Archive of Our Own

I woke from a nap in a place that strangely familiar and yet foreign to me. At first I thought it could be a dream. But what sort of dream changes the rooms you know into something from the past century? If I was to give it a time period, I would say late Victorian. The sofa I lay upon was more of a settee. There was wood and velvet.

The room was heavy with tobacco smoke… And not the kind found in cigarettes. It was earthier in scent… Like my grandfather’s pipe. There was a haze and I looked to the walls, noticing the light fixtures were all gas instead of electricity.

Looking down at myself I found I was wearing something out of a costume drama. I patted my waistcoat and trousers. It was then that I heard a shift in what had been my kitchen. Now it was a small dining room with a table and a buffet. Sitting at the table, looking into a contraption made a brass and glass was a figure I knew well. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked at the eyepiece, sitting up as if startled by my voice. There was no mistaking the man. Except something was different… His clothing was much like my own. It looked elegant on him. His hair was slicked back, not a curl on his brow. The same pale eyes stared at me as they always did… But these were full of concern. “Watson?”

I got up from the settee and approached the table. “Sherlock… Why is everything so different?”

Sherlock’s attention was fully on me. It was out of the ordinary. Usually he would just wave away my concerns without actually looking at me. “What is wrong, Watson? Nothing has changed.”

“This room… You.” I looked down at myself, touching my outfit. “It’s like we’re in a costume drama.”

“I assure you, my dear Watson, we are not in a costume drama.” Sherlock answered in all seriousness, his eyes focused on me.

“What year is this?” I asked him.

Sherlock shook his head. “What year do you think it is?”

I looked around the room at the gas lights and the cheery fire. The furniture was old. “I don’t know. Maybe Victorian period?”

“Watson… What year do you remember?”

I grew nervous at his attention on me. I suddenly felt shy and shrugged off his question. “2014?”

“Two thousand… Fourteen.” Sherlock breathed.

Outside I heard the telltale clip clop of horse’s hooves on the street below. “I am not in 2014, am I?”

“Indeed… You are not.” Sherlock replied.

“What year is this?”

“1894.”

I gasped and took a step back, shocked. “1894? Holy…” I felt my body shaking and I stumbled back from him.

Sherlock continued to stare at me. “Actually… It is 1897. You really do not recall?”

I shook my head. “I was born in 1971.”

Sherlock stood and took my arm, guiding me to the sideboard upon which was a collection of decanters with various liquids. In a glass he poured and amber liquid and pushed it into my hands.

I lifted it to my face, smelling the distinct scent of whisky. Gratefully I took a burning swallow. With the alcohol burning its way to my stomach, I looked to Sherlock who took his own drink. “Is your name Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock set down his empty glass and returned his focus to me. “That is my name. But I born in 1854. You look like the man I know as John Watson.”

I nodded glumly and swallowed the remainder of my drink before setting down the empty glass alongside his. “My name is also John Watson.”

“What is your Sherlock Holmes like?” Holmes asked. I suppose I should begin to address him as Holmes. In the time period I was in I couldn’t call him by his first name. All that time he had been addressing me by my last name. I should extend him the same courtesy.

“My Sherlock… I’ll just call him Sherlock when I talk about him to keep you two straight in my mind. Anyway… My Sherlock is a little bit younger than you. Let’s see… He’s 38? That seems right.” I moved away from the sideboard, feeling a little dizzy from the effects of the alcohol. “He’s got curly hair. Actually he looks a lot like you. Same height, same cheekbones… Same face. Except you look at me differently.”

“What do you mean?” Holmes asked, following me as I crossed the room to the table he had been sitting at.

“Half the time he forgets I’m even there. He’s too caught up in his experiments to really notice me. The attention you’re giving me is a little… Odd coming from someone who looks exactly like him.”

“Are you not friends with my counterpart?” Holmes asked.

“We’re friends… Best friends actually. He was the best man at my wedding. He was there for me when… When my wife…” I found I couldn’t finish that thought. The grief was too fresh. I lost so much and Sherlock had pulled me back into his world.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Holmes stated.

I looked to him, seeing the look of honest sadness in his eyes. “You look like him… But you’re nothing like him. You’re… Kinder.”

“If I am kind then that is Watson’s doing. You wear his face but have none of his memories. Even though you are a stranger I feel compelled to take care of you for Watson’s sake.”

I couldn’t help but smile at him, touched at his bluntness. “I am recently widowed. I also lost our child.”

“My Watson is the same.” Holmes answered. “Again, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I yawned, belatedly covering my mouth with my hand.

“You are tired. Come.” Holmes took my arm and led me to a bedroom that in my time was Sherlock’s. There was a large bed with a canopy and curtains dominating the room. Holmes led me to the far side of the bed before rummaging under the pillow. “You are his size so this should fit you.” And with that he pulled out a night shirt.

I fingered the fabric and looked about the room, noticing that there was more surrounding the bed than I had first observed. The bed was large enough for two and there were two night stands, both with a lamp. The curtains were not dusty. They were regularly drawn for privacy. Two wash basins… “Is this…?”

Holmes stared back at me with all the intensity as before. It had never lessened for even a moment the whole time I was there.

“Is this your room?”

Holmes looked nervously to the bedroom door before stepping closer. “In your time are you…?” A blush reddened his cheeks and he looked away, biting that full bottom lip. “That is… You and my counterpart…?”

“Are we…?” I stared at the bed. “Together? Um… No.”

“I shall then take the settee while you are here.” Holmes informed me and headed for the door.

“Wait! I can’t kick you out of your own bedroom!” I called after him.

