by J. Rosemary MossGenre: Slash Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes, Star Trek)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ok, I once read a joking list of Holmes-Watson conventions. It was stolen from a Kirk-Spock list, so it said something like "Does Dr. McCoy bring them together? Wait--wrong fandom!" But I'm going with that...
~
Sherlock Holmes was staring out the window. His breakfast lay half-eaten and forgotten as the maid saw to the remains. Meanwhile, although his back was to me, I could tell from his stance that he was furrowing his brow. I raised my eyebrows hopefully at that; my friend, it seemed, had encountered something that puzzled him.
Nothing could be better. Holmes had been growing dangerously bored of late--bored enough, I feared, to turn to the needle.
“Observe the two men standing across the street, Watson,” he said as I joined him at the window. “They alighted from a cab two or three minutes ago and have since been involved in an urgent discussion.”
I stared at the pair who, fortunately, did not seem to notice our curiosity. Both men looked to be in their thirties. They presented a respectable enough appearance--although one man was moving his arms in an agitated fashion as he talked, clearly annoyed at some remark of his companion’s. Said companion, however, seemed determined to bear the agitation with a stoic resignation that betrayed only a hint of annoyance.
“They look as if they’re accustomed to arguing with each other,” I ventured.
“Very good, Watson,” Holmes agreed. “No doubt they served together--it is obvious that they were both rather high-ranking military men. Americans, I should think.”
Neither their military past nor their nationality was so obvious to me, but I did not bother to say so. “Were?” I asked instead. “They’ve left the military?”
To my surprise, Holmes didn’t answer. He merely frowned at the pair as the creases in his forehead grew deeper.
“What else is puzzling you about them?” I pressed. All the while I was hoping that the two strangers had come to seek advice from my friend--surely they would provide him with an intriguing case?
“Their clothing is poorly tailored, and yet both men are reasonably affluent. Moreover, neither man is accustomed to a cravat. The agitated man keeps tugging at his.”
“But not the stoic fellow,” I pointed out.
Holmes nodded. “He is more adept at hiding his discomfort.”
“Perhaps it’s not their cravats--perhaps they are just missing their uniforms.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s more than that.” He paused for a moment, cocking his head at the two strangers. “They're both armed.”
I narrowed my eyes at the pair, but I could not see the tell-tale bulge in their clothing that Holmes must have detected. Nonetheless, I knew better than to doubt my friend’s powers of observation.
At length the two men stopped arguing and purposely crossed toward us. Holmes and I seated ourselves as the strangers made their way to our door. We heard their knock, and then the maid taking their coats--but one of the two declined to relinquish his hat. I raised my eyebrows at Holmes, but he was pressing the tips of his fingers together as if already considering explanations for this breach of etiquette.
We rose to our feet a moment later as the maid ushered the two men inside and then took her leave of us.
“Mr. Holmes?” asked the agitated man as he glanced from one of us to the other.
“I am he,” Holmes said, inclining his head.
The man held out his hand to Holmes and said, in a voice that was unmistakably from the American south, “I’m Dr. McCoy. And this is Mr. Spock.”
Holmes shook the doctor’s hand. Mr. Spock--the man who was still wearing his hat--did not offer his hand, but contented himself with a polite nod of the head.
“This is my associate, Dr. Watson,” Holmes said as I shook hands with the other doctor. “Please speak freely in his presence.” With that Holmes waved us all into chairs.
Dr. McCoy had the look of a man who is impossible to dislike. His blue eyes were bright and intelligent and his face, were it not burdened by some worry, would no doubt wear a ready smile.
Mr. Spock, on the other hand, was foreboding. It was not merely his odd name. There was something about the slant of his eyebrows that was disconcerting. I found myself wondering if he was part Oriental. However, some Americans had Cherokee blood or some such, did they not? Perhaps that accounted for the unusual cast of his features.
His face showed little emotion, but his dark eyes seemed to miss nothing. They were chillingly observant. Good Lord! I had to bite back a grin as I realized that the fellow reminded me of Holmes.
“You are a doctor of medicine?” Holmes asked McCoy when all of us were seated.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor agreed.
“A military surgeon, no doubt, like Watson,” Holmes persisted. “Which branch did you serve, Doctor?”
McCoy opened his mouth to respond, but Spock interjected. “We served in the Navy,” he answered.
“At what rank?”
Spock frowned at Holmes. “I fail to see the relevance of that question.”
“I am not yet in a position to know what is and is not relevant,” Holmes said with a shrug. “Your answers will help me make that determination.”
