I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to respond to Holmes in some sort of fashion, though truly I was terrified. Granger's kiss had both awoken a part of me that wasn't adverse to the concept of being intimate with a man, yet at the same time it had startled me in its forcefulness. Was this what it would be like to be with a man? It wasn't the feelings I was troubled by, but the physical part.

The most important thing to me was to preserve our friendship above all else. I was terrified that if I told Holmes that I indeed shared more profound feelings for him yet denied Holmes on a physical facet, he may as well withdraw himself completely from me. On the other hand I couldn't outright tell him that I wished for things to remain platonic between us; knowing my friend, he would be most likely aware that I harboured some sort of feelings for him. This made the entire ordeal more complex! If I rejected him completely he would see through my lie, and resent me for it.

I was certain upon one point: that protective desire I had to wrap my friend in my arms compounded with the strange reactions I'd been having in response to his touch compelled me to believe that perhaps I would be congenial to exploring the more alien aspects of my nature.

As to that specific situation: was it now that I'd become some sort of deviant like Holmes? Was I now also the Wildean-like Homosexual discussed so expansively within that pamphlet? Three continents knowledge of women later and I was now turned invert? I had never found a man appealing before, and still yet found the female form to be alluring. This part of me that I was coming to realize must have always been a part of me, but laying dormant until now. I had always known myself to be appreciative of more earthly delights, but never before had I to deal with matters that tempted me into that which was illegal!

I was terrified.

Undeniably and exhaustively terrified. I was about to confront the most pivotal and possibly life changing event I'd ever faced, since before the time I'd decided to first move in with Holmes.

(From the Account of Sherlock Holmes)

After I was finally forced to confession, and received such an inconclusive response, I could barely manage to work on any case let alone function. I was suffering inconsiderable amounts of anxiety. Could I have made a leviathan error in judgment? Perhaps it was enough that he accepted me for the first offence. Did I have to push my luck?

No, I don't believe in luck. Luck is for those of guileless and superstitious mind. It would be easy to believe in luck or lack thereof. To pretend there is some source of infinite wisdom that reaches out with a potent and invisible hand to guide us along some predetermined path would be any easy way to excuse many a gaffe in judgment. But I believe there is an action for every equal and opposite reaction, there is only cause and effect. We make our own path which determines a chain of events ultimately resulting in what fortunes or misfortunes we are borne.

But I digress! Occasionally I wax philosophic when I suffer a melancholic state.

The problem was that I had perceived on several occasions a peculiar reaction to myself within dear Watson that encouraged me to believe that Mycroft's supposition may have been accurate. I felt that perhaps if he weren't entirely revolted by my touch, and even my initial confession, that perhaps he'd be receptive to the knowledge that I desired him.

Yet even after I revealed such, I began to feel immense regret! Had I miscalculated this situation so thoroughly? His response had been eminently unsatisfactory, after all.

Between botching up that locket situation so atrociously by lacking proper focus in my professional life, and standing on the precipice of imminent disaster in my personal life, I felt compelled more than usual to rely on the cocaine to numb my senses.

However impaired my senses may have been, I did perceive something irregular about Watson's continued avoidance of the subject. I know to respect my friend's privacy, but I felt a keen suspicion that he was up to something that he was with great effort trying to conceal from me.

In my state of mind, I couldn't resist investigating. This is what led me to follow closely behind a cab which contained my friend and an apparent companion.

I told the cab driver to slow down as we neared Piccadilly. I had a dreadful feeling that we were nearing one of those clubs of dubious reputation. I knew of several of those clubs (though I had never attended or applied) around this area alone. My suspicions were proven valid when we passed onto Jermyn Street. Watson and Friend exited their cab and made their way into the club.

How stupid and dangerous! For the life of me I couldn't figure out why Watson should risk heading into a club like this in the first place, let alone with someone other than me!

The man at the door looked at me with a queer expression. Obviously I was suspicious as a stranger unattended by a member. I was asked the password, which, I had gleaned was some sort of pun or reference revealing the true nature of the club.

"Hellenism." I stated confidently.