“It would not be appropriate…”

“I promise I will not take up too much space. I shared a bed with my Sherlock back at Dartmoor. It wasn’t that bad. He did accidentally kick me and he snored until I made him roll over… But we were fine.”

“This does not alarm you?” Holmes asked, vaguely indicating the bed.

“Not really, no.” I replied. “Why should it?”

“Because what we are is considered… Unnatural.” Holmes breathed. “We have to take great care not to be caught. We maintain a second bedroom so no one will guess… And this room is sealed to all.”

I shook my head, hearing him speak of the precautions they made. “It’s really no big deal where I’m from. They recently made it legal for gays and lesbians to get married.”

“Married!” Holmes’ eyes brightened. “In your time? That is… That is good to hear.”

“So I really don’t mind.” I gave him a reassuring smile.

“If I could marry your counterpart I would.” Holmes stated quietly as he shut the bedroom door and then reached under the other pillow for his own night shirt.

“You would marry?”

“I have never known anyone like him. And he has suffered so much loss. I would turn those tears to happiness if I could. But it is against the law for him to take comfort in my arms.”

I felt really bad listening to him. I was also more than a little jealous, hearing him sing my counterpart’s praises. My own Sherlock would never allow himself to feel such sentiments.

“I’m sorry.”

Holmes bit his lips and shook his head. “When do you suppose he will return?”

And then I was faced with a truly horrible idea. What if I was actually stuck in the Victorian Era with no way back? Has Watson taken my place in my own time? Will Sherlock figure it out? Would he care? “I… I don’t know. What if I’m stuck here?”

Holmes looked horrified. “I will have lost…” His hands trembled and the night shirt fell onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, Holmes. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” I stared helplessly down at the night shirt I had been given. “If I’m stuck here… Then I guess I’ll just have to deal with it. I’m a doctor. He’s a doctor too?”

“Of course.” Holmes answered as he bent to pick up the night shirt from the floor.

“I can take over his profession. Although Victorian era medicine wasn’t the best.” I set the night shirt on the bed and began the process of unbuttoning myself. “I can help you with your cases, of course… That is if you are also a consulting detective. I was pretty decent assistant for my Sherlock.” I managed to remove the waistcoat and the shirt. I wasn’t expecting the button down Victorian underwear. But I gave it a go.

“That is very thoughtful of you…” Holmes answered with a defeated tone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Holmes focused on me. His eyes took in my chest, lingering for a moment on my shoulder before settling on my face. “I have lost my only companion. He is not easily replaced.” Then he looked away, nervously. “You look like my Watson.”

“If it’s any consolation… You look like my Sherlock.” I answered and sat upon the bed to make sense of the boots I was wearing. I managed to loosen the lacings and toe them off. The trousers followed and I pulled on the night shirt before finishing with the Victorian underwear, leaving me naked under the long shirt. I turned around and caught a glimpse of pale flesh.

Holmes was bending over to push down everything below the waist. And then he stood up, giving me a full view of his naked body. I turned around, surprised at his lack of modesty, but not quite. I have seen my Sherlock naked on occasion. This older version of Sherlock looked much the same… Except thinner.

There was a sound of bedding moving and I glanced back over my shoulder to see Holmes clad in his night shirt, getting into bed. Awkwardly I followed his example as he silently guided me into blowing out the light and drawing the curtains.

“You do not love your Holmes?” Holmes asked in the darkness.

“I love him a lot.” I answered honestly. “He hurt me.” I shifted in the bed. “He left me… Faked his own death. It broke me.”

“But your wife…”

“I met Mary while I was mourning for Sherlock. She pulled me out of my downward spiral and gave me hope again. The night I proposed to her Sherlock came back. He wasn’t dead…”

“I am sorry.” Holmes whispered.

“So I eventually forgave him and he was the best man at my wedding and… And then I found out I was married to someone I didn’t know. Mary almost killed Sherlock. Shot him in the chest. He nearly died. And I had to choose between them. But Sherlock wouldn’t let me choose him. He told me I had to be there for my child. And then Mary and the child died. And all I had left was Sherlock.” I rubbed the moisture from my eyes, remembering the pain.

A hand reached out and touched my arm. It was warm and soft. “It seems my events are in a different order… But they are similar. I faked my death to protect my Watson from a man who would have destroyed him. I could not let that happen so I hunted down the hunters. While I was away Watson’s wife died in childbirth along with the child. When I heard of his loss I returned to him. I have been at his side ever since.”

“Until now.” I sighed, wondering how Watson was responding to the 21st century and a very different Sherlock Holmes. Holmes pulled his hand away and I suddenly realized it had been touching my arm for longer than I thought. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” I rolled onto my side in attempt to see him in the total darkness. “If I’m to stay here… With you… I’m sure we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Are you a sodomite?” Holmes queried.

I chuckled softly at the archaic word spoken in Sherlock Holmes’ voice. “I’ve experimented.”

“Experimented?”

“Fooled around a little at uni… In the army. Blokes get lonely sometimes.”

“But never with your Sherlock Holmes?”

“You know… I don’t think he has urges like that.” I mused. I don’t know if Irene counts. Sherlock never talked about it but she obviously affected him. And then there was Janine… “He may like women. But I’m not sure.”

“Women like Watson.” Holmes replied thoughtfully. “But he still enjoys my company.”

“I guess I’m the same.” I chuckled.

“Oh.” Holmes shifted and sighed. “Goodnight… Watson.” It seemed the conversation was over.

“Goodnight Holmes.” I answered.

Soon I heard soft snores. And I had to wonder at how different the two Holmes’ were if this one slept. Mine certainly never did. And when did I start thinking of Sherlock as “mine?”

