New H/W ~The Right to Privacy~
Title: The Right to Privacy
Author: moustache_wax from The Bachelors of Baker Street
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: NC-17 / Grown-ups only!
Summary: Excerpts from Watson’s Journal
Thanks: Beta-love to k_haldane . All remaining flubs are my doing.
Warnings: None. Unless hot, Victorian man-on-man action offends you, in which case you have been duly warned.
From the 15th day of March - Eleven o’clock ante meridian
That I should write this or anything else on these pages attests to my madness. I do not feel at peace remaining in these rooms since this morning’s events. Sherlock Holmes has broken the sacred trust of our friendship. Though I do not wish to recount the particulars of it now, this has led to my decision to end my residence at 221b, Baker Street. Perhaps I shall set it to ink later this afternoon, after I have taken a room in a hotel.
~
From the 15th day of March - Three o’clock post meridian
I regard myself as a man of words. I have a broad collection of journals. There are my army journals, retelling the exciting times of my military career. My medicine journals, some of which I have culled from and published as monographs, detail remarkable medical cases I have witnessed. There are, of course, my notes and journals of the adventures I have shared with Holmes, which I have used to create a published record of his work. All of these journals are kept in the open. I care not who sees them, and in fact hope they come to be of some good use to others.
Then there are my private journals. Since my early adulthood I have kept detailed records of my personal experiences, ambitions, loves, and inner thoughts. It is in one of these journals that I now write. While I do pen these confessions, they are intended for no man’s eyes save my own. As such, I have kept these volumes in a locked cedar chest at the foot of my bed. That I would forget to lock it upon occasion should in no way imply that I wish to make them public, a fact lost on the likes of my former friend.
Though I may call myself a man of words, they are simply lost to me now.
~
From the 16th day of March - One o’clock post meridian
The events of the previous morning will not leave my mind. I had just returned to our rooms at Baker Street, following an absence of nearly two weeks. A past client, whose wife had fallen terribly ill, requested my presence at his residence in the country. The woman had suffered a blood infection following a particularly difficult childbirth and required almost constant care. Only after I was sure of her improving health and vigour did I board the train bound for home. It was in the best of spirits that I travelled that early morning.
Mrs. Hudson greeted me warmly upon my arrival. Given the contents of my last letter, she had not expected my return for a few days still. When I asked of Holmes, she told me that he had just left for the post-office but would return soon. I looked forward to having a smoke with him and hearing of his cases in my absence. I asked Mrs. Hudson if she wouldn’t mind keeping my arrival a secret. A playful mood had struck me, and I was curious as to whether I should be able to surprise Holmes or if he would deduce my presence from my foot marks upon the stairs or some other small clue I might have left behind.
I entered the sitting room and poured myself a sherry, planning to stretch out on the settee until my friend arrived. It was then that the book on the table caught my eye. ‘It couldn’t be,’ I thought to myself. But to my astonishment, it was in fact a recent volume of my private journal, complete with Holmes’s amber stemmed pipe resting across it. Staring down at it, I choked on my rage. There it was before me, marked with ribbon to one of the pages detailing my most passionate thoughts and desires involving Holmes. These were sentiments that I would never share with any living soul, much less the man himself.
My mind was like a terrific storm, raging in all directions at once. Suddenly I was without secrets, without the privacy that any decent man deserves. I was reeling with anger and aghast from embarrassment. I felt my composure completely drain.
I will continue this at another time. These recollections fray my nerves so.
~
From the 17th of March - Midnight
By soft lamplight and with a calmer disposition, I endeavour to finish my account of what happened on the morning of the fifteenth. With this I hope to rid it from my mind completely so that I might embark upon my new life.
In state of shock I left the sitting room with my journal clutched tightly to my breast. I raced to my room. One look in the cedar chest and I was crushed to see that all of the volumes had been sorted through. I tried to think of all the reasons a man might choose to invade the privacy of another man-especially one that he called a friend. I could think of no excuse worthy of my forgiveness. Though it pained me greatly, I felt that I must leave. My essential items were still packed from my morning travels, but I began to pack an additional trunk with the all-important personal tomes.
“Damn!” His shout was the first I knew of his return home. No doubt he did deduce my presence and knew what I must have found. His feet pounded up the stairs, and then there was a fierce knock at my door. “Watson, let me in. I really must see you!” I was in no mood to be confronted by the man about my deviancies, as I’m quite sure that is what weighed so heavily on his mind. The knocking continued. “I need to speak with you right away!”
