Once I reached the hallway on the second story, I found the key underneath the railing post, unlocked the door marked #5 and let myself into a small room. It was dank and unlit, but there was enough moonlight streaming through the single window that I was able to make out the outline of a small cot in one end and an empty desk in the other.
For ten minutes or so, I waited in near silence, save for the occasional sound of a distant carriage or small creature scuttling about the gutters.
Then, there was unmistakable sound of footsteps nearing the door. I heard the key turn in the lock and a moment later the door opened. A tall, dark figure entered the room and from where I stood he appeared to be dressed in the shabby clothing of a service man. His face was covered in stubble, and a dark bowler hat was pulled down over his brow.
But his eyes were unmistakably his own. As soon as I saw those two keen, dark orbs shining out of the darkness, I let out a relieved sigh, unaware that I had been holding my breath.
“Who on earth is Stephen Hallingsworth?” I asked him.
“My former roommate at boarding school. A sniveling asthmatic bore. Come here, Watson,” Holmes said, removing his hat and tossing it to the floor.
I crossed the room in two seconds flat. I took his face in my hands and locked my mouth upon his. He brought his hands to my wrists and kissed me back with such vehemence I felt the circulation in my veins increase in speed.
Without another word between us, he pushed me towards the cot and we fell upon it. I made every effort to muffle my cries as he consumed me, laving his tongue over my neck while he hastily opened my trousers. His trembling hands pulled my swollen flesh from between my legs and before I knew what was happening his mouth was over it, sucking and licking and pulling me into a frenzy.
I have often thought that thugs and criminals held the greater advantage under cover of London’s darkness, but tonight I firmly believed that it belonged instead to secret lovers, whose fervent trysts are inflamed by the sense that God looks down from the stars at everyone but them.
I writhed and bucked and within minutes died a long shuddering death. I gripped his head, squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth in a silent scream that gave way to a stifled groan when I reached the end of my release.
As Holmes righted my clothing, I lay motionless in a state of disbelief at how quickly this had transpired. I had managed to last longer than the last time, but once again my state of arousal had been so acute and his grip so powerful that I was near to my finish as soon as he took me into his mouth.
When the aftershocks subsided, I reached again for Holmes, attempting to pull him atop me and grasp his flesh. He resisted.
“No, Watson, I must retain my sharpest faculties for this case,” he sighed, as he pushed himself away from me. He walked over to the other side of the room and perched himself on the old desk, a favorite posture of his when he addressed me with important information.
I was quite disappointed, yet still enjoying the delicious shivers wrought by his lively and flexible tongue. I reluctantly rose to my feet, faced him and waited.