My Dear Watson: A Sherlock Holmes Fanfic
I just recently saw the Robert Downey Jr./ Jude Law version of "Sherlock Holmes" (just last night, actually) and became inspired to write about what I thought was a very obviously implied romance between Holmes and Watson. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Sherlock Holmes sits on the prison cot, his head resting on his friend's shoulder as he pretends to sleep. He and Watson were arrested the evening prior for something that wasn't even their fault – the destruction of a shipbuilder's warehouse, as well as the subsequent sabotage of the unfinished steamliner that sank into the harbor. It was all that damn thug's fault, the colossal Frenchman and his misappropriated sledgehammer, but he had somehow gotten away before the constabulary arrived.
The only bright spot in all this is that because of their status, they've been put in a private jail cell instead of being stuck amongst all the common brawlers and pickpockets in the exterior jail yard. And at least they're still together, and relatively unharmed despite almost being flattened like bugs by the keel of a runaway ship.
Watson shifts on the cot and Holmes' head tumbles off his shoulder. "I haven't slept all night," the doctor says, sounding tired and weary. "Not a wink."
Holmes yawns dramatically and stretches his arms over his head. Despite what his friend thinks, he hadn't been asleep either. Late last night, he'd lain his head on the doctor's strong shoulder in a pantomime of exhaustion, simply using that as an excuse to be closer to his oldest (six months was the longest anyone had ever lasted around him before Watson came along) and dearest friend.
For a long time now he's been feeling something more toward Watson than just friendship. And although the feelings are somewhat alien to him, he thinks he's deduced what they are and what they mean – that as crazy as it may seem, he's in love with John. He's felt this way before, about Irene, but this is John, for god's sake! He's the complete opposite of everything Irene Adler is and ever was – strong, dependable, socially upstanding, not to mention male. Holmes knows he shouldn't feel this way about his friend and partner, but the fact remains that he does.
"Why I ever believed that I would get to have tea with Mary's parents is beyond me," Watson says, a note of regret in his voice, "having been talked into going with you."
Holmes mentally rolls his eyes. There it is, that damned business with Mary again. He recalls their first meeting, when he'd accused her of taking an interest in Watson merely because he was a well-to-do doctor. She'd thrown her drink in his face and walked out, and he'd thought that was the last he and John would ever see of her. But despite his best efforts, the friend-stealing shrew is apparently still around! He lets himself seethe internally, but forces his expression and speech to remain calm. "We were set upon," he says, responding to Watson's misgivings. "It was self-defense."
Watson gives his friend a put-upon look. "I've been reviewing my notes on our exploits over the last seven months," he says. "Would you like to know my conclusion? I am psychologically disturbed!"
The detective wrinkles his brow. "How so?"
"Why else would I continually be led into situations where you deliberately withhold your plans from me?" Watson says. "Why else?"
Holmes frowns. "You've never complained about my methods before."
"I'm not complaining," Watson says quickly.
"You're not?" Holmes asks, his brow smoothing out. "What do you call this?"
"How am I complaining?" Watson demands. "I never complain. When do I complain about you practicing the violin at three in the morning, or your mess, or your general lack of hygiene, or the fact that you steal my clothes?"
"Ah, we have a barter system," Holmes answers, neglecting to say that the real reason he does this is because he's comforted by the warm, masculine scent that the doctor's body leaves in his clothing.
"When do I complain about you setting fire to my rooms?" the doctor continues.
"Our rooms," Holmes corrects.
"The rooms," Watson says. "When do I complain that you experiment on my dog?"
"Our dog," Holmes corrects.
"On the-the dog," Watson stammers.
"Gladstone is our dog!" Holmes nearly yells.
Watson looks at the detective calmly, his upper-class breeding taking over. "Where I do take issue is your campaign to sabotage my relationship with Mary," he says evenly.
Holmes looks into Watson's deep blue eyes, momentarily silenced. Finally, the doctor has come to the root of the problem. Don't you know why I do it, John? he thinks. I do it because I want you to be with me, not her. Instead of voicing this, he just nods calmly and says, "I understand."
"Do you?" Watson asks, his eyes narrowing.
Holmes nods again. "I do." I understand that I need you and she's trying to take you away from me, he thinks.
"I don't think you do," Watson says.
Holmes gives his friend a compassionate look. "You're overtired," he says.
Watson only looks at him for a moment before sighing. "Yes."
"You're feeling a bit sensitive," the detective says.