"That is not the password." The doorman scowled, shooing me away much to my severe inconvenience.

"Athens! Greek! Erotas! Thelema! What then!?"(1) I supplicated to no avail. I sighed dramatically, and stormed away. I would just have to get in another way. I anxiously tried to not imagine why Watson was at this place and what he was doing inside. At last I snuck around the back side removed my penknife from my pocked, lodged it in the window jam and pried it up enough for me to get my fingers in to slide it up part way. I pressed my ear close to the opening and listened for movement.

When all seemed in the clear I peaked in and saw the room was vacant. I lifted a board and shoved it against the bottom of the window pane managing to push it open enough for me to maneuver my way in. Once inside I brushed myself off and looked around. It seemed to be a room decorated for the sole purpose of coupling, complete with a clothing rack, sumptuous divan, small table and washing bin. Inconspicuously I moved my way into the main room.

The light was dim, and there were men in intimate conversation with each other. All would seem without suspicion if there weren't tell tale clues such as hands upon knees and other such small affectionate gestures.

Finally, I spotted my quarry. Watson and his companion were sitting next to each other in energetic conversation over something or another, and I decided to lay low and study this new situation.

For the most part there was nothing terribly fantastic about Watson's companion. He was a doctor in his mid-forties, clearly of homosexual tendency, with conservative taste belying bohemian mannerisms. He was of moderate build, had a strong jaw and a most obnoxious and distasteful moustache which was suddenly to my alarm brushing itself against Watson's face.

I watched in absolute horror as my friend was drawn into a most forceful and repulsive kiss. I nearly sprung out of the shadow I was lingering in to tear this brute away from my Watson! My teeth ground together and my knuckles went white clutching the banister as I restrained myself from ambushing this villain!

My rage simmered into horror, shock and defeat as I saw Watson respond in kind. With this I could no longer torture myself to remain, so I turned away and snuck out the main room. I barely recognized what I was doing as I entered out the main way.

The doorman did a double take and sputtered in protest, though I heard not a word as I distractedly and dejectedly exited, and hailed a cab back to Baker Street. (2)

What had I just witnessed in there? My friend whom I had hidden the true nature of my feelings for, for well over a decade was in fact secretly an invert himself? Had a lover of which I was previously unaware? How long had he hidden this from me?

I had a sudden epiphany! Of course! It takes one to know one, is the adage! Hence, how he'd caught me unawares and discovered my own secret!

Oh, and then that confession! That damned confession! Why had I ever told him I loved him? To think of it I burned with humiliation. Of course he spared me the pain by simply neglecting to tell me he already had a lover.

It was all coming together now. Why he was so unaffected by my initial revelation, and then secondarily, why he was so unresponsive to my secondary one!

I burned with regret. Why hadn't I told him sooner? Perhaps he might've been mine years ago had I only the nerve to try, and now I'd lost him! I was a fool.

I sat for the next half-hour in my chair smoking my pipe feeling in quite a black mood. At last he entered, and I listened as he seemed to slowly make his way up the stairs. When he finally came in the drawing room he took one look at me, and I lost all modicum of self control.

I leapt from my chair and pointed an accusing finger, "I saw you at your club! The game is up, Watson. You needn't have lied to spare my feelings, but how dare you! How dare you pester me about not trusting you! I shall never trust you again now, not for as long as I live!"

At the end of my tirade, I observed Watson's features sag with the weight of dawning horror, and I too broke. I collapsed back in my chair, and I covered my face with my hands and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Holmes, how— and but why did you… my friend, you must listen to me," Watson began beseechingly, "you misunderstand the entire situation."

I couldn't look at him but my curiosity was peaked, what could he possibly make me understand about the situation that I hadn't already observed?

"Holmes, I don't know why you followed me, but you mistake my motives! I didn't lie to try to spare you, my friend, Dr. Granger is not my paramour, though out of context I can see where you'd have gotten such an idea."

"Oh? Was that then not a passionate embrace I witnessed? Was that familial or friendly and I just happened to completely misconstrue it because I am so completely out of touch with the trends and current social niceties?" I ranted, turning red in the face.