^.~

I woke to find myself cocooned in warmth. It took me a moment to realize what had woken me. A warm hand rested on my bare hip, caressing me. Warm breath fanned against the back of my neck and Sherlock Holmes’ voice whispered, “Beloved…”

I froze, unsure what to do or say. Obviously Holmes mistook me for his lover. If his hand was indication he had forgotten that I was not his Watson. His hand wrapped around my cock and squeezed it. I was surprised to find that I was already hard. Lips on the back of my neck prompted me to action. I rolled over to face the man who looked so much like my Sherlock. In the dim light of dawn peeking through the curtains I could see him, his eyes half shut. Quickly I wrapped my arms around him to keep him still. “Sherlock… Wake up.”

Holmes startled. I knew the moment he realized his mistake because he stiffened in my embrace. I allowed him to roll over onto his back but kept my arm around his chest. “Forgive me.”

“It’s alright.” I answered, my head against his shoulder, smelling his strong musk. It’s odd… In the modern world we hide our scents, labeling them all as unpleasant. This man was limited by what his time period had available. But I found I didn’t mind. There was something primal and familiar about his natural scent.

“I am truly sorry. I was dreaming.”

“I know.” I answered, squeezing his side with my hand. “It’s alright.”

His arm wrapped around me, resting his hand on the small of my back. I could feel his digits spread out as if he was measuring the size of my back. “You are thinner than my Watson.”

“I try. Sherlock keeps me active. I’m not in the same shape I was in the army.”

I felt his hand slide, a pinkie touching the top of my bare bottom. Had I not bothered to push down my night shirt? “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” I replied with a casual shift, trying to ease the pressure on my still hard cock. My own hand explored his prominent hip bone. “You are thinner than my Sherlock.”

“My doctor tries to get me to eat more…” Holmes chuckled. “I was ill recently.”

That caught my attention. I sat up a bit to look at him in the dim light. “What sort of illness?”

Holmes bit his lips and looked away.

“Holmes… I’m a 21st century doctor. I can help you in ways your doctors can’t. What are your symptoms?”

Holmes sighed and returned his attention to me. “I know my problem… I haven’t needed it lately because Watson filled that void. But now…”

I pulled away and reached out to open up my side of the curtains, allowing morning sunlight to fall on him as I looked him over. “Tell me.”

“Watson hated it. It bothered him so I stopped.” Holmes sat up against the headboard, staring at me.

“What did you stop?”

“My seven percent solution.”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of what that could mean. “Seven percent solution of what?”

“Cocaine.”

I let the curtain fall closed again, suddenly finding myself in darkness after my eyes had grown used to the light. “Drugs. You take drugs.”

“I stopped for Watson when he came back to live with me.”

“My Sherlock was a drug addict before I met him.” I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. What sort of ways did they deal with drug addiction in 19th century England? In my own time there was rehab and programs. All this man had was a sober companion in the form of a lover… And now that lover was gone, replaced by me. “Yes. It’s a sickness.” I breathed. “I will do my best to make sure you are healthy.”

“Is that what you do for your Holmes?”

I shifted to sit against the headboard. “Sort of. There are nights where he’s in danger of relapsing. We call them Danger Nights. And he went back to them… After I married and moved out.” Is that why Sherlock fell off the wagon?

“I will abstain while you are here with me.” Holmes stated. His hand reached out and almost touched my thigh.

I rested my hand on top of his. This man was more tactile in nature than what I was used to. “Thank you. I’ll take care of you, Holmes.”

“I am grateful.” Holmes smiled at me.

I started to giggle, feeling nervous at his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… I’m just not used to seeing expressions like that on his face. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“He never smiled at you?”

I shook my head. “He did… But not often. He rarely showered me with so much praise.”

Holmes stared at me with an intensity I was beginning to expect from him. “Then he is a fool.”

“He’s not a fool! He’s the smartest… Most brilliant person I know!” I protested.

“John Watson… It seems that the Sherlock Holmes you know cannot see you for who you are…”

“He made a very moving speech at my wedding. But it was one of the few times.” I hastily attempted to defend my Sherlock. Again… Why am I thinking of him as “my” Sherlock? “He’s just not like that. He doesn’t do praise… And he doesn’t show physical affection… He just… Doesn’t.”

Holmes reached out and lightly touched my cheek. I was aware of the stubble he caressed in the most intimate moment I have ever had outside of bed. The look in his eyes was so intense. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look, pressing my cheek to his palm. I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me into an embrace and I slouched against him. Once again I was overwhelmed by his earthy, natural scent and it made my cock so hard.

I wanted to hold him, I wanted to cling to him and never let him go. But this man wasn’t Sherlock… Wasn’t MY Sherlock. This was another man with the same name and appearance who loved another John Watson. This man loved someone who looked exactly like me. I nuzzled my cheek against his sternum. I could hear his heart in my ear through the thin night shirt that separated us. His arms… One wrapped around my shoulders and the other around my head, holding me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and relaxed, feeling everything drain away. I could feel his cock pressed against my belly and I marveled at how hard and hot it felt. It occurred to me that this Sherlock was just as sexually excited as I was. Of course, he had reason. I looked exactly like his lover and I was in their bed, taking on his lover’s role. This Sherlock needed his John physically. And if his John was never to return… It would be up to me to keep him healthy and happy. And with that in mind I moved my head.

Holmes released my head so I could move as if anticipating what I would do.

I lightly kissed him on the edge of the lips as if in question. It could be interpreted as a friendly kiss.

Or he could respond by immediately latching onto my mouth and exploring me with his tongue… Which is what he did. I grunted and opened my mouth to allow him access as he hungrily took me.

