“What?” His still did not understand.
“This,” I said, gesturing towards his hand and my groin, “does not go far in satisfying my deeper yearnings.”
I was beginning to feel like one of his subjects, though I was not immune to the keen interest with which he studied my face as he squeezed and stroked and rubbed me, for he did seem to enjoy the act as one enjoys performing a hat trick before a captive audience, but I was growing tired of this routine and more than frustrated that I had not yet been permitted to touch him.
“Is there something else I can do to assist you, my dear friend? You have simply to name it.”
I smiled at the innocence of his question because, truly, Sherlock Holmes was no more experienced in love than the average pre-pubescent child. His experiments in the sexual gratification of others were so strictly clinical as to be practically chaste.
“Holmes, how many men did you service when you conducted your research in college?” I asked him.
“And how many of them attempted to return the favor?”
He paused a moment before answering, “Some.”
“More than half?”
“I fail to see what difference this could possibly make to you, Watson.”
I ignored his obstinance and continued to press him.
“Did you grant any of them the privilege?”
“Of course not.”
“And did you ever test any theories on your own person?”
“Obviously not, Watson. That would not have been germane to my study.”
“What if it were germane to my study?”
He stared at me. “Your study? Of what?”
“The way you look when you’re ensconced in sexual activity.”
“Watson, what are you asking me?”
“I’m asking you nothing. I’m telling you that I want you to pleasure yourself while I watch you do it.”
He was so startled that he nearly stumbled backwards.
“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question, Watson.”
“I am not currently in an aroused state.”
“Supposing I get you to one.”
“Watson, this really is not what I had in mind when I—“
“Oh, but it is exactly what I had in mind. In fact, it’s been in my mind for quite some time now.”
His steely glare pierced right through me, but I held my ground.
“Very well,” he said. “Where and when do you want me to do this?” he asked. Never had I seen him so unsure of himself. It was quite intoxicating.
“Here. Now. Against your desk.” I moved aside the chair and a pile of papers. He narrowed his eyes at me, then turned and perched himself hesitantly on the edge of the desk. He gripped the edge and waited tensely.
“Relax, Holmes. After a while you won’t even notice I’m here,” I said with a teasing smile. “Now, I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes.”
He did so, and I took a moment to relish the look of him preparing to focus his brilliant mind.
I went to his side and leaned in close. I barely touched him, though I made certain that the front of my trousers aligned with his right hand so I could graze it at the appropriate moments. I brought my lips to his ear so my moustache would tickle his earlobe as I spoke.
“It is true, my dear Holmes, that I have long imagined the myriad ways in which your exquisite hands could be used to bring me pleasure, and far beyond that which you have already done,” I murmured, and I was delighted at the shiver that traveled through his body.
“But other ideas have crossed my mind of late, things which I am quite sure would shock even the most…salacious imaginations.”