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When I left London, I had hoped to leave my memories behind me, yet somehow Paris was hardly a better match for my dark temper. If anything I found the city’s bohemian influence seeped through my skin, like a dose of the seven percent solution my friend had once been so fond of.
I had closed up my practice at home, and took what little savings I had left after the funeral arrangements for Mary in attempts to bury my grief. I had found myself spending it on ill-wrought decisions, plying myself with liquor and taking to the tables like a man back from war.
I’d won little, and lost more. This continued until I realized that it was no longer a tenable solution if I didn’t wish to lose what little possessions I had left to care for. Instead, I faced the bleak fact that what little luster London had retained after Holmes’ death had disappeared entirely after Mary’s.
So, I decided it was time for a holiday. Perhaps an extended holiday, from which I might simply remove myself from the ghosts that haunted me wherever I dared turn. Except the question I had faced was where such a place might be. My monetary situation had grown precarious, so I could not travel too far a distance. I considered for a moment somewhere along the countryside, but the idea of being alone with my losses seemed too much to bear. I felt that Holmes’ had been right in his comments of the noxiousness of the countryside, and how it might breed such dark thoughts.
No, it would have to be a city, and of my options Paris seemed the most welcoming distraction.
Paris functioned in a different language. It still had the bustling streets, busy canals, and the daily life, but Paris held a bohemian lifestyle that London should never find acceptable. In Paris, a man might participate in a variety of vices, that he may find himself imprisoned for on the streets of London. Their salons and dens would be a welcome distraction from my overwrought nerves.
It had taken nearly a year, but in indulging in my darker intuitions I had found myself missing a companion. I was not used to spending my time so isolated, and while I could not imagine another woman in Mary’s place, I found instead that my thoughts drifted once more towards the masculine form.
It was not particularly surprising to me. I had, once upon a time, taken my lovers among men as well as women. I found both equally pleasing in the pleasure from their appearances, as well as the company I might keep with them. It would have been difficult indeed, to have a reputation of three-continents, when I saw very few of the fairer sex on one of them. I found it odd how many a military man found his attractions lay in both when the opportunity presented itself, only to shy away once he returned home.
I had not found that to be true. There were the necessary precautions of course, and I still had types, as any is wont to do, but I found no shame in the joy I found from a handsome gentleman warming my bed. Indeed, I rather considered two consenting mates a rather less sordid situation than visiting a brothel.
My grief for Mary was too soon for me to consider another woman in my bed. Her memory was still too fresh, and whilst the ache for Holmes was a type of anguish that could not be filled– the fact was that we had never been lovers.
I found it easier to allow myself the distraction in a man’s arms, and pretend for a moment it mattered.
Paris let me get away. It let me indulge in vices I should otherwise shy from on Brittania’s shores. I sat in those draped salons and partook of the Green Fairy. I watched men enjoy each other’s company with far less derision that they might have at home. My clubs at home, though I had only just recently renewed my membership, claimed reciprocation and helped me gain entrance to the more privately closed doors. I slipped into the underside of the city, indulging in too much drink and tobacco, and continued playing sports at the tables. I visited a selection of men, and forgot for a moment to count my pennies.
I took out a small room, amongst the artists and poets. I knew I hardly fit in, but at least my own physique was still something to be desired and left less questions asked. More than anything else, I found the anonymity a blessing. Too often people in London recognized me from the Strand, and so too I was forced to face my own demons. Parisians were not as fond of my stories, and I believe some of the charictures teased us, showing me as little more than a round buffoon.
I blessed the artist, and relished the ability to walk through the streets unaccosted.
Yet still, I found my ghosts haunted me.