I tried to imagine that this was my Sherlock, but the image did not fit the actions. My Sherlock would be timid and shy, lacking experience. This man was an experienced, sexual creature who knew what he wanted and needed.

Holmes finally pulled away, panting softly as he blinked at me in the dim light. I got up on my hands and knees. Holmes pulled my night shirt over my head so it bunched around my arms. I sat back on my haunches and tossed the shirt aside, leaving me naked.

And I was so hard! Oh, it’s embarrassing. A man shouldn’t be in that sort of state after snogging the double of his best mate. And yet there I was, completely vulnerable in a time period I didn’t belong. I covered myself with my hands so he couldn’t see.

Holmes sat up and tugged off his own night shirt to toss it aside. I got a better look at his body. Less groomed… That is what my impression was. My Sherlock seemed like he had less hair. Of course I never got a good look of my Sherlock’s pubic hair before. But this Holmes didn’t seem at all modest about his nudity. Calmly he leaned back against the headboard with his arms on the pillows and his legs open as if in invitation. It was almost too calm for a man who lived in a time period where what we were doing was illegal.

“What would you like?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Holmes wiggled his foot in a way that reminded me of my Sherlock. It meant he was feeling playfully excited. Finally Holmes held out his hand to me.

I took his hand and immediately found myself pulled down against his body. We didn’t quite line up and I ended up with is cock against my belly, my own somewhere beneath his thigh and his legs were around me. I kissed his neck and rested against him.

Holmes finally began to wiggle and moved us around until I was on my back and he was between my legs. His fingers lightly touched my erection as if to check it. “You are very clean.”

“Thank you?” I smiled at him.

His fingers slid down and lightly rubbed my ass. “Even here.”

“Well… I try.” I managed as my body twitched at his touch.

“Venereal disease in your time period…?”

“Oh… We’ve cured many of them. But we still wear condoms. Does your Watson have… Um…”

“No. He is healthy.” Holmes replied and leaned his chin on my knee. I could see the change in mood from our speaking about his Watson.

“Are you comparing my body to his?”

Holmes smirked and blinked. “As you compare me to my counterpart.”

“Well… I haven’t really seen him naked that much.” I admitted. “A few times… I am his doctor and I’ve performed medical aid on him on occasion. He’s not exactly… Physically excited during those moments.”

Holmes chuckled softly. “No… I suppose he wouldn’t be excited.” His arms wrapped around the leg he was leaning on.

“So… What differences have you found?”

Holmes poked my belly. “More muscle definition. You are physically active.” His finger slid down to my penis. “Nothing living in your hair.”

“Well… That’s a relief.”

His fingers wrapped around me for a moment, causing me to gasp. “You are thinner but longer.” His hand slowly slid off. “You enjoy fellatio.”

“Who doesn’t?” I giggled.

His fingers weighed my scrotum.

“What does that tell you?” I asked him, curious.

“Hmm? Nothing… I just like the way it feels in my hand.” And with that he moved on down to my ass, pushing a tip of a finger in.

I squirmed at the sensation.

“You haven’t done this in a very long time… If at all.” His finger slipped out of me.

“I told you… I was in uni. That was ages ago.”

His fingers drifted up my inner thigh to the knee he wasn’t leaning against and back down my leg to my foot. “You are an impressive physical specimen, John Watson.”

“Thank you.” I blushed at his compliment.

Holmes kissed my kneecap and then got up on his hands and knees, revealing his own impressive erection. Carefully he navigated himself until he was straddling me.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked him.

“I need… I need…” The look in his eyes sort of glazed over. For one terrifying moment I imagined that I was seeing a drug addict in need of his fix. But then he flopped down beside me and pulled me onto him. “I need…”

I rearranged our legs until I straddled one of his thighs, his erection pressed against my hip. Then I began to move.

Holmes cried out and reached down to hold my hips, his body moving in counterpart to my own.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself frotting against my own Sherlock. Would he be as vocal? No… He would probably be silent. The friction was wonderful and the moans did something to me. I braced myself and shamelessly humped his hip.

Holmes wasn’t idle. His hands clenched my bottom, kneading it and pulling me closer with each grind I made. His fingers shifted, explored. And then I felt a finger in me. It pushed in deeper and deeper with each push back.

I opened my eyes and looked down at the man below me. God, he looked so much like my Sherlock. Same eyes and face… Same voice. But he was filled with something my Sherlock didn’t have for me. I leaned down and kissed him gently even as my hips moved.

“This isn’t enough.” Holmes whispered.

I slowed my movements to a stop.

“This… Isn’t going to work.” Holmes pulled his finger out of me. With a regretful sigh he stared up at the canopy.

“Why not? What more do you need?” I had been so close to my orgasm, it was difficult to return.

“What I need you’re not ready for.” Holmes answered. His attention shifted to me. “Don’t be upset. I knew there was only a slim possibility of it working.”

“What working?” I asked. My balls were beginning to ache.

“There are other means to slow down my brain besides coitus.”

I had a sudden visual of him taking drugs. “No! I forbid it!”

“You’re not my Watson! Only he knows how to do what needs to be done. You may look like him but you are not my Watson! There is no way you can replace him.”

I wrapped my arm around him, disturbed by state he had worked himself into. “Shh… Shh… It’s ok.”

“I will never see him again! Oh, I’ll see his face whenever I look at you but the man I love is gone! He’s gone! I’ll never have that again.”

I rubbed his back and whispered soft, soothing things to him.

“I can’t do this without him.” Holmes sobbed. “Why have I become so reliant on him? Why?”

“Love doesn’t make us weak.” I found myself saying as I attempted to console the miserable consulting detective. “It makes us stronger, Sherlock…”

Holmes froze in my arms. “My body is defective.”