"I'm not sensitive," the doctor challenges.
Holmes smiles slightly. "What you need is a rest," he says. "My brother, Mycroft, has a small estate near Chichester. Beautiful grounds. There's a folly. We can throw a lamb on the spit." There's also plenty of private rooms to choose from when I want to make love to you, he thinks.
Watson scoffs. "We? Holmes, if I were to go to the country, it would be with my future wife."
Holmes has a momentary vision of himself in a frilly white wedding dress, marching down the aisle toward a resplendently handsome Watson in a fancy suit. He feels a blush rise in his cheeks. "Well, certainly," he says, "if we must–"
"No, not you," Watson says. "Mary and I. You are not–"
"What – invited?" Holmes demands. "Why would I not be invited to my own brother's country home? Watson, now you're not making any sense."
"You're not human!" Watson nearly yells, completely exasperated by his friend's frustrating behavior. "You're-you're crazy!"
Holmes' brown eyes widen slightly. "Oh, I'm crazy, am I?" he muses. "Well, if you say I am, then I must be. You are the doctor, after all." He notes Watson's wide blue eyes, flaring nostrils, and rage-flushed skin, and knows it won't take much more to get him totally worked up. This is the detective's aim, because he also knows that when his friend is angry, he's just a mere push away from being completely and irrevocably sexually aroused.
Just a little more, he thinks. "I suppose if I'm crazy, I should act crazy, shouldn't I? Perhaps do something like this?" Before Watson can so much as blink, Holmes leans forward and presses his lips to his friend's in a surprisingly sudden kiss.
The doctor's eyes grow impossibly wider and he gasps. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?" he demands when Holmes pulls away.
"You said I was crazy, so I figured I should do something that would befit your obviously informed medical assessment," he says a little aloofly, knowing his nonchalant attitude will piss Watson off. Besides, I've always wanted to do that, he thinks.
"You're-you're disturbed!" Watson accuses, jumping up from the bed.
"Perhaps I am," Holmes says, smiling slightly as he looks up at him. "I suppose that means that now I should do something to substantiate your newest expert claim. If you say I'm disturbed, I should act disturbed, correct?" Before Watson can react, Holmes unfastens and yanks down the doctor's trousers and briefs in one swift movement and takes the man's erect cock in his mouth.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Watson gasps, his hands pressing against the detective's shoulders as he feebly tries to push him away. Then Holmes begins forcefully and eagerly sucking the doctor's hard member and Watson's hands fall away weakly. He moans despite himself as Holmes simultaneously sucks the thick shaft and swirls his tongue around the tender tip. Then Holmes' tongue licks the sensitive slit and Watson gasps, throwing his head back and bucking his hips against the other man's face. "Ohh, Mary's never done anything like this before!"
Before Watson can grab the detective's head and force him to take in more of his cock, Holmes releases the doctor's swollen arousal and pulls away. Watson groans and looks at the other man accusingly.
"Now, now, no need to be disappointed," Holmes says placatingly. "I have something much better for you, my dear Watson." He stands up in front of the doctor, unfastening his own pants and pushing them and his briefs down. He steps out of them and kneels on the cot with his back to the other man, his perfectly-toned ass sticking up in the air. Then he grabs the creamy white globes of his taut backside and pulls them apart, exposing the small, puckered opening of his anus. "I want you inside me, John," he says, his voice low and lustful as he looks back at his friend over his shoulder.
Watson hesitates, contemplating the strange fact that he is in a jail cell with his best friend, who has just given him fellatio and is currently waving his (admittedly irresistible) ass in the air and begging to be fucked. He looks down at his considerably large erection, then back up at the other man's rather tiny entrance. "Are-are you sure?" he asks uncertainly. "I don't want to hurt you, Sherlock."
Holmes smiles reassuringly. "You could never hurt me, John," he says, his brown eyes warm with understanding. "I trust you. And... I love you."
Watson's eyes widen. "Sherlock, I..." he says hesitantly. Then he grabs the detective's hips and positions himself at the man's beckoning entrance. "I-I love you too." He carefully pushes his thick tip into Holmes' opening, leaning forward as he slowly presses his entire length into the man beneath him. They both groan at the sensation of filling and being filled. "Oh god, you're so tight," Watson gasps against his friend's shoulder. "You feel so good."
"Oh, John," Holmes moans, bracing his hands against the cot's threadbare mattress. "How I've been waiting for this."