My thoughts had grown bleak, and I had reached the end of my tether. The pavement and never ending fog seemed to creep up and blanket me in my own melancholy. The usual trysts seemed too exhausting, and all at once I wished for nothing but as simply as a breath of danger. Had I had the means I should have sought a case, or perhaps a fight. I had romance and lost it, and now two loves were gone. In place of other vices I wished for something else to restore the gaping hole. I’d heard of another tavern that catered to a rougher sort of folk. Military, dock workers, a few actors, and such-
It was indeed a seedier place than I should have tried, and reminded me mostly of the types of places Holmes might seek on a case. Nothing to give away that it housed men pursuing a particular sort. I stepped inside, and was surprised at the din. I fetched a drink, my eyes looking around the crowded room. It was hard to imagine such a place to pick up a willing partner, but there were those inclined to such among all classes. Here I saw a group of actors at the bar, and an awkward conversation between a clerk and a man that must have been a musician from the case set next to him.
Meanwhile there were three military men such as myself who caught my attention. Tall, handsome, and perhaps a year or two younger. With my recent losses; however, I doubted I should have much luck pulling that particular Adonis.
I debated the wisdom of simply leaving and retiring to my own rooms, when a laugh caught my attention from further along the bar. A man stood between a few ruffians, clearly dock workers and the like, but I found myself staring at the gentlemen’s hands. Long, elegant, and exaggerated in their movements, they danced in the air like a conductor at a symphony. He was dressed in common trousers, a worn shirt with vest and his jacket had been abandoned nearby. His hair was unfashionably long and unkept, curling around his face, and he had a several days shadow that was near approaching a beard. He was thin, but lean rather than gaunt, and a glint in his eyes reminded me so much of my lost friend that I found myself nearly faint.
Indeed, I turned to the bartender and ordered something a good deal stronger to fortify my nerves, as I watched the man. I could only understand the occasional word in his story to the other men in French, but I felt a pang of jealousy at the way one of them touched his arm affectionately, and those bright grey eyes looked upon the man with consternation.
I also knew the mistake I should make were I to approach the man.
While I was hardly the only man in such a place to use another in place of the one he wanted, some wounds were simply too fresh and this man too striking a resemblance. I remember Holmes once mentioning French relations on his mother’s side, and wondered if perhaps this man was a cousin or some other connection.
I must have stared too long, for after a moment I saw him meet my eyes, and thought I saw a reflection of surprise and… dismay? His brow furrowed, and for a moment I was sure that I caught a look of what nearly could be described as fear, before he turned his attention once more at his companions.
I felt crass and ill-mannered. Clearly my own brutish tendencies must be on display to receive such a reaction. I downed the most recent pour perhaps quicker than was wise. I coughed and was surprised when the handsome naval officer from earlier came over, patted my back and laughed, “At ease soldier, I daresay a man who's seen battle shouldn’t die from a bit of libations.”
I laughed in return, his accent from home and finding myself feeling a tad better, “I’m afraid they make it of sterner stuff here than the drink at home.”
“True enough,” he said, waving to the bartender for another round. I found myself looking up just slightly, he had a good inch or two on me, and clearly was an officer himself from his stance. “Thomas,” he said, holding up his drink once mine had poured. “Of Her Majesty's Navy” he said with a wink.
“John,” I replied, it would be foolish on both our parts to share a last name in such a space– even in Paris where such things were legal. “Lately of Her Majesty’s Army.”
He grinned and leaned forward so that our glasses clink, “Well John, I think we can put those differences aside, yes?” His hand rested on my arm, and I felt a shiver of anticipation.
I had barely opened my mouth to reply when my hand was pushed away, and the dark-haired worker from earlier pushed himself between us. His eyes were even brighter, and this time his lips were pressed in a tight line. He looked slightly maniac, if I should be honest, and was taken entirely by surprise.
“Can you? You’ve clearly only turned to him once your own companion grew tired of you. Your preference is other military men, who you think you won’t have to face again, yet you miss the entire fact that while he has been in Paris for sometime and retired. No doubt he will visit the bar once more, and make this entire discussion awkward once again as you are both officers of the British Military, yet you have a temper and little more than your looks and heritage to help your standing. You think to hold the upper hand, and take easy advantage, but I think you’d find the entire experience rather unpleasant once you realize that the gentlemen has seen far more experience than a brute like you has, and a body to-”
“Stop, Holmes !”