“No, it’s not.” I answered, running a hand down his side to his hip.

“Even while I’m miserable, bemoaning my fate, certain body parts are still… Excited.”

I glanced down to see that his erection hadn’t waned. Neither had mine, although it did ache from being denied release.

“Let me help you.” I whispered.

Mutely, Holmes nodded.

Reaching down, I took him in hand. It fit perfectly into my hand and I gave it a little tug. There was a grunt in response. So I gave another tug. The angle was awkward so I moved to sit between his legs, using one hand to wank him and the other to play with his scrotum.

Holmes groaned and opened his legs wider, tipping his pelvis.

Experimentally I slipped a finger into him, finding him pliant and open. I wondered at the experiences he must have shared with my counterpart to be so ready. Another finger slipped in and I listened to his indecent moans. I was aware that he was moist inside and I wondered what he had done just prior to my arrival. How many hours could lube last?

As if to answer Holmes reached out to one side of the bed, blindly reaching for something beyond the curtains. Casually he tossed it at me. It was a bottle of oil.

Hastily I used a generous amount on my fingers and slipped three in. I couldn’t look at him or how my fingers looked entering him. I held onto one of his legs to ground myself, closing my eyes and focusing on the sensation of my fingers in such a place. During this time period doctors would treat their female patients for hysteria by doing something very similar to what I was doing to Holmes. My fingers pressed on his prostate. Holmes cried out and began to move his hips in time with my fingers.

It was like Holmes was addicted to the treatment for hysteria. Is that what this was? I opened my eyes to see Holmes looking at me.

Holmes reached out and pulled me down on top of him. “Inside me. Please…” His voice was ragged with need.

I could have denied him. I could have stopped and demanded to know just what was going on. Was my counterpart really treating Holmes for addiction by using sex the way they used to treat women’s hysteria? Did Watson think that Holmes had a form of hysteria?

Holmes’ hand found my penis and guided it into place, silencing anymore thoughts in my head at the sheer pleasure of first penetration. God, his body was so beautiful, arching up beneath me, begging for more as I began to plow into him over and over again.

“Sherlock… Sherl…” I grunted his name over and over again as I helplessly followed the demands of our bodies. It felt so good… So right. It was better than anything I ever imagined. When I came I came hard. I didn’t think I would ever stop pulsing. But I did. And when I finished I realized that I was no longer in a curtained bed, fucking the Victorian era double of my best friend.

I was home.

Sherlock sat in the chair across from mine, eyes on me.

I blinked several times to clear my vision.

“You’re back.” Sherlock stated.

I looked around the familiar room filled with modern conveniences. “Yes. It would seem so.”

“How was the 19th century?”

I shrugged. “Surprisingly complicated underwear.”

Sherlock smirked. “Buttons.”

“You knew I was gone?” I queried.

“We had a visitor…”

“Let me guess… Another me who was rather confused about modern life.”

“He was confused… And a little panicked. He was desperate to return to his ‘Holmes.’”

“They’re lovers, you know.”

Sherlock nodded. “I got that.”

“Not as first hand as I did.” I retorted.

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Was it horrible?”

I giggled at the look on his face. “No, actually it wasn’t. But I think your counterpart may have transferred his drug addiction to sex addiction. His need for a fix was overwhelming…”

Sherlock squinted at me. “Just to be clear… We’re talking about you having sex with my counterpart.”

“That’s what we’re talking about.” I stood up from my chair. Sherlock’s eyes followed me.

“Was he any good?” Sherlock looked worried.

“He’s had a lot of practice.” I answered. “How did you know?”

“Your counterpart told me that he needed it nightly ever since he moved back in. And a night passed. If time was the same…”

“Does it bother you?” I stared at him to catch any small hint he let pass.

“Did you like it?”

I couldn’t lie to him. And I knew he could read any deflection I might try and make. I couldn’t tell him how incredible it was. It was a once in a lifetime experience, especially for me. It seemed my counterpart would have that experience nightly.

“You liked it.” Sherlock sounded disappointed. I guess I waited too long to answer.

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you did with him.” Sherlock whined.

“It wasn’t a lot. I mean it was only one night.” I sat back down on my chair. “We went to bed. We thought I might have permanently taken his Watson’s place. How can I replace his lover? Anyway… We went to bed. And when I woke up he had mistaken me for Watson.”

“You are Watson.” Sherlock looked angry.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t his Watson… His lover. Anyway… One thing led to another and then I found out he’s addicted to Watson. And I didn’t know if this was permanent or not… If I would have to stay there and take his Watson’s place.”

“You wanted to take his Watson’s place.”

“Victorian era London is not where I want to be. For one thing there’s no penicillin. Half the medical practices were backwards!”

“But you had him!” Sherlock growled.

And then I realized something. Sherlock was jealous. “But I didn’t have him. Yeah, I had sex with him… But he didn’t have me and I didn’t have him. He’s in love with the person you spent the night getting to know. I have my life here with you. We were settling for each other since the person he needed wasn’t there and may never come back.”

Sherlock pouted. Slumping in his chair he pouted like a child. Arms crossed, glaring at my knee and his lower lip protruding pout.

“Sherlock… They were in love. With each other. There’s no way I could get in the middle of that unless I was forced to like I was.”

“You weren’t forced.” Sherlock’s voice had a dangerous quality in it that made me shiver.

“You know about addiction.”

“From what I was told he never would have forced himself upon you. You gave yourself to him.”

I mulled over his words. They were correct… Technically. “Yes. I gave myself to him. But I didn’t know I would ever get back. I thought I might be stuck there forever. Had I known then I wouldn’t.”