"Absurd as it sounds, yes."

I stopped, momentarily confused, "I'm out of touch?"

"Don't be daft. Let me continue! I allowed him to kiss me so I could see if it was something I could manage to do, Holmes."

"Kissing lessons." I stated dumbly.

Watson sighed, "Of a sort."

He observed my look of skepticism and turned away from me.

"Holmes, I know you're hurt and ill-inclined to listen to me, but at least give me a sporting chance to explain."

"Hurt!" I sputtered, indignant, "How dare you tell me how I'm feeling. You…have no idea."

"Holmes, we can't go on like this."

For a moment, I was stunned by the blow, bravely however I took it in stride and replied in an even tone, "Right then, will you need help in packing your bags? I don't want to inconvenience you, but since this address has been established as the site of my business, and you have your lover and your practice over in-"

"Holmes wait-"

"I will be most sore to lose such an excellent partner… "

"Oh for goodness sake! You're not losing anything!" Watson tried to interject.

"Mrs. Hudson will be devastated, but of course she'll get over it. And I have my clients, and my work, and it really will be for the best, this whole ordeal has put me quite out of sorts, which is no good for business!" I rambled, desperate to preserve the little dignity I had left while trying not to break down completely.

"Are you quite done?"

"Done?"

"Done talking?" "You mistake my meaning entirely."

"Do I?" I challenged.

Watson heaved a tested sounding sigh. "'Is life not a hundred times too short for us to stifle ourselves?'"

"Nietzche," I recognized, "but I confess I'm not following."

"I'm saying Holmes, that I do care for you"

"Well that's absurd and confounding! I mean, you did after all leave me for a woman, and then for another man… you'll have to elaborate. I would myself, but I believe my power of deduction is completely stifled within your presence."

"You know what I mean."

"Again, do I? I'm at a loss to explain your drastic change in preference, and even more so to explain your awful taste in men. Had I known you were so partial to massive amounts of facial hair…"

"Holmes, about that— you don't understand the circumstances. I still do very much enjoy the finer points of women, yet there seem to be exceptions to this rule. This is all very new to me, Holmes. I have a friend who was willing to aide me through the process of figuring this out...that is who you saw me with."

"So you skipped right over me when opting for a partner to practice with." I stated, not bothering to disguise the jealousy and hurt in my tone.

"I was practicing for you, Holmes." Watson confessed, exasperated.

I stood stock still letting this sink in. I just about fell over. I was so dense! Yet a sense of joy began to claw its way into my gut.

"Are you sure you're not saying this out of some misguided sense of pity? You mean this? You want to be with me?" I asked, hardly believing it.

"Yes."

"I don't know quite what to say. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?!" Watson seemed taken aback at this response.

"I'm sorry because this isn't an easy path to walk and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But if anyone were to so happen to find themselves walking on the same path, I'm quite selfishly overjoyed that it is you. I couldn't have dreamt for something so fortuitous. Can you forgive me for being such a complete clod?"

"You are an exception to the rule, Sherlock Holmes. You always have been," Watson chided, jokingly, "but I suppose I'll make an exception for you. You're forgiven. Do you forgive me for being a right insensitive ass?"

I laughed nervously, still unsure of how we stood. Though my nervousness was of a whole new sort now.

"Remarkable how my own fears and uncertainties clouded my ability to observe all of this." I mused aloud, as I hesitantly and shyly moved nearer to my dear friend.

"You have my whole heart, Holmes, you have for a very long while now." Watson declared with timid sincerity. I finally moved to cup his face within my hand.

"Will you allow me to demonstrate my depth of feeling for you, John?" Watson's breath hitched and he closed his eyes at my usage of his first name in such a fashion.

"Shall I draw the curtains?" He said, opening his eyes back up to gaze at me with a heavy lidded expression of warmth that lent a flush to my face, and sent a heated rush of feeling down through the core of my body.

"Quite so." I breathlessly stole away to quickly close the curtains before he could, and then swept him up into my arms.

"Watson, I should like to request permission to kiss you."