The beating of my door would not cease. Finally I threw the door open and roared, “Is there no boundary you would not cross? I do not wish to speak to you. Leave me be.”
“But Wat-“
“Leave me be!” He made to step into my room, and I held him back with my palm. “Are you so righteous in your anger from what you have read that you will not show some modicum of respect to me, the aggrieved party in all of this? I ask you again, as someone I once considered my dearest friend, to leave.” He looked crestfallen as he turned to depart. Moments later I heard the front door slam shut.
I gathered my thoughts, and even braved writing a few of them down. I would send for my other things later. Saying good-bye to Mrs. Hudson and settling my rent with her were my last tasks before entering the cab that would take me away from Baker Street.
With the telling of it done, I shall now retire.
~
From the 19th of March - Four o’clock post meridian
My mood has grown darker still after my outing of just an hour ago.
Spending so much of my time in my hotel room left me feeling somewhat like a caged animal. I decided to venture out into the city. I thought perhaps the excellent drinks and friendly faces of the Monselain Bar might raise my spirits.
It was at a point of some four blocks away from the bar that I had the feeling I was being followed. I heard nearby footsteps in almost perfect time with my own. I turned around but saw no one there. Having blamed my nerves for the eerie feeling, I made my way to the establishment and was pleased to see a familiar face upon entering. There, seated alone at a small table, was Frederick Strakes, my old friend from the University of London.
Strakes was now a successful business owner, with two printing shops in London and plans to expand his enterprise soon. He was an athletic man of such good looks that I could scarcely imagine how he remained a bachelor. Although many years had passed since we last spoke, conversation came easily to us.
Glad to have a friend with whom to share my time, I was beginning to think less on my recent troubles. Strakes was a man of such good humour that it was hard to think on little else but him in his presence. That is until I spied a familiar silhouette against the back wall.
As it turned out, I had indeed been followed. My pleasant afternoon came to halt with my fury at the audacity of Holmes. ‘How dare he,’ I thought. Would the man give me no leave? I was badly shaken by this turn of events. I gave my apologies to Strakes, and told him where I could be found should he wish to meet again, then made my way out to the street. I made every effort to ensure I was not followed back to my hotel. I truly hope that I was successful.
I reach for my brandy and hope tomorrow will be a better day.
~
From the 23rd of March - Two o’clock post meridian
Though I still feel heartsick when I allow my thoughts to linger on all that has transpired, it has been refreshing to have the freedom to move about for the last few days without the prying eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
The unfortunate truth is that I have new frustrations to deal with. It seems I have inordinate amount of difficulty accomplishing the simplest of tasks. Just yesterday I made plans to view some rooms available for rent at two different nearby locations, thinking I should consider more permanent housing. This morning I found that the rooms were rented at both locations just before I arrived.
If that wasn’t enough, I had agreed to meet Strakes for lunch at the restaurant around the corner, but I was left to dine alone, as my friend never arrived. I received a telegram upon returning to the hotel explaining that on his way to lunch an elderly drunkard had tripped him, leaving him covered in horse muck.
Surely things will improve soon.
~
From the 25th of March - Six o’clock post meridian
Oh, to be sure life is playing a cruel joke at my expense! I gain no ground with any of my plans.
Yesterday I was again to meet with Strakes. On this occasion we were to take in a concert, but it ended as another lonely night by myself. He sent a letter detailing his trouble. It seems this time his cab disregarded all directions and dropped him off in a most unfortunate area. It took him close on an hour to even find another cab in such a district.
The search for permanent lodging has continued much the same as I last reported. Though I find it hard to believe, London seems to have a shortage of apartments. I make arrangements to see available rooms, and they are inevitably secured by others the very next day.
While tending to errands my hansom travelled Baker Street today. I should not think on the feelings this stirred.
~
From the 28th of March - Four o’clock post meridian
I cannot recall when exactly my suspicions began to form. It might have been after Strakes missed our train, having had to chase a criminal six blocks in an attempt to recover his best top hat-which he found resting on the rear of a horse with no sign of the bandit. Or perhaps it was when he failed to make our dinner meeting due to an old, hunched-back woman spilling a ripe fish barrel upon him. Still I do take credit that I eventually realized that things smelled of Holmes’s involvement.
Knowing there was only one way to handle the problem, I sent a letter requesting Holmes come to my hotel room to-morrow. So much as I dreaded the thought of it, I was sure that letting him voice himself to me would bring an end to this harassment.