Spock furrowed his brow. “That is logical,” he admitted, causing Dr. McCoy to roll his eyes heavenward.
I smiled at the doctor, moved to a sudden sympathy with him.
Spock, meanwhile, was answering Holmes’ question. “Dr. McCoy served as the ship’s chief medical officer. I served as the first officer.”
Mr. Spock’s accent was that of a cultured American, I noted. It was the sort of highly educated accent that retained no trace of a specific region.
Holmes must have been drawing his own conclusions regarding their accents, but he merely nodded. “And how can be of assistance to you?”
“We’d like your help, sir, in locating a friend of ours who’s vanished,” explained McCoy. “He’s not familiar with London--we've only been here a few days, on a brief matter of business. We were just selling some antique weapons. Of the three of us, only Spock has a glancing acquaintance with this city. And, well, we’re afraid that some harm has come to Sulu.”
“We last had contact with Mr. Sulu forty-six hours and thirty-three minutes ago,” Spock added. “At our rooms in Halliday’s Private Hotel, which is west of--”
“I’m familiar with Halliday’s,” Holmes assured him. “Am I to understand that the three of you were lodging together?”
“Indeed,” Spock confirmed. “Dr. McCoy and I left our rooms to eat; we were to bring back food for Mr. Sulu, who preferred to remain at the hotel. When we returned, he was gone. He had left no word explaining his absence. There were no signs of a forced entry. And we were able to account for all his belongings--nothing in the rooms had been disturbed.”
Holmes leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. “As you are both armed, I shall assume that your Mr. Sulu was as well. Did he take his gun with him?”
Spock and McCoy exchanged wry glances at that. “No,” McCoy admitted. “He left everything of importance behind. And believe me, that’s not like him.”
Holmes nodded. “Pray describe your friend.”
“We can do better than that,” McCoy assured him. “Here’s a picture of him.”
Holmes opened his eyes and straightened up at that and then took the small portrait that McCoy handed him. It was set inside a circular bronze frame, but Holmes looked questioningly at the doctor. “May I remove it?”
Spock shook his head at that--but McCoy nodded. Holmes pretended not to notice Spock’s response and proceeded to remove the frame.
After frowning at the portrait, Holmes passed it to me. It was a remarkably detailed work, depicting a handsome man with a rakish grin. He was clearly Oriental--as the name `Sulu’ implied, I suppose. I handed the portrait back to Holmes.
“May I keep this at present?” Holmes asked.
“Yes,” McCoy answered.
“No,” Spock said at the same time.
The two men exchanged glances again--a whole conversation seemed to pass between them in the looks they shot each other. But, astonishingly, Mr. Spock relented.
“Thank you,” Holmes said as he pocketed the portrait. “And now, gentlemen, perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what sort of danger is involved in this case? And do you intend to involve Scotland Yard?”
“We do not wish to involve the local authorities,” Spock said. “And it is unclear, as of yet, how much danger is involved. I have no reason to believe that Mr. Sulu had any enemies--especially here, where he is a stranger. However, I cannot dismiss the possibility that he was taken at gunpoint....although for what purpose I cannot surmise. But Sulu is careful and competent. If he has been the victim of a crime, then I would venture to say that the perpetuator is quite dangerous indeed.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “If you are concerned with involving the authorities and there is potential danger in this case--well, then, gentlemen, I expect to be handsomely paid.” And Holmes proceeded to name an outrageous sum.
Mr. Spock raised his eyebrows slightly at the amount, but did not refuse it. He turned to the doctor instead, who shrugged impatiently.
“Very well,” Mr. Spock said, turning back to Holmes. “We will pay you half that amount in advance--and the rest when you discover Mr. Sulu.”
“That is more than satisfactory,” Holmes assured him. “Now, I shall want a look at Mr. Sulu’s rooms--shall we meet at Halliday’s this afternoon? At four o’clock?”
I was surprised that Holmes was dismissing them without asking for more information. However, the two men agreed and, shortly afterward, took their leave of us. As soon as they were gone I let out a low whistle.
“That’s a princely sum, Holmes! I can’t believe they agreed to it!”
“Dr. McCoy had no notion of just how high that sum was,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “Mr. Spock did, but he did not believe it worth his while to haggle with me. Money, apparently, means very little to either man.”
“Then why on earth are they staying at Halliday’s?” I asked. “Surely they can afford better?”
“Quite so, Doctor. Just as they can afford exquisitely tailored clothes; yet their suits were merely serviceable. I’ll say this much for them--they’re not obsessed with luxury