The words tumbled from my mouth before I had a moment to consider what I had even said. It was so shocking, so out of place my thoughts were unable to piece together the truth of the matter. Even with his heavily accented English, the man had sounded so like my lost friend that it had been reactionary.
The officer looked furious, his face red, and I saw that our interrupter had been right about the temper. His eyes flickered between me and the other man, it took in the way I had grabbed the thin man’s arm, trying not to consider the similarity in build and height. This man was more muscular than my friend had been, but at that moment I should have thought it was he in the flesh.
The Frenchman's mouth was open, and I saw his eyes flashing in what I took must be anger. I knew the French were not as fond of my writings as we in Britain were. No doubt he saw it as an insult, and for a brief moment I thought I should find myself pummeled by not one, but two men and subsequently tossed out.
Thomas’ eyes flickered between us again, and then he let out a hardy laugh, “Ah how appalling of me,” he said, holding up his hands. “Of course,” his eyes flickered to my cane where it rested and my own appearance. He took in the Frenchman and shook his head, “I should have seen from the looks you were sharing across the bar. I’m afraid I hadn’t realized the jist of it all, although I dare say I have enjoyed a bit of role playing myself from time to time.” He winked at us both and I felt entirely out of my depths.
“Excuse me?”
“John Watson ,” he said, drawing out my last name as though it were a joke. “And you of course must be Sherlock Holmes,” he chuckled to himself. “I’m afraid I was looking for my own fun tonight gents.”
I was still staring at the man dumbfounded, “I don’t-” I only barely noticed that the Frenchman’s hand had gone vice like about my arm. His fingers seemed to tremble slightly, although you shouldn’t have noticed from the hawklike gaze he gave between the two of us.
“Nothing wrong with it. Not that I’m much into playing roles, but you may want to warn a man first before springing a surprise like that on him. No need to get his hopes up, and dash them so quickly eh?” He laughed and shook his head. “Well, I must say you both quite look the parts. Hope you have a scintillating evening. ,” he tilted his head and briskly crossed to the other side of the establishment.
I was too shocked to do much of anything as I watched the Adonis leave me with the shadow of my friend. The man I had surely now insulted beyond anything, although I’d had just enough cause. I shook off his hand, turning in disbelief. “Sir I think you should-”
“I believe it is I who owes you an explanation, especially as it would seem I have lost you your fun for the evening,” his voice left a sneer and I felt my own back go up at it. I should hardly think a man who was looking for his own fun should judge another’s.
“Well then, go ahead with it, and perhaps another Armagnac while we do,” I muttered darkly with a nod towards the man’s glass. He nodded, waving the bartender down and I noticed with some surprise he took a key as well.
“May we retire to some place a bit more private Monsieur ?” he said, his eyes catching mine and I felt a wave of anguish that I had not felt since my friend’s death.
I could not, no matter how much I ached, follow this man, “Sir, if you think after that displacement that I should be interested in a tête-à-tête…”
He held up a hand, “ Non, non , Monsieur . I simply think I should explain my actions, and it would be best to do so away from prying eyes. Please, sir? I shall judge neither your pistol, nor the weapon you have hidden in that cane of yours.”
I frowned, and finally took the proffered glass of liquor. I had come for danger, and while this man may not be Holmes, God knew I could never refuse him anything, not even his ghost.
“Lead the way then,” I muttered in a mood of my own, angry at my own body’s reaction to this phantasm, and at the loss of the handsome officer who I should have appreciated abusing me no matter what this man said.
Yet it was harder to admit that with words, than simply accepting the actions.
I followed the man as he slipped past his earlier compatriots to withdraw his hat and jacket with a nod. They barely glanced our way as he led me back through the broken staircase, and through a rather rough hall. I half wondered if I was following this man to some sort of trap, perhaps from some left over agent of Moriarty, but found at that moment I couldn’t care.