"You needn't ask what's already yours to take, my friend. I'd be honoured if you would."

I leaned forward, and felt a rush of electricity course through my veins, as for the first time our lips met in unison. It was nothing and everything like I'd imagined it would be. It was perfect, and sensual and completely clumsy. My teeth knocked into his as I attempted to deepen our kiss, and I'm quite sure I poked him in the eye with my nose. But as we stood there inside each other's embrace, all the affection I'd ever felt for this man increased tenfold.

As our kiss deepened, we mutually pulled closer, pressing into each other as if we might, standing there, bond molecules and form one creature. The scruff of his moustache chafed my upper lip in the most amazingly sensual way, and I groaned as I felt my excitement flow directly down into my nether regions.

I tried to pull away to hide my shame and spare my friend my physical reaction, but he pulled me even closer and it was revealed to me to my great joy that he shared my state of arousal. We pressed into each other and melted down onto the settee. I could barely think so insensate I was within my passion, and I hurriedly began to undo his collar and remove his tie, all the while smothering his face in adoring kisses. Gods, I wanted this man! He crushed his groin into mine, as he straddled me, attempting to free me from my shirt and collar as well.

Suddenly he stopped.

"What?" I asked, almost frantically.

"Should we lock the doors?"

I nodded and moaned with the loss, as he got off of me to secure the room for maximum privacy.

When he came back over, I grabbed his hands, wrapped my arms around him and pulled him back down on top of me.

To my immense disappointment, he pulled away again, and looked at me with hesitancy clouding his features.

"Holmes, I'm not sure about this. I mean, I want this. It's just that, intimacy with a woman is one thing, but I confess, I'm completely out of my league, here."

"Well, it can't be that much different than being with a woman. It's still essentially the same idea."

"Yes, but it's the parts that are so different."

In my state of urgent arousal I felt myself become slightly cross, "Truly, but I'm no more practiced here than you are, old man, if anything quite less so." I nuzzled his neck affectionately, and he pulled back from me. Suddenly I felt very cold as a sinking feeling began to descend upon me. Surely he couldn't be pulling out from me now? Not after everything… I nearly panicked as he separated himself from me and sat up. I rolled over from my prone position to hide my jutting arousal feeling quite terrified and humiliated.

He studied me, "Holmes, I'm sorry."

I died. I felt my face blanch.

"Watson–" I began.

I calmed as he stroked his fingers through my hair, "Holmes, I'm sorry, we just have to take this slow, I need to get my bearings. And don't think for one second it's because of any lack of desire I have for you," he glanced down and the prominent bulge in his trousers, "I have more than enough of that to spare, it's just, this is a bit much for having just exchanged our mutual feelings not more than five minutes ago after a week of arguing. You're not just some cheap one night stand to me, Holmes, we can take this at a more gradual pace."

I arched a brow and challenged him, "Yes, but allow me to make a few points." I awaited his nod of permission, "Point one: do we not have more than a decade to make up for? Point two: we're not getting any younger, if you haven't noticed, and I should like to show you just how much I want you before I'm too old to bandy this thing about like such. Point three: I'm not a woman. I don't need slow, gentle love-making."

"I noticed point three, Holmes-" I shut him up and kissed him again.

"Shall we move this to one of the bedrooms?" I interrupted briefly, tired of being poked in the back by the arm of the couch.

We stumbled into my bedroom, being the closest one right off of the sitting room, and tumbled down onto the bed in a jumbled heap of tangled limbs, and half-removed clothing. I frustratedly worked at the buttons of John's shirt before becoming too impatient and tearing it from him, with buttons flying.

"Holmes!" Watson admonished. I playfully nipped his lip.

"I'll send it to a tailor in the morning." I propped myself above him, and looked down admiringly at my dearest John. Still, after many years from youth, he retained an excellent physique and admirable muscle tone. The old wound on his shoulder was mottled and silvery with age and stretched like a star above his breast. I felt compelled to lean down and kiss it. I moved across his entire torso tasting and nipping my way around with an amount of shy and slow reverence. I was finally allowed to do this, when I had for so many years played it out in fantasies that I thought should never come true.