I confess I am filled with both alarm and anticipation.
~
From the 29th of March - Seven o’clock post meridian
It was just past noon when I heard the knock at the door. Without wasting time, I allowed my visitor to gain entrance.
Holmes did not look well to my eye. Were I warmer in my feelings for him I would have shown my concern. As a doctor it was difficult not to wish to tend him. But I recalled that he stood before me with a purpose, one that I preferred to get on with. “In inviting you here I expect this to be over when you leave. I do not want you to continue interfering in my life, or the life of my poor friend Strakes, any longer,” I remonstrated. If I tell the truth of it, it pained me to speak to him so.
Though he seemed paler than usual, and his eyes were tired, he mustered a look of enthusiasm before speaking. “You have my word, that if you let me speak my mind to-day, I shall not interfere with you or this, this other person again.”
“Then say whatever it is that you wish to. I am prepared to hear it.” It was a lie. I was not prepared to hear him speak to me of the things he read while violating my trust. Feeling certain that I was to be in the uncomfortable position of defending my most indefensible thoughts and desires, I simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
He lit a cigarette and motioned for me to take a seat. “First I would like to clear up one misunderstanding. I did not intend to read your private musings. Mrs. Hudson decided to give your room a thorough cleaning in your absence. She and a young servant girl attempted to move the great chest at the foot of your bed so that they might remove the rug. Neither of them possessed the strength to move it properly and instead the chest fell forward to the floor. The latch was not locked down, leaving the contents to spill out.”
Leaning against the wall as he looked at me, he continued. “When the chest fell it caused quite a sound. I feared poor Mrs. Hudson might have injured herself, so I went to your room to see the matter. I found her giving the servant an earful about the whole incident, and I noticed your journals spread out across the floor. Watson, I know what care you take with your personal writings; I couldn’t just leave them there for the eyes of others. Therefore I righted the chest and began to replace the books. One in particular was open, and I could not help but register some of the words on the page.”
I brought my hand to my head to cover my eyes, an involuntary reaction to the embarrassment brewing within me.
“Watson, I only ask you what you would do in my position, with such words concerning yourself staring back at you? I have no other means to defend the decision I then made to secret that thin volume in my waistcoat.”
This caused me some small sympathy. The whole matter was still very wrong, but it had not occurred in such a sneaking way as I had feared. The realization that he had not gone through all the books calmed me some. I wondered what I would have done in a similar situation. Still my anger had not entirely abated. “I have known you to break the law when a clue tempts your pursuit, but honestly Holmes, I never thought you would break the bond of friendship in your quest for information.”
He winced at my words. “It was a clue to me, and I admit that it was my further investigation of it that led me to wrong you. I can assure you that I felt all proper guilt for my actions. The day you arrived at Baker Street I was out to the post-office. I was sending you a message requesting that you return at your soonest convenience. It was never my intention to hide my indiscretion, but rather to face you man to man.”
Again the righteousness of my anger had lost some of its footing. Though his judgement was questionable, his explanation was plausible. “And your decision to track me like a hound on my very first outing? To confound Strakes at every turn?”
“Ah, but there I had little choice, as you would not give me audience. If I were to know of you at all, it would only be through subterfuge. The day I followed you to the Monselain Bar I intended for you to know of my presence. Then when you did not see me following you later, you would simply think I had left you alone.” He gave a smug smile, as was his habitual manner. “If I did not wish to be seen, I would not be seen.”
Despite myself, I almost found him entertaining. It had been so long since I had shared his presence or witnessed his ways. I did miss the man. Barely able to maintain my air of anger, I asked, “What purpose did it serve to know my comings and goings?”
He extinguished his cigarette and immediately lit another, finally taking the seat nearest mine. “Though you ceased considering me a friend, I cannot say the same. I wanted to be sure of your well-being, and perhaps discourage you from making permanent arrangements outside of Baker Street. It is a fact that for the following month I have rights to six different flats scattered throughout London.”
This admission astonished me. It never occurred to me to connect my housing dilemma with Holmes. Hearing of it was like having him explain the parts of a case I had not yet gathered myself. And it warmed my heart considerably to know that he went to such expense in hopes that I might call our old rooms home again. I was still curious to know the whole of it. “None of that explains your Puckish pranks on dear Frederick Strakes.”