Not watching the shadow that looked so like my friend before me.
He finally unlocked a room at the end of the hall, and I found myself surprised to see a clean and rather comfortable room. It held a modest fireplace that was roaring, a rather fashionable washstand and basin with fresh water. There were windows overlooking the street framed by heavy drapes and two comfortable sitting chairs that I perhaps thought outdated the revolution.
The bed looked comfortable and clean for such a facility, and I realized that this gentleman must rent these rooms regularly. Perhaps I should have been worried about such, but I found instead myself intrigued that someone with his income should afford such.
The door shut behind me, and I heard the lock click. He stepped away, walking forward to pull the drapes, and then looking at the fire. I noticed he had emptied his glass and poured himself another thumbful with a shaking hand.
I wondered what strange place I had fallen into. I did not see any belongings, and my mind ran through such crazy theories as my friend might have had. Perhaps a nobleman in disguise? Perhaps he was a cousin of Holmes and he knew of me? Perhaps the man was as Thomas said and simply looking for a bit of a role play?
Or perhaps he was a mad man, or seeking some sort of recompense and I to be his next victim.
“I am afraid, My Dear Watson, I am not precisely sure the best way to begin.”
The words that came out of his mouth held no trace of French accent, indeed they held none of the deep or roughness that I had caught earlier. If there had been something to hold me back fantasies it had been that, and just now there was no mistaking it.
The man turned, and reflected in the light of the fire he brought himself to his full stature. The curls and facial hair had not changed, but he must have removed some slight makeup because I could now see him clearly beneath it. His grey eyes held an emotion I have never read upon them before, and his fingers tapped impatiently at the glass he held.
It was Holmes, undoubtedly, and no French doppelganger.
“Holmes?” My voice broke, and I heard a shatter as my own glass broke upon the floor.
“Watson, my dear Watson-'' he looked faint in the light and all at once I felt the room spin. The heat from the fire too much, the shock, the liquor that I had imbued in, and I grasped the chair and knew no more.
It could not have been long, as I felt a cool towel on my forehead and soft words murmuring in my ear. I thought I must be dreaming or dead to feel my friend's long fingers brush mine, but as I looked up to see the strange hair and face I realized it was not a hallucination at all.
“Holmes?! What hell is this?” The words were coarse coming from my throat. Anger tinged them, both at myself and him. That he should have lied, that I should find him now here , and that he should now see the darkest part of me on display.
I saw him pull back in hurt, but I could not regret my sharp words. Indeed, if this phantasm was truly him, the misery and anguish I had suffered these last few years…
“I do not know how to begin to ask you to forgive me Watson,” he said softly. I watched as he kneeled next to the chair he had rested me in. He took my hand and I was shocked to find him pressing his lips chastely against me. “I wish I could tell you everything–”
“Good God man,” I said, pulling away. “Indeed you shall. Damn it all I have half a mind to punch you myself,” except that I had felt the muscles and knew Holmes for the pugilist he was. I somehow suspected I should fail to land such a throw in the state I was in.
“I wish to, but the danger–”
I grabbed his arm, “And when was there not danger? I thought you dead Holmes. For months I mourned you, and in my sorrow I lost my Mary as well. I had nothing left, except an old wound and a gaping hole and here I am to find that you were– what? Gallivanting the continent for new adventures? Was my company so detestable to you that you needed to seek your own demise? Did I matter so little you?”
The months before his fall, as we sought a step ahead of Moriarty, had been some of my fondest memories. Indeed, had I not already been in love with the man, I daresay that would have assured me any hopes. I had never sullied my marriage, but it was those months in which I knew my full heart should never belong to Mary. I still regretted that those last months with her had been spent with me languishing for a dead man.
A man who I saw now had simply left me for better things.