I must have lingered for a moment lost in my reverie, for Watson suddenly urged me back to action by removing my own shirt fully, (though I have no idea how he managed to so artfully remove my shirt with buttons intact!) He stroked my chest slowly with his finger tips, teasingly rubbing my sensitive nubs which hardened beneath his ministrations sending shivers of pleasure down to my aching cock. I in turn began to discard of John's trousers. He raised up allowing me to slip them completely off.

I knelt down between his legs and kissed the inside of his thigh which tensed beneath my touch. He arched back closing his eyes as I delicately kissed my way up to his straining manhood. I stopped momentarily to admire the beauty before me before I took him in my hand and began to gently rub the top of the head which seeped a clear drop of fluid. In my wonderment I leaned down to lap it up with my tongue. John moaned beneath me, his cheeks flush in passion. I decided right then and there to take him fully in my mouth. He pushed into me desperately, crying out my name.

"You're perfect like this," I said teasingly. I straddled him again and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Holmes, oh my god!" he whimpered, wantonly pressing himself into me seeking contact. I gasped as his hard leaking member pressed against my own.

We met in a frenzied passionate kiss, continuing to rub against each other, cocks pressing deliciously together. I was on the precipice, I saw stars literally dance before my eyes, then John leaned in bit my neck lightly below my jaw, moaning out my name as he shook, releasing his passion onto my chest and abdomen. Overcome, I felt myself spin off into a white world of oblivion, and exploded my load between us, as he kissed me deeply.

At last we rolled over, neither one of us touching, so exhausted we were. I reached down onto the floor and snatched up a sheet which I cleaned myself off with before handing to John.

When he was finished cleaning himself he rolled closer to me and rested his chin against my shoulder, his lips close to my ear.

"I want you to know, you have me convinced. I wouldn't mind doing this again every night with you for the rest of my life."

I chuckled, "You may have to."

"You know, I do care a great deal for you, Holmes."

Vast understatement. I can see a deep and abiding love glimmering from a light within his eyes. For a moment I'm not a little overwhelmed, and can say nothing. He knows I could read the true emotion in his face as he did little to disguise it. He seems to take my silence as a lack of reciprocation, and tries to turn away, but I stop him, and make him look at me again.

"I'm not as excellent with words as you are, my friend, but you are my sun, my moon, and stars. It may sound trite, but it's true. I never expected to have you I my arms, though I dreamt it nearly every night for ten years. If you can imagine it."

(Watson's Account Continued)

Throughout the years we continued to share many more adventures together, and for better or worse shared each other's intimate company whilst remaining the truest of friends.

Through writing this account of the Nightingale Locket case Holmes granted me the honour of sharing several of his accounts of the ordeal which I've found to be remarkably enlightening even all these years later. Sometimes it startles me to read the soft and sentimental words he speaks about me only through ink on paper.

I wish only now we lived in a time that was more sympathetic to a love of the sort we share, for it is of the truest and noblest variety.

I've concluded that I shall in fact, be selling my practice and moving in with Holmes, society be damned. They daren't malign us anyhow- not with my avidly loyal readership and Holmes' impervious and sterling reputation.

As I write this I'm on my way to the little bee farm in Sussex Downs, I can almost see the bottom of the hill now, where my friend awaits me with his warm embrace.

Notes:

1.) Erotas- sensual desire and longing (Greek) Thelema- desire (modern Greek)

2.) (Sherlock Holmes' Aside: "In my distress I also failed to realize I was publicly being seen exiting from this particular establishment. Though it pretended to be of decent repute, it was bound to go down in a raid at any time. Though I was fortunate to have not been recognized by anyone of the Yard or a ne'er do well, I'd later be reprimanded by Mycroft for further descent into carelessness after I'd retold to him this account.")

Author NOTE: Mushy end. Sniff. I'll miss writing this. Maybe I can actually have a life again though, you know? Anyway, dear Readers, thank you for sticking this out with me, you know…R and R… C and C welcome. I love you. Goodnight. It's 4 in the morning.