Leaning back in the chair, he brought his hands together and rested pointed fingers to his chin. “I suppose I was a bit devious, but I had my reasons for it. And I have no regret, for it was my most devious actions that finally convinced you to hear me out.”
I could not help but to smile. “True, Holmes, but what were these reasons of yours? Strakes has never met you in his life. Surely you didn’t harass the man just to get my attention.”
He looked up toward the ceiling and laughed. “No, I harassed the man so that he would not get your attention.”
“But, Holmes, why on earth-“
Complete exasperation showed in his face as he interrupted. “Honestly, Watson! I could hand you a bloody knife and you would only deduce that it had been wetted with some type of red liquid.” At this he rose from his chair and started to pace the room. “Frederick Strakes was interested in more than your friendship. What sort of man continues such frequent efforts to meet with you when he’s been thwarted at every turn? I could not allow him the opportunity that he might have with you, especially given your recent darkened spirits.”
I had no idea if his implication about Strakes was true, but this reasoning seemed ludicrous. “You were trying to protect my… my virtue?” I chuckled at the ridiculous notion of it.
He threw his arms up and mumbled, “Yes, the blade is definitely covered in red liquid. Perhaps it’s paint or a serum of some kind.” Striding directly to my chair, he grabbed it by the arms and dragged it, while I still sat, until it was in front of his own. When he took his seat our knees were nearly touching. I was completely taken aback before he began to speak again.
“I have taken great pains to avoid direct discussion of the contents of your journal. I felt for our meeting to go well delicacy was in order. Now I know we won’t get to the heart of this until I’ve spoken candidly to you.” Tossing his cigarette into a nearby plant, he stared directly at me. “On page 17 you related your wish to see me covered in treacle and bathed clean by your mouth. On 21 there was the matter of the highly localized massage. It was on 25 that you expanded on the oral interests featured on page 17 to include a host of candies and dessert items. Your proposal on page 29 was not only illegal but quite likely physically impossible-“
I flushed red and tried to stand, but he braced my arms to the chair. “Oh, Watson, would you let me finish!” Wrestling to keep me seated, he adopted the most inappropriate smile. “Don’t you see? It was all I could do not to circle and underscore the entries I wanted you to try first.”
My struggling stopped as I sat dumbfounded by his words. I tried to think of something to say, but my efforts were in vain, as Holmes leaned forward, still holding my wrists, and brought his mouth to mine. My fantasies had done no justice to the reality of it. To actually feel his moist lips and warm breath upon me seemed too great a thing to be real.
Pulling back, Holmes released his grip and peered at me with a look of curiousness. “Do you begin to understand me now?”
“I-I believe I do.” And with that I stood and walked away from him.
There was a lovely fluster in his voice when he called out, “Where are you going?”
“I need to pack my bags. In the meantime, could you secure a cab for our trip home?”
It is my hope to report an interesting tale at length tomorrow.
~
From the 30th of March, Six o’clock post meridian
Our ride home last night was awkward but pleasant. I lacked the freedom to treat Holmes as I would have liked, given our public exposure. I did manage to steal a couple of touches beneath the lap doors. These small touches earned me the most insincerely reproachful looks.
When we arrived, Mrs. Hudson threw her arms around my neck; so glad was she to see me return. She whispered in my ear, “Thank heavens you’ve returned. He hasn’t been himself since you left.” I was happy to be back, as well-the familiar scents and sights of home warmed my heart.
My bags were sent up to my room, and Holmes requested Mrs. Hudson to bring up dinner. From the look of his colour, this was not a request he had made frequently in my absence. Our meal of curried chicken was enjoyed in pleasant silence and profound anticipation. My companion poured two glasses of sherry and moved to the settee. I promised to rejoin him soon, as I went to my room to change into more comfortable attire.
When I returned to the sitting room I noticed the sherry was still untouched and Holmes was stretched upon the settee snoring softly. Despite my desire to disturb him, I knew this rest was needed. He had spent the last fortnight keeping track of my whereabouts, subverting Strakes, and renting rooms like a madman. I covered him over with blankets and sat across from him, draining both glasses of sherry and enjoying his quiet company. I must have spent two hours watching him, allowing my thoughts to freely wander in his regard, before finally retiring to my own room.