“Watson no!” he said sharply. “Damn all, no. I had not expected to step away from Reichenbach, and I daresay it was a close thing. By the time I had removed myself from the falls, you were long gone and Moriarty’s men considered me dead. I realized then that I had an opportunity, for I should not be able to seek rest until his network was brought down. With me dead they were sloppy, and they needed all belief that I had fallen with their master of ceremonies. I am afraid, my dear, that you should remain removed from that knowledge. I did not like such deception, but you were watched and should they sense even the smallest change…”
“Holmes-”
“Or if they should target you, and I lose you in the the midst of it-”
“So better I thought you were dead?”
“There was still a high probability!” he shouted back. He looked younger like that, more vulnerable with the soft curls framing his face and grey eyes alight. “It was still as likely as not that I should never make it home! Why get your hopes up when I hardly expected to live at all? Should I have given you my addresses? Door stoops and brothels, or here in a room above a bar for inverts?”
It was my turn to wince. Of course, of course, how stupid could I be. Nothing more than a bolt hole that no one would think to check. He’d been merely playing another part, and there I was stupid enough to fall into his palm as always.
“I daresay I should have been a damn hypocrite when it was you who found me looking for a petite mort with said inverts .”
Holmes' eyes were sharp, “You were married, and you feel guilt.”
“The only guilt I harbor is the black mood my wife found me in as I lost her that last year due to the loss of a friend I now see is alive. I had my vices before and after her death, and you will find some men enjoy the company of both the feminine and masculine wiles.”
He slammed his own glass down into the fire, “Damn you man! This is not how I wished to come back to you!”
I was on my feet and grabbed his arm angrily, “From what you have said Holmes, you hardly expected to come back to me at all!”
“Watson-”
“Why did you interrupt that man downstairs I was speaking with,” I stared at his face, that infuriating face that I knew was reading me like a book. “You might have let it go entirely. Our eyes met but you must have known I didn’t recognize you– I rather thought you were simply some hellish phantasm sent to torment me. A cousin or other strange working of the world where two men might be twins and yet never cross one another’s path.”
“He was a bullish brute,” he said, looking away. “Undeserving of you. You shant have enjoyed it.”
I thought I saw a hint of blush brush his cheeks, “It may surprise you Holmes, that on occasion I enjoy such simplicity. As my opportunity for danger has been much lessened, I must find such excitement in other incursions.”
“He hardly had two thoughts to place together! The only reason he has his placement is from his family’s connections, and even then he was hardly-”
“I hardly wanted a brain Holmes. A handsome physique does much to ease that deficit.”
“You would have been unsatisified. He was clearly compensating,” this time the jealousy was undoubtedly there. It was the same that I had thought I had hinted when he interrupted us so rudely. The idea was foreign and yet–
I laughed. I felt myself laughing at the whole ridiculousness of it all. If someone had told me my friend should return to life and spitefully tell me another man’s cock was lacking …
I saw his own lip turn up and a chuckle on his as well, “Well it was Watson. Surely you must have noticed-”
“Holmes I wasn’t noticing much beyond his rather admirable muscles and face. I was hardly looking to settle down with the man, rather I was looking for a distraction from you .”
I heard him draw in the sharp breath and wondered if I had gone too far.
“I saw your gaze…”
“Do you not know? Why else do you think I should have grieved so deeply,” I reached up, catching his cheek. It was strange to feel the sharp stubble along his cheekbones, but yet I could not be angry at those curls.
Like a bloody Byron ballad.
“Ah, Watson… John ,” my name was barely more of a breath on his lips.
“If you tell me to stop I shall,” I said softly. “Tell me these rooms are nothing more than another hideaway, and that you had no interest in those men downstairs. Tell me that it is both the feminine and masculine sex you want nothing with, and I will step away and we shall never speak of it again.”
I saw the conflict in his eyes, and saw the war of his thoughts finally end as he murmured, “I cannot,” shifting his head to press his lips to the palm of my hand and breathing in the scent of me.
I am not sure what little remnant of emotion in me shattered then. I dare say a cry came from my lips, and all rational thought left me. The liquor, the energy, it all became too much as I slammed the man back against the mantle place. I grasped his curls, pulling his head to mine in a searing kiss that he responded in kind. For a moment I felt him seek control, but that should be for another time. My anger, and my passion was too much, and I spread his lithe figure against the wall as I ravaged his mouth.