Watson slowly begins to move within his friend, his hard, thick member thrusting tenderly into the other man's tight hole. He tries to keep an easy rhythm, but he's overcome by the pleasure of having his cock squeezed more tightly by a man's ass than a woman's vagina ever could. His self-control slips away and he begins to thrust with wild abandon into the other man's willing flesh.
Holmes cries out as Watson's considerable length hits a place that sends a rough jolt of pleasure through his body. "Oh bloody fuck, John!" he moans as he feels the doctor hit his sweet spot again. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"
Watson complies eagerly, his thick cock pounding relentlessly into his friend's body again and again. His fingers dig into the detective's pale, smooth flesh as he forces the man's body against his, their hips rocking together in an innate rhythm. Finally, it becomes too much for Watson to handle and he groans as his climax hits him, his muscles stiffening as his hot release spills deep inside his friend's tight passage.
"Ohh, Sherlock!" he moans, shuddering from the sheer intensity of his orgasm. He releases the man's hips and slowly pulls out of him, then wraps his arms tightly around Holmes' still-dressed torso. He just stands there, enjoying the warmth and strength of his friend's body against his, the after-effects of his climax slowly dying down.
"John," Holmes whimpers quietly as Watson's semen runs down his ass and thighs. He laces his hand through the doctor's and pulls it from his abdomen, leading it down to his painfully-erect cock. "I still need you."
Watson grips his friend's waist and flips him over, laying him on his back on the tiny prison cot. "Relax, my dear Holmes," he says, his gaze warm and loving. "I'm a doctor. I'll take care of you." He kneels on their cast-off trousers and wraps his arms around the detective's spread thighs, gently pulling him closer to the edge of the mattress. Then, keeping his blue eyes locked on Holmes' brown ones, he dips his head and clamps his lips around the head of his arousal, firmly sucking the tender flesh. The detective moans and tosses his head back against the bed. Then Watson relaxes his throat and slides forward, taking Holmes' entire length into his warm, wet mouth.
"Oh John, that feels amazing!" Holmes cries. Watson responds by sucking harder and tonguing the sensitive underside of Holmes' shaft. The detective moans loudly and grabs the doctor's head, pushing it closer to him until Watson's nose is buried in the dark brown hair accentuating his sex and his chin is digging into the soft skin covering Holmes' balls. "More, John – more!" Holmes cries.
Watson sucks harder, clamping his lips tightly around the base of his friend's shaft and sliding them up and down. "I love you, Sherlock," he tries to say around the mouthful of flesh, the words coming out as vibrations that send the man beneath him into a rapture of pure bliss.
"Oh bloody hell! Keep doing that, John!" he cries.
Watson continues to hum "I love you", repeating the heartfelt phrase again and again. Holmes tries to buck his hips against his friend's mouth, but Watson's strong arms keep the detective pinned securely to the mattress.
Holmes' hands go to the collar of the doctor's jacket and clutch madly, twisting in the fine cloth. "John," he breathes huskily, "I'm going to..." Before he can finish his statement, his body finishes it for him and he reaches his peak. He climaxes into his friend's mouth, his hot seed pouring down the doctor's waiting throat. "Oh, John!" he shouts, his voice echoing down the cellblock's hallway. He moans as Watson sucks lightly on his tip, milking every drop of cum from his softening arousal.
Watson releases his friend's cock and licks his lips, his blue eyes meeting the detective's brown ones. "Do you feel better now, my dear Holmes?" he asks. "Now that I've taken care of you?"
Holmes nods slowly, his expression a little dazed from his recent mind-blowing orgasm. "Right as rain, my dear Watson," he says breathlessly.
The doctor lays beside his friend on the cot and pulls him into a loose embrace. "What took us so long to do this?" he asks, his breath warm and comforting against the detective's cheek.
"Ah, I suppose that would be your relationship with Mary," Holmes says. "The one you claimed I have campaigned to sabotage."
Watson smiles slightly and presses a soft kiss against his friend's temple. "I'm glad you did, Holmes. I don't think I could ever go back to her after what we just experienced."
"You'd be too ashamed, I take it?" Holmes asks benignly.
Watson chuckles lowly. "No, it would be a sham," he says. "I would never be able to commit to a life with a woman I don't love, knowing that I left behind the one I truly want to be with."
The detective's brown eyes widen. "Do you... really mean that, John?"
"Every word," he says. "I love you, Sherlock."
Holmes smiles and wraps his arms snugly around his friend. "I love you too, John."