“So you crawl into bed with the first Sherlock Holmes that asks you to shag him?”

I giggled at the petulant words. Sherlock couldn’t be any more jealous if he wanted to. “Are you actually jealous of yourself?”

“How can I be jealous of myself?” Sherlock demanded.

“Because that Sherlock Holmes had his way with me and I did not resist very much.”

“You said you didn’t have him!”

I got up from the chair again. This argument was going nowhere. I wasn’t even entirely sure what was bothering Sherlock so much. I headed for the door.

“John!”

I paused at the door to look at a rather desperate Sherlock.

“What did he say to make you… You know? How did he seduce you into his bed?”

I stared back at him, unsure what to say. “He asked if I loved you… Because he desperately loved his Watson. I would have been a… A poor substitute for him had I been forced to stay. He probably would have returned to the drugs.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Sherlock sighed.

“No, he wouldn’t… Not if I had any say. I found a way to give him what he wanted. I would have continued to find ways to get him what he wanted. Anything to keep him safe and healthy.”

“Anything…” Sherlock echoed. “Anything to keep him safe and healthy… Even if it means… That.”

“I would have done anything to help him… Just like I’d do anything to help you. He was a lot like you… But in many ways not.”

“Perhaps on a fundamental level we are the same.”

I shook my head, imagining a sexual, affectionate Sherlock. “No, you’re not.”

Sherlock pouted again. “In what way?”

“Well… For one… What would your reaction be if I was to kiss you?”

Sherlock shrugged. “You won’t find out unless you try it.”

Perhaps it was the afterglow from the sex I had just had. But I practically leapt across the room and caught Sherlock’s head in my hands. I gave him a deep, hungry kiss. My tongue invaded his mouth as he opened it to cry out in alarm. We stayed like that for a long moment. I thoroughly explored his mouth… And I was aware that he had smoked a cigarette while I had been out. I pulled away from him and watched for his reaction.

Sherlock closed his mouth and bit his lips as he stared up at me.

“His reaction was to strip me naked and get a leg over me.”

“Not all kissing leads to sex.” Sherlock observed.

“That’s true.” I continued to stare at him. “You smoked last night.”

Sherlock frowned and shifted his attention to my chair. “You weren’t here. And the other you didn’t mind.”

“What was it like? How did you know I wasn’t me?”

“He looked terrified. I finally got him calmed down enough to figure out that he wasn’t you and that he came from another time period. He kept calling me ‘Holmes.’ He was frantic to get back. He said that his Holmes needed him. He made it clear he feared that without support his Holmes would indulge. The only thing that kept him from doing so was his appetite for sexual pleasure.”

I blushed at those words coming from Sherlock’s mouth.

“So, of course, I knew you were doomed.”

“I was not!”

Sherlock gave me a look. “You still didn’t answer how he seduced you. What was his technique? Kissing and then what?”

“Sherlock… I’m not discussing that with you.”

“Why not? It was me. Shouldn’t I know how you would cater to my sexual whims if that was my addiction?”

“That’s not your addiction.”

“It could be.”

“But it’s not!” I yelled back. We stared at each other for a long time before I finally returned to my chair and plopped down.

“What did you do for him?”

“What do you want to hear? What do you want me to tell you? You already know what I did.”

“Did it hurt?”

I was confused, “Why would it hurt?”

“Because he took you?”

I reviewed our conversation until now. Did Sherlock think…? “I topped.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.

“What?” I demanded.

“Never mind.” Blushing, he looked away.

“You thought I bottomed?”

“Never mind!” Sherlock looked away.

“You thought he may have hurt me or traumatized me?”

“The other you implied that he was mostly on the receiving end.”

“And the thought of another you plundering my manly virtue upset you?” I teased.

“I said, ‘never mind!’” Sherlock stood up, flustered.

“What if he had plundered my manly virtue?” I blinked up at him.

“I will delete the very idea!” Sherlock shot back.

“But I would still be left with the memory that I had a Sherlock Holmes inside of…”

“Stop!” Sherlock took a step towards my chair and then back again. “My imagination ran away with me. It won’t happen again.”

I stared at him. It was surprising to know that the idea of another version of himself fucking me hurt him so much. It wasn’t disgust. In fact he seemed a little… Excited. There was jealousy… But why? I wanted to get it out of him, but he was already ready to run and hide. “Sherlock…” I stared up at him. “Would you like for me to show you what I did? Would that make you feel better?”

Sherlock frowned at me. “I know what you did.” Sitting back down, he continued to stare at me. “The question is ‘why’? You were there for one night. Less than twelve hours and yet… And yet shortly after meeting him you…” His voice trailed off.

“I told you… He had an addiction.”

Sherlock focused on me with his squinty eyes.

I raised my hands in surrender. “You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t know what it’s like to wake up in the morning being fondled by your bed partner.”

“I do. I just didn’t act on it.” Sherlock stated.

“When?”

“You weren’t here. You were married.” Sherlock stated.

“Yeah… Well… I was fondled and there was the possibility that I would be stuck there for the rest of my life. I had to make the best of it.”

“The same.”

“You seduced Janine to gain access to CAM’s office! There was no permanence about it!” I growled.

“There might have been… Had you not encountered me and followed me home.”

“And you’d also be dead because no one would have been there to help you before the paramedics arrived!”

If it was possible Sherlock squinted a little more.

I was annoyed… And defensive. I just wanted to end the accusations in the conversation. “You want to know why I did it. Because he wanted it. He needed it. And he enjoyed it!” The look Sherlock gave me showed I went a little too far but I didn’t care at that moment. I headed for the door.