I awoke this morning with great energy, and equal eagerness, but was disappointed to discover that Holmes was nowhere to be found. Breakfast was on the table, so I helped myself to coffee and a small bite while I examined the morning paper. Mrs. Hudson entered the room to clear the table and as she did I heard a voice booming from the hall. “Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind as to assure that we take no callers to-day, it would be most appreciated. Also, if you would not disturb us at all unless we ring, Watson and I have a great deal of work to attend to. Thank you.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said Mrs. Hudson as she carried the tray from the room. Holmes closed the door behind her and set a package on the table.
“Work? I rather hoped we wouldn’t be working today, Holmes.” I allowed some innuendo in my voice as I looked at him. He was wearing his trim black frockcoat and had just removed his top hat. His raven hair gleamed in the morning light. He looked of much better constitution than the day before.
“Truthfully, I’d hardly consider it work, but privacy shall be required,” responded Holmes. He removed his coat as he asked, “Would you lower the blinds?”
“Certainly. Do you mind if I ask where you were off to this morning?” I turned around between the windows to see him letting loose his collar and removing his cravat.
“Not at all. I enjoyed a morning stroll through our fair city and met with some of its fine merchants,” he said as he then tossed his waistcoat to the side. “Perhaps you could draw the curtains as well,” he added, unbuttoning his shirt.
I did so, but without once removing my eyes from him. By the time I crossed the room toward him he had removed his shirt and kicked off his boots and stockings. This performance of his already had my arousal fully strained against my trousers. I reached out to embrace him. I found his mouth with no resistance, and the pressure against my hip told of his equal arousal. I softly bit his lip and he hissed in mouth before pulling back. “You may not devour me. Not just yet,” he teased. “I do have one more request of you.”
He was trying my every patience, but the thrill of it made it well worth the while. “What would have me do?”
Half of his mouth curled upward in smile as he turned to walk to the settee. He removed his trousers before laying his nude form across it. “Bring the package from the table over here and open it, please.”
It seemed a simple task, but with his full form displayed before me for the first time, all tasks were complex. His body was remarkable in all ways, a flawless length of alabaster. Obeying him, I knelt at his side and untied the box. In it were the fruits of his morning with the merchants: a jar of black treacle, pieces of clotted cream fudge, Pontefract cakes, humbugs, and a lean bottle of chocolate glaze. I do not think I had smiled so ever before.
As I watched him, I removed my coat and tie, unbuttoned my collar, and then I let loose my cuffs and pushed up my shirtsleeves. His hands were behind his head and his eyes were closed. If he had not known my desires so well, I would have found the look on his face entirely presumptuous. But he did know, and there he was waiting for me to begin.
Placing two small pieces of the clotted cream fudge in the hollows above his collarbone, I then opened the jar of treacle. With my fingers I painted his nipples with the absurdly sweet syrup. I moved on to the chocolate glaze and drizzled a stream down the centre of his chest, watching it as it slowly rolled down his body and pooled in his navel. I moved up to his mouth to kiss him, allowing myself one last taste of him not diluted by confections. Kissing a path down the right side of his neck, I made my way to the first piece of fudge. I savoured the flavour as the fudge melted away, and then licked a path across his neck to find the next piece. I might also confess that it was at this point I felt the need to loosen my trousers and take hold of my own aching manhood.
As I slowly sucked the treacle from his nipples, Holmes groaned and writhed beneath my mouth. The sight, sound, and taste of him provided a sensory adventure that eclipsed my own fantasies. I continued down his chest and onward, dizzy as I lapped the chocolate from his navel while slowly stroking myself. With my mouth still filled with the taste of chocolate I took his erect member between my lips. At this there was a growl from him, and he reached both hands down to run them through my hair, at times even pulling at it.
Our pleasure was circular, as I quickened the pace of my own stimulation it would cause me to moan thus vibrating his tender flesh in my mouth leading him to cry out, as well. I felt his body tighten signalling his impending release, which almost immediately brought forth my own. I did not remove my lips; instead I allowed his own unique flavour to mix with the sweetness already in my mouth. His hips bucked beneath me as we both shuddered out the last of our delight.
After some time he exclaimed, “Good Lord, Watson!” His words startled me as I had reclined on the floor completely sated. “I can say I would have never thought of going about it quite that way without your inspiration.”
“In that case, my friend, it is my sincerest hope that I may be a source of inspiration to you again soon.” I laughed to myself, for I was truly a hypocrite, as so unlike earlier, I now could not wait to show him additional volumes of my private journal.
The hours have passed with kindness and affection between us to-day, and now I find I must stop writing, as I’m suffering the singular distraction of having the arch of my left foot licked by Holmes, who’s saying something about it being his turn.