His bracers fell, his waistcoat, and I could hear the buttons of his shirt clatter upon the floor. His torso was hard, nearly hairless, and I had been right in the muscularity that had grown in the time away. There were scars I would ask about later, but for now I let my mouth seek his neck, his collarbone, and leave bruising marks that should pronounce him as mine. I could not resist the sounds that escaped him, sharp whines and cries of delight. I slid my leg between his, and felt with no little pride the hard protrusion of his own sufferings.
My hand slipped down to work at the fastenings and I chuckled into his ear, “I see you are compensating for nothing.” It was true enough. He may not have been as thick as I, but I daresay he had a solid inch on me for length, and was as elegant as he was.
“Watson please ,” I had surely fallen into some sort of realm beyond even the fondest imagination. To hear him beg like that-
And then suddenly he slipped to his knees and I felt my own trousers worked on. The buckles and flies worked open, and it was all I could do to shed my own waistcoat and bracers. Already he was freeing me from my pants, and I nearly fell at the sudden engulfment of warmth as his lips wrapped themselves around my length.
“Ho-Holmes!” I cried out, grabbing a fistful of hair.
He let out a murmur of encouragement, and I felt a combination of hands and tongue and suddenly something as ridiculous as decorum hardly mattered at all.
It was much later that we both laid in bed. Holmes had drawn out a cigarette and lit it, handing it over to me without a thought as I took a drag of the terrible tobacco he was so fond of. My mind was still reeling, as I lay nude next to the man I had thought dead for so long. For the first time in a long while, I felt calm and at ease.
I handed back the smoke and he let lazy rings drift over us in comfortable silence.
“I plan to return to England,” he said at last. “I had orchestrations in effect prior to seeing you in the club, but I’m afraid you beat me to the gambit. My work here is nearly complete, and I believe the last of Moriarty’s men lies in wait in London. His right hand man, so to speak, and one that I shall need to take care of before resuming my place at Baker Street,” I felt his hand tentatively brush mine, and looked to meet his face. “Will you join me, John?”
My given name sent a shiver of pleasure through me, the sound of it foreign on his tongue. I sat up on my arm to watch him, “Join you?”
“Back at Baker Street,” he said softly, looking away again. “I understand if you would rather not, but I should like my Boswell once more. It has not been the same without you by my side. ”
“Sherlock-" I nearly tripped on his name, but the light I saw at my use of it made me warm. "Yes, of course I shall,” I said, shaking my head and leaning over to press a kiss at the base of his neck. I could see my mustache tickled, and yet heard the slight murmur of pleasure. “I dare say, you’ll have to do more than die next time to be rid of me.” A nip this time and it was a wonder to watch my friend writhe in pleasure. Who should ever have thought him so affected?
“It will be dangerous,” he said, his fingers running along my arm. “I trust that it still attracts you as it did once?”
I laughed, “My dear, whatever do you think drew me to such a place as this? If it was only the company I wished for there are more than enough clubs and salons uptown. I missed all of you,” I whispered into his neck. “The danger, your infernal habits, and even your most outrageous moods.” I pressed a lip against his cheek, and then caught his lips. “Even without knowing I should have ever had you like this I missed you.”
“My dear John,” he said, catching my face in his hand.
“So yes, of course Sherlock. England, Americas, even the colonies if it means I should be at your side. I left my practice because the memories were too much, and I shall be a much happier man to return once more to Baker Street than an empty room.”
“Excellent,” he said and I found myself drawn closer. “I think for now, we can make do with Paris. I trust you have no pressing engagements?”
“I am yours, wherever you decide to go you may trust that I will follow.”
As his lips caught mine, and Holmes drew me back down to him I could not help but wondered that of all the things I'd sought in Paris I should never have imagined I'd find the very thing it was known best for.
Love.