratches on Holmes' face (which was thankfully rid of that terrible make-up).

"Where have you been?" Watson shouted, once the door had been closed. "What has he done to you? Do you have any idea of how worried I have been?"

"Watson, the situation is under control. I was where I said I would be, and I have the answers I was looking for. Now if you excuse me, I am often to test my latest theory pertaining to this case." Holmes began to head towards the stairs, but Watson caught him by the back of his arm.

"You are going to stay right here and let me look at the marks on your face," he growled. "And then you are going to tell me what exactly occurred and what information you learned." With that he pulled Holmes into their sitting room and thrust him into an old armchair.

"Stay," he said as he went to his medical bag. Upon returning, he found that Holmes had taken off the wig and gloves, which made the situation seem a little more normal. Watson took his washcloth soaked in alcohol and applied it to the rather large cut above Holmes' left eyebrow.

"What happened?" He asked, moving the cloth down the Holmes' cheek.

"I succeeded in learning more about Denvermen's involvement in the case before he noticed the chest hair. He came after me, but I fought him off. He didn't recognize me." Holmes said, smirking at his ingenuity. "I'm fine Watson. I don't understand why you insist on this mother-henning."

Watson stood up abruptly, throwing the washcloth to the ground. He began to pace angrily.

"Mother henning?" He shouted. "I thought you were dead! I thought you were found out! Did you even consider the things Denvermen would do to you if he had found out? And then you bring me along to a house of ill repute in order to fulfill your silly scheme! You are absolutely mad! Do you know that? Mad!" He stopped pacing and stood in place, panting.

"I am by no means mad and you know that," Holmes answered, rising and walking to get himself a brandy. "I'm sure Mary would not have learned of your short time spent outside of a brothel."

Watson strode over to Holmes and grabbed him by the front of his already torn dress.

"Mary? You honestly think this is about my marriage?" He said through gritted teeth, pulling Holmes' face up to his own. "This is about your increasingly stupid actions. How long will it be before you hurt yourself? How long will it be before--"

And with that Watson's speech was cut short by Holmes pressing his lips against the puzzled doctor's. Watson's brain tried to make sense of the action, but before long he found himself responding to the kiss. He backed the detective against the wall and fought for dominance in a dizzying mix of tongues, lips, and teeth. He growled and could feel Holmes smirk as he finally granted Watson control of their kiss.

Watson couldn't help but realize that Holmes tasted of tobacco, Earl Grey tea, and pure intrigue. He wrapped a hand around the back of the detective's head and continued to thoroughly claim control, drawing a moan from his counterpart. Watson pulled back, breathing heavily and enjoyed the blurriness he saw in Holmes' eyes. He stared at the detective before purposefully fisting the maroon material and ripping it almost straight down the middle. Watson could see Holmes' shudder and he leant in, licking along his friend's jaw line. He drew away and tore away the remnants of that horrid dress. He couldn't help but smile at Holmes' utter dedication to the character, which meant that the detective was wearing lady's underthings (save for a worn pair of linen shorts).

Holmes flashed him a cheeky smirk, before Watson once again harshly crashed their lips together. Watson pulled away before attacking Holmes' neck and leaving an angry mark in his place.

"Get those skirts off," he growled. Holmes obliged and slipped the skirts off.

"And that too," Watson commanded pointing to the corset.

"I can't alone," Holmes replied, his voice sounding deep and uneven. "This infernal contraption has sets of laces that I need you to untie."

Watson reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife.

"Hold still," he purred before running the knife slowly along the front of the corset, cutting it off of the trembling body before him.

"That's better," he breathed. Watson pocketed the knife and then ran his hands down Holmes' chest, lightly tweaking a nipple and causing a sharp intake of breath from the detective.

Holmes' fingers made quick work of his vest and shirt, fingers skimming across the newly exposed skin and eliciting deep moans from Watson. Soon Holmes' mouth followed his fingers, and eventually he found himself eye-level with the prominent bulge in Watson's pants. He slipped his hand under the waistband and helped the doctor remove his undershirt. Holmes ran his hand over the front of Watson's pants, delighted by the expletives that were issued from his friend's mouth.

Holmes slowly undid the front of Watson's pants and withdrew his manhood, running a calloused hand over it and eliciting a moan. Watson drew Holmes' unruly hair in his hand and pushed his head forward, urging him to take his member all the way into his mouth. Holmes obliged, running his tongue slowly on the underside of Watson's cock, moaning all the while. Watson ushered his head even further, and Holmes, not being one to resist a challenge, opened his throat wider. He could hear the wet sound of his mouth gliding back and forth over Watson's cock, and he was turned on immensely. Before Holmes could move his hands to grasp Watson's balls, he was being pulled up roughly by his hair, Watson's member sliding out of his mouth with a slick 'pop'.

"Jesus Holmes," Watson panted before pulling the man's lips to his own. "I need to be inside of you," he growled, searching the detective's face for consent (which had been given a while back ago). Holmes nodded and found himself being pulled roughly over to their sitting room desk. Watson kneeled in front of him and undid Holmes' drawers, freeing the straining erection, which was soon taken into his mouth. Holmes could only gasp as his senses were overloaded with the most exquisite of feelings. Watson pulled away to retrieve some medical salve from his medical kit and returned, shoving Holmes up onto the desk.

Watson coated his finger and slowly circled Holmes' entrance, before pushing the single digit inside. Holmes squirmed until Watson hit that spot that made sparks burst behind his eyelids, making him grind against the doctor's hand.

"Good God, you are wanton," Watson chuckled.

"More, I need more," Holmes whimpered.

Watson slowly slid in another finger, scissoring the two to stretch out his counterpart, who moaned with complete and utter inhibition. Once he was sure that he would not harm Holmes, Watson slicked himself with the salve and parted the detective's legs on either side of him. He slowly pushed himself into Holmes, reveling at the exquisite sensations caused by the tightness of his friend. Holmes gritted his teeth, but soon began to wriggle about.

Watson began with slow thrusts, ignoring Holmes' attempt to set the pace. He withdrew and plunged himself in again, tearing moans from both of their throats. Slowly Watson began to speed up, but he was cautious for fear of hurting Holmes.

But then Holmes, in a state of wild abandon, wrapped his hand over his own weeping erection and began to pump himself in earnest. Once Watson witnessed this he began to pump into Holmes' hard and fast, stroking the detective's prostate with each and every thrust. The desk began to creak noisily as the two of them slammed into one another, vying for their release. It was Holmes who came first with a strangled cry of "John" and spilled his release over his stomach. Watson quickly followed with one long plunge and collapsed onto his partner.

When both of them stirred from their daze, Holmes lazily grinned at Watson and licked his own release from his fingers. The doctor shook his head at his friend's obscene behavior, but he could not help but smile.

"Look at the mess we've caused," Watson sighed while glancing around the room.

"We?" Holmes snorted. "If I remember clearly you were the one so intent on ripping things."

Watson silenced him with a searing kiss before he began to clean the room while Holmes wondered upstairs to try out another "disguise".