Sherlock Holmes' Pov
I'm reaching a point of you, not to reject you, but to establish a vague touch, at least with the fabric of your coat.
Do you think you have, John, to keep the distance between us.
"I thought you did not want to speak to me Holmes." - Say, after having swallowed a couple of times.
"Not at all. Bring my greetings to your wife ... they extend to the family, to his family. At your ... "- I smile, contemplating a precise point, a button to be exact, not to have to bear more weight in your eyes flicker.
Why are you crying, right now? In fact, because you're a step to do it, John?
Now that no longer good for anything.
I think I threw up three times, not four, after he returned home alone to Baker Street.
The banquet of your wedding was sublime, but not for my stomach and its bearing of laughter, songs, dances, your cold and embarrassed the form of fact, you gave to the words, glances, however rare, to my address.
I was isolated, so I know perfectly well that many find me obnoxious.
Anyone really care, John, I care ... you mattered, you know.
I force myself too distant past, in the verbalizing my discomfort, so resign myself to what is unacceptable to my heart.
And 'spent only a month and here is reappearing on the pier, in front of the fish and chips, where we were forever.
"I knew that I find it here ... Holmes ... before or after I come three times a day." - And laugh, with your unique way of doing that makes me want to make a madness.
I grab your wrist and drags you away.
"Holmes!"
It's cold in this place forgotten by the world and perfect for us.
"The Thames ... have you ever asked Watson what would become of us if we were, for example, two sailors?"
You sit next to me: we are in a remittance of abandoned boats, a place bleak and sad, like my present loneliness.
Dusty wooden crates, we are the chair, quite inconvenient.
"What are you raving Holmes ...?" - Sighs, staring at the skyline.
"Or, say, fishermen in the south of France ..."
"In short, men of the sea."
"The sea is calm Watson gives back to me ... yes, it's true." - Declare convinced, pointing out my statement with a gesture of assent, using my heavy head, the lack of rest.
"What I would have taken you, Sherlock?"
I look at you.
"You do not blame John, really. If anything ... it's love, the responsibility to make me suffer to the limit of endurance, but this also serves to grow, understand, assimilate life, his toughness, in a hopeless disillusionment, about what I can never have, tighten, store next to me ... "
Coughing, getting up and I feel a shudder in fear that you go away, annoyed or frightened by my speeches, it is essential to the nature of your emotional reaction, have been anesthetized incessant need us or at least I believe it firmly.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, not married or that I have chosen a quieter path ... sadly, I think, beside Mary, but to see you drown in this uncomfortable ...."
"Throwing a lifeline would be unbecoming?" - Wonder absorbed.
"How?" - Murmurs, then you kneel and grab me by the shoulders - "To become lovers? See us in secret? Do not you ever would reserve such humiliation ... my love ... "- and kiss me ... and, suddenly, clashing with my teeth, which would be favorable to your initiative, then you creep, I disrupts the senses, as this heat, which takes hold me whenever you ...
"John ... John ..."
If you repeat your name, now you're here with me, as it happens in your absence, in the darkness of my room, sentenced only to remember, to regret, to fight with the punishment for having you ... forever lost in this ... echo, perhaps you'll be.
"John ..."
Your kisses are impulsive, lascivious, filthy increasingly, in a ravine, where he slept presumably the custodian of this pigsty.
We could go to the Grand Hotel, have a luxury suite, champagne, take a delicious libations, Syrian nuts, grapes, then moved to two glasses of absinthe, sucking the sugar cube, each other before you, to honor, ... then I remember our last New Year ... John?
"John ..."
You are inside me, I clung to your waist, now rebels, jerky, quivering and hot, such as your frantic movement and terrible, so terrible, as I inebriates, amplified by the undertow, under the beams on which a pallet welcomes us not stopped my prayers for everyone not shattered, hurling into the icy waters of the river, even if ...
Destroyed during intercourse best, you're giving me, John ...
"John ... you ... please ... please ... you w-"
I also lose control of the word, I lose every shred of dignity, albeit microscopic, when the smell of blood mixed with your essence, the nectar of the flesh, that comes over me, destroys me, makes me feel ... loved.
"Sherlock ... I love you I love you ..."
Sobs, but smile, kiss me, hit me, confused orgasm.
Stay here ... do not disassemble this great snap that we are now.
Do you hold back as much as possible.
Restart.
And I caress between my legs: my sex could also wait any longer, but now I see that you, as usual John.
"John is not possible ... ..."
"What ...?" - Gasps stuck to my neck, then my forehead.
"It '... unjust ..."
What are your scruples for the bride?
For the public ridicule, if you know that in London ...
Impossible.
I would carry you away, be safe, I can do, keep a good wealth, while you, dear beloved, you have always been reckless and careless with your finances.
When did you discover my gift, a real talent, you've moved: "Holmes, but I can not accept ... I ..."
"We make good use of Watson, this check is not nothing compared to its value."
Mary was even more incredulous than you, but I, after an expensive engagement ring to welcome her into our lives, I wanted to complete my display of affection, gave me the money, even for studies of a child, as if I were John ... you and your family.
We'd be in Provence or Italy, maybe in Normandy, was a little true ...
We put on, now it's dark.
We are thieves of other people's time and I feel as if Mary had done me a favor, let free in the afternoon, as certainly happened at every opportunity, where you came looking for me.
I'm embarrassed and back to pieces.
You seem to understand, from my face, I hasten to hide, but you do not need.
"Come, let's sit still for a moment ..."
I pat his back, creating a comfortable warmth.
"I love you so well Sherlock ..." - my name is torn by a death-rattle in a swirl of flakes, which explode from your breath, the temperature is lowered further.
"We're going home to John ... ... yes, everyone at home ..." - squeeze the eyelids, I would laugh like a clown, his face drawn with tears revealing.
"Not between us will never end ... never Sherlock."
Kiss me again.
Yet, to feel that this is the only acceptable truth, the only way to not go crazy without you is like a sentence to hard labor: I could not survive.
The richness of my heart is as endless as the sea,
My love as deep: the more I give, the more I have,
because both are infinite.
He closes my book, William Shakespeare, a great travel companion, on this train to the north.
Tomorrow I'll see you John, I do not know what strategy you've convinced your wife to let you join me for medical advice, to a complicated case, where they really are directed, on behalf of His Majesty.
When there's half a crown, the prestige of your work fascinates the ambitions of someone who holds you hostage, I understand.
Cynicism is not suited to acid trepidation, then gives up the first, the second prevails, so my heart, good sense, too unreasonable to give it space in days to come, with you.
THE END
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