§ Grumbling is his specialty.
Yet the intelligence with which settles issues such as intricate an ancient scroll, is unsurpassed and indescribable. §
John Watson, frowning.
Was undecided on that final, but thought he was up to the truth.
"How are we doing with my biography of Watson?"
He was eager to read it, something to cling to, in the absence of cases.
The demand for Holmes arrives at the nape of Watson, preceded by a kiss.
"Good morning, Sherlock ..."
"'... Then ngiorno this before?"
"And last ..." - snort.
"One is more than enough!" - Rebuke, rubbing shoulders above the elegant shirt and vest.
"I'm just more chapter ... ... his private life." - And when I say half-closed eyelids, as if all their memories they had invested in a single lunge, as if possessed his lover, best friend, colleague, roommate, the one and only Sherlock Holmes.
"Interesting ..." - whispered in his ear, insinuating with your fingers between the buttons, loose.
"I know it's interesting ..."
"Talk about sex or love, the real one?"
"There is one false Sherlock?"
"Maybe ... for example, some tutors ..."
Watson jumped up - "Touchez" - hiss, repositioning the buttons in the slots.
"Excuse me, John ...?"
"No, I gotta go. A charge of false love, if you care! "
He grabs his jacket and overcoat, leaving Holmes with their useless thoughts of regret.
The nights were getting longer.
Sherlock questioned the size of the lunar satellite, imagining that it was cheese or some mysterious unknown material.
Certainly it was inhabited by strange little men, without heart and brain all.
"This is what is my place!" - Muttered, realizing he had forgotten the tourniquet around the left arm.
He had to stop with morphine and had to do it now.
Watson had come to voice by dint of repeating, but it was the only substance to relieve the pain of losing it.
John was aware of, but could not break away from the skirts of Mary, the teacher strict and gentle care of him and that he had aspired to marry soon.
"You have enjoyed your dinner, dear?" - Asked, with that fearful and composed, on one hand, Watson was fascinated, irritated him while on the other, as on that occasion.
"It's great, but do not have much appetite."
"Are you feeling unwell John?"
"I think it is that virus that is haunting London, from schools to prisons ..."
"I think you have it transmitted? My student is sick for a week ... "- replied puzzled.
"Maybe Mary ... Listen, I left several preparations in my old studio, I prefer to have an injection immediately and avoid the worst ... I'll be back soon."
"Okay ..." - replied sadly.
The walk along the Thames was the only time of peace, that Watson could be granted, escaping both Holmes and Mary.
They hated each other with a smile, but could not be the first episode of a girlfriend who hated the evil man his best friend.
The more singular the opposite, but the reason was obvious.
The sentiments that united them was too deep, so profound as to frighten him to death.
His eyes filled with tears, turned to the window of Holmes.
He saw the flashing flames of the candles and then the shadow of someone moving slowly from the center of the room, up to the windowsill.
Their eyes met, half of the short distance between them, blending in like a vortex.
"I miss you ..." - whispered, finding the same words on the lips of Holmes.
He just wanted to belong.
Holmes had told her from the first moment, we cross the limit of no return.
"I want to have you, imprisoned without John ... The only way I have my days that you stay and love me is consuming, more than any drug."
It was a narrow channel, more and more hot, swollen and lascivious, one in which the sex of Watson was living, dying, resurrecting, in fact an embrace of their kisses, one of those languages you are anxiously searching.
"Jo ... John ..."
"Ssstt ... not ... do not say anything ..."
"Sorry ..."
"Already done ..." - and smiled at his look of sheer bitterness.
The dense that went up from the heart, urges him to fill that void that you see in the other crying - "Sherlock ... I love you I love you so ..."
I feel a swirl, upset stomach, was about to come.
He raised himself a little, helping Holmes, with his own hand, to enjoy with him.
Convulsively occurred after several minutes of sobs and moans.
It was devastating quell'orgasmo, tore their limbs, then devour the moment when they said goodbye.
Mary made the tea, cut her with a few slices of apple pie.
Watson adored her.
Scrutinized the arabesques of the Persian carpet, recently purchased from future in-laws.
Her mother doth a list of guests as long as the Mississippi - "Your wedding will be an unforgettable day!" - The decree, even the bored wife, who was smoking his pipe, sitting comfortably in an armchair by the fireplace.
"And her doctor, how many people plan to invite?"
"... To people?" - Asking him how aroused from a dream.
"Yes ... relatives, friends ..."
John tries to reflect, then finds himself up to plead for clemency to have forgotten its heart.
He ran so fast towards Backer Street to hear the wind break in the chest, going up the stairs in a fury and opening the door of Holmes.
The show that you appeared before him was unpleasant.
The most famous detective of England had been poured between the sheets worn, even by their fiery relationship, a syringe covered with blood not far from his left wrist.
"Holmesss!" - Shouted the doctor, in despair.
Tried to revive him for ten minutes, then when he was about to give in to that icy pallor, a gasp went up from the throat of Holmes, then a persistent cough that seems to bring clarity.
"John ..."
"Love me ... my God ... damn you!" - Exclaimed, crush, and then flood it with kisses.
"... You're all that I have are my family ... Sherlock ... how could you ...?
Holmes smiled up color.
"How do you feel ...?"
"Better Doctor ... odious malaise, which has infected me, it was promptly defeated by his strange vaccine ..." - he said sitting up, straightening her jacket wrinkled.
"Vac ... vaccine ... infection?!"
"Definitely a great gift of his wife uh ... promise!" - Sarcastic jokes, ruffling his hair to another.
"And me ... I thought, I thought it was an overdose ..." - said lost.
"That will be the next step if ..."
"If ...?"
"John is here with me and we'll find out together, but only if you really want ..." - quietly opened her eyes, liquid and impregnated with love only, which united them.
"Of course I do ... I always wanted to Sherlock ... listen ..."
"Ssssttt not you tell me more ..." - and kissed his forehead.
Watson took his face in his icy fingers in her mouth and welcomed him with a moving carriage.
§ In his brilliant mind, he would have found thousands of words, to define the joy and the pain he felt in seeing him get away from their forbidden thalamus, well aware that he would not have ever left.
Holmes had few certainties in their lives, one of which remains until his last breath, the presence of the Beloved John Watson, who reciprocated with all his being up to capacity, of his heart and his reason. §
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