“It wasn’t you he was with. You just filled in for his lover. You let him use you. Doesn’t that bother you?”

I flinched a little at his words but quickly recovered to leave the room and head up to my bedroom. I was wearing something different than the day before, but the outfit did not suit me. It was too nice for every day wear. I wondered at my counterpart’s taste in clothing as I rummaged through my things. As I shut the drawer that contained my pants I became aware that Sherlock was standing in my doorway. “What?”

“He offered to sexually satisfy me. I declined.”

I stood, staring at him, my pants forgotten in my hand instead of tossing them on the bed as I intended with the rest of my things.

“He thought our relationship was the same as his. He thought he would do his duty as a doctor to take care of me.”

I finally managed to toss my fresh pants onto the pile of clothing on my bed. “And you declined.”

“I knew he wasn’t you. It wasn’t just his mannerisms or his ignorance of modern day. He wasn’t you. And I couldn’t forget that, not even for a moment. I knew you could easily forget. You never stood a chance at resisting a sexual me.” Sherlock took a step into the room and shut the door behind him. “If you could do that with him… And he’s not even the Sherlock Holmes you live with…”

I took several steps back as he loomed closer. My legs hit the bed and I sat to look up at him.

“Imagine what I could do.”

“What can you do?” I squeaked.

Sherlock reached down and took my head in his hands. His lips pressed against mine and we held that position for several long moments. Finally with his tongue licking my lips he pulled away, towering over me as I sat on the bed before him.

My fingers reached for his trousers, managing to undo the button before he came back to his senses and stepped away. Watching him move towards the door caused a lump to form in my throat. I had been foolish.

But Sherlock paused at the door to flick the lock. Returning his attention to me, he stood, leaning against the locked door.

I sat on the bed, unsure what to say. Slowly I began to open my shirt, keeping my eyes on Sherlock. Regardless of whatever Sherlock was hinting at I still needed to change out of the clothes my counterpart dressed me in. I pulled off the shirt and tossed it aside. Soon my vest followed. I stood up to undo my belt and trousers, allowing them to slide down my legs. Then one sock and the other. All that was left was my pants. I didn’t even know I owned a pair of boxers. I turned towards the bed and allowed them to fall down my legs so I could step out of them. During my strip tease my fresh pants had fallen on the floor and I bent over to pick them up. I wasn’t prepared for a warm hand to touch my backside. I stood with my pants in hand and the touch did not change.

Sherlock sat on the bed and removed his hand from my bottom. His eyes were upon me, taking in every square inch of exposed skin. “That fit inside of him?”

I looked to him in confusion, seeing where on my body his gaze was focused. His eyes were on my growing erection. “Yes.”

“I understand it requires some stretching.”

“Well… Considering that he was in a sexual relationship with my counterpart they had plenty of time to practice on one another.”

“Mm…” Sherlock hummed and flicked his eyes away to my hip. A cautious hand reached out to lightly trace my side from my ribs down to my thigh.

I tried to not notice that my penis came fully hard with that touch.

“You like that.” Sherlock whispered. “You like when I touch you.” His fingers traced back up my thigh to my groin, tangling themselves in my pubic hair. I wasn’t prepared for him to move his head in and take a whiff of my crotch.

I nearly jumped back when I felt his cool nose on the base of my penis. But I kept in place and allowed him to explore me. A tentative warmth touched me and I tried not to think about what part of him was tracing my penis up the shaft.

Sherlock moved his head and I suddenly knew it was the tip of his tongue, tasting my shaft. I bit my lips to keep from crying out as we made eye contact.

“Don’t do that… Unless you mean it.” I whispered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, swiping it over my glans.

I took a step back to distance us and gasped for air. Sherlock had done it deliberately! The cheeky bastard was tasting my cock!

Sherlock leaned back on my bed, his feet on the floor, supported by one arm. His eyes kept on me. “Would it help if I said something like he did? ‘Oh please, Watson… Have your way with me?’”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for!” I informed him.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Sherlock answered wiggling one leg.

“But why? Why now after all this time?”

Sherlock shrugged and smiled at me almost fondly. “Now is as good time as any. I found out that you’re not opposed to it… So why not?” Suddenly he went still and looked concerned. “That is… Unless you really were forced by my counterpart. You may say you were willing to spare my feelings.”

“No, Sherlock. That’s not it.” I sat on the edge of the bed, next to him. Lightly I patted his leg. “Sex is very messy, you know that? It’s messy… It’s a loss of control…”

“I know what sex is.” Sherlock responded. Lounging on his back he reached down to undo his trousers. Lifting his bum he pushed both the trousers and his pants down his legs to expose his impressive erection. Then his hands went to his shirt to unbutton it.

I slid onto the floor and helped him out of his trousers, pants and socks, leaving his lower half bare. Returning to the bed I helped him sit up to remove his shirt and then situated him properly on the bed. “Are you nervous?”

Sherlock shook his head in the negative and leaned back against the headboard, knees up and feet flat on the bed. I crawled up to lay beside him, lightly touching his chest, teasing his nipples. His hand covered mine to keep it still. “John…”

I looked at him.

“I don’t think I’m ready to receive you.” His eyes were full of regret and uncertainty.

I reached up and cupped his cheek in my hand. “We don’t have to do that.” I whispered.

“But… But I want what you did to him. I want to experience it.”

“Not if you aren’t ready.”

“Still…” His tone was regretful.

I held up my hand and then placed one finger in my mouth, getting it nice and wet with saliva. Pulling my wet finger out of my mouth I showed it to him again. And then I reached down his body, between his legs. My finger probed and found someplace tight and secret. Gently I pushed myself in, watching Sherlock’s reaction to the intrusion.

