Afterglow

The faint crackle of a log in the fireplace and the occasional rustle of Holmes' newspaper were the main sounds in the otherwise quiet room. A casual observer would have hardly noticed anything unusual about us: My friend and I, both in proper gentlemen's attire in front of the fire, the paper respectively a book in hands and in companionable silence. Nobody would have noticed how loaded with unspoken words the room actually was.

Oh, we had shared a certain amounts of words earlier, up in his room. Not all of them had been intelligible or even coherent, and a good amount of them had not been fit to be uttered anywhere else than behind a securely locked door. That is why we had had to leave them behind us at the threshold, so to speak, when we had grudgingly decided that it was about time to leave the bed, remove any traces of our passionate but illicit doings and reappear in the library for tea. Sir Henry had not yet returned from his rendezvous, which – needless to say – was more than fine with me: My outward composure at this point was, after all, not much more than smoke and mirrors, and I was not yet ready to share Holmes' company with anyone else.

I could still feel the echo of his touch all over my body and his breath ghosting over my skin. His lips – how could I ever have imagined them setting my senses on fire like they had done just an hour ago? How could I have even guessed the way his features looked in the moments of ecstasy, when this great mind of his ceased control and actually succumbed to waves and waves of bodily pleasure? I had seen his eyes full of emotion, and had felt him clinging to my body as if his life had depended on it. And yet – it was not easy to reconcile these very fresh memories with the picture of propriety that was sitting just a touch away from me, silently perusing the latest news and sipping tea.

He seemed to be his usual self, and part of me was glad about that. His power of self-control would help keeping us safe in the future, in a society that condemned this kind of carnal relationships between two men. Without my intending to do so back then, my writings had already created a public picture of him that hardly encouraged speculations about any romantic or sexual pursuits, which now seemed a blessing in itself. And as I was now watching him lounging in his armchair, I could see how easily I had been misled until today…

Deep inside my mind, though, he was still holding me in his arms, our legs pleasantly entangled, our breathing once more calm and steady.

"I take it –" he ventured after a while, "that you have been… hm… enjoying the new territory?"

He had his lips close to my temple, and therefore I could not see his face – so I propped myself up on one elbow and looked him in the eyes, before I made a point of kissing him thoroughly. "Why, Holmes…," I replied with mock surprise. (Apart from the most intimate moments he would always be "Holmes" for me.) "I thought that much is obvious."

He chuckled and ran his hand through my hair. "Well, yes."

"Good, I'm glad. Otherwise I would have feared for your powers of observation." I could not help but tease him a bit, but then I turned serious again – because I sensed the real question behind his words. "I've enjoyed it exceedingly… and… I do hope we will find opportunities of further explorations." And, no, I don't feel any shame… or any doubts… no regrets… never doubt that I am yours…

He smiled. "I'm very glad we agree on that."

His fingertips had started a trail down my spine, and I reveled in the sensation of this comparatively chaste and yet so intimate touch.

"I was getting the impression – that the territory as such is not exactly… new to you, you know..."

"I assume I may take that as a compliment," he huffed with a hint of amusement, while his sensitive, dexterous fingers continued their journey on my front. "Physical relations and all that… they have not been much of a priority with me… originally… but that does not mean that I did not, well, dabble occasionally… for the sake of the experience. After all, I had not known you, back then. And I had not known how different…" His voice trailed off. Instead he used his free hand to pull me closer. "…how different things could be," he eventually added, before we continued our… mutual explorations…

Holmes shifted slightly in his armchair opposite mine, and when I refocused my attention on him as part of the here and now, I saw that he had put aside his paper and was watching me instead with such an expression of affection in his face, that it literally gave me a tiny jolt at the unusual sight. It was mere habit that made me look elsewhere for a moment, before I reminded myself that all of a sudden there was nothing I had left to hide from my dearest friend. So I deliberately met his eyes now, and it felt like an extraordinary luxury, being able to do this in such a fashion.

Holmes must have felt something along these lines himself – at least that was what his smile seemed to tell me. "I have a confession to make," he suddenly said into the silence.

"A confession, Holmes?"

"Mhm." He held my gaze for a second longer, before he suddenly rose and walked over to one of the bookcases. "Yes…" he added, took one of the books there and handed it to me. It was Beeton's Christmas Annual of the year 1887, and I could only stare without comprehension. "I happen to be in the possession of a very well-thumbed version of this particular book."

"A Study in Scarlet?" I asked incredulously. It was indeed the very periodical which had first published the account of his first case that I had been privy to witness, all these years ago. It was also the account of our very first meeting in one of the laboratories of St Bart's – and I remembered also, how very unenthusiastic Holmes' remarks upon its publication originally had been. He actually had blamed me for transforming his display of scientific thinking and logical deductions into an adventurous novel. And since then, he had never shown any particular interest for this kind "romantic drivel". It is thus no wonder that this revelation of his came to me as a huge surprise.

He bowed down to me and rested his hands on the armrests of my seat. "After this day," he said in a low voice, "I will probably deny having ever admitted to anything of this kind. But I am telling you nevertheless, that I have more than once used this text, as well as all your others, to try to understand what you might be seeing in me. And I must say I derived a great deal of comfort from them, as well as a certain amount of frustration regarding the… vagueness of its content regarding that question. I've come to the conclusion that I would really like to hear you reading a bit of that to me, if you don't mind. It might, after all, be very instructive to hear the words from the author himself, right?"

"Oh, Holmes…" I shook my head and had to suppress the urge to grasp the impossible man and kiss him senseless… "I will, I gladly will, my dear – and later this evening I would like to add a few further remarks on that subject. And I will gladly give you a more detailed answer about the question, what I really… really… see in you."

"Ah!" He sat down with a most satisfied grin. "That would be very… agreeable."

t.b.c.