Sherlock stared at me, his mouth open in surprise. With each movement his eyes reacted to me. His breath caught with each wiggle until I was fully inside. My finger found the bundle of nerves and Sherlock cried out, moving his hips and arching his back. “John… I need.”

I kissed his throat. “On top of me. On top of me and rub against me.” I whispered wetly against his neck.

Sherlock rolled over and for a moment we were all limbs, trying to find a better position. I had to pull my finger out and wait for him to situate himself before pushing it back. And then Sherlock began to rub his long, hot body against me almost aggressively. My name on his lips as he used my leg for friction against his swollen cock.

“That’s it.” I urged him on, one finger up his bottom with a second finger teasing his sphincter and the other clinging to his back so he wouldn’t fall off. I didn’t even know he could move that way.

Suddenly Sherlock pulled away and he crouched over me, panting for air.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, lightly patting his shoulders and the top of his head.

“It’s not enough.” Sherlock whimpered.

Where had I heard that before?

“Anything you want, Sherl… Just please…”

Sherlock kissed my sternum. His breath was hot against my skin. His hand trailed down my thigh and then back up again to touch my penis and scrotum. A finger probed at my sphincter.

I twisted and reached for the bedside table, rummaging in the drawer to pull out a bottle of lube. Hastily I passed it to him. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what I was doing.

Sherlock’s oily fingers surprised me and I gasped as he pushed first one and then another into me. The stretch… The burn. I focused instead on my breathing and not what his fingers were doing or how many he managed to cram into me one at a time until I was so full. “Ready?” Sherlock’s voice asked.

I nodded.

And then he was inside of me and I breathed through the slow movement until he finally bottomed out. We waited for a long time with him making soft murmurs against my neck. Eventually I was ready and I lightly touched his back. The movements were slow and deep. I felt like I was completely surrounded by him and he was inside of me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to recall all I could from my last experience of bottoming. I found I had forgotten. But it didn’t matter. Sherlock was beginning to increase his tempo.

“John…” My name was hot against my ear and broken.

I kissed his cheek, a difficult thing to do with his lips against my neck. “Let me… Roll over.”

Sherlock pulled back, looking absolutely bedraggled.

I managed to roll over onto my hands and knees, presenting my body for Sherlock’s use.

Sherlock patted me on the bum and then knelt behind me. A firm push and he was back in. With the better angle he was able to move faster. And when he shifted his angle I saw stars!

Every third stroke his cock brushed my prostate. I angled my hips and soon it was ever other stroke.

Sherlock cried out, his arms wrapped around my waist to keep me in place and his hands blindly reaching for my own cock. Suddenly he went very, very still and his body sagged against mine. I reached down and tried to finish myself off but he pushed my hands away.

“Sherlock… Please…” I whimpered.

We fell over onto our sides and Sherlock lethargically crawled around to my front. I don’t know where he learned to suck a cock or if it was all beginner’s luck. But there he was, sucking me down like he was a natural, until he nearly gagged from his own eagerness. Wrapping a hand around me, he continued to bob until I gave a warning cry. Then he stilled as pulse upon pulse was swallowed. Finally he pulled off and rested his head on my belly with a contented sigh.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I must have because next thing I knew I was clean, covered in a blanket and it was mid-afternoon.

^.~

The shower was pleasant on my stiff joints. I’m getting too old to shag so much. My knees and thighs were beginning to protest all the kneeling. I returned to the sitting room wearing only my robe.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, looking into a microscope. “In case you were wondering…” And he left off there as I stared at him. “I learned how to do it at uni.”

“Learned what?” I asked, puzzled.

“Fellatio.” Sherlock answered. “You seemed concerned that I knew how to suck you off.”

I tried to imagine what sort of life experience Sherlock had that he learned to give blow jobs at uni.

“Stop thinking about it.” Sherlock commanded.

“I can’t help it.”

“My partner tried to keep me silent. It wasn’t a very good relationship.” Sherlock made a face and went back to his microscope. “But you are the first.”

“The first what?” I asked.

“The first I shagged.” Sherlock replied.

I giggled at the word.

Sherlock softly giggled at the table. With a deep breath he returned to his microscope. “Next time you can shag me.”

I controlled my giggles enough to think about his offer. “I’m not going to shag you… I’ll make love to you.”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders but I could see the small smile on his lips. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“Does this mean…?” I queried, unsure how to phrase my question without freaking him out.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at me. “Are we like our counterparts? Perhaps… Except I don’t need it every night.”

“Of course.” I smiled at him.

“But if you need it every night I won’t complain too much.” Sherlock resumed his work. “I know how you can be without it. Wouldn’t want that to happen…”

I sat back on the couch and wondered how our counterparts were getting on. Is this how they started? Holmes loved Watson… Does Sherlock love me?

Sherlock sat up and straightened out his spine. “Perhaps Angelo’s tonight?”

I smiled and nodded. “That would be fine.”

“Maybe some wine… A nice cabernet or pinot noir.” Sherlock smiled fondly at me.

“Whatever you want.” I winked at him.

“It’s a date.” And with that he went back to his microscope.

And for once I didn’t disagree with him.

^.~

“What are we doing tonight?” Watson asked Holmes from over the top of his newspaper.

“I thought, perhaps, we would stay in.” Holmes replied with a smirk. “Perhaps a bath?”

“Sounds lovely.” Watson mused into his glass of brandy.

Holmes continued to stare at the other man, his companion and partner.

“What is it, Holmes?”

“I adore you.” Holmes whispered so no one could ever overhear.

Watson’s cheeks blushed pink and he took another sip of his brandy. “And I, you.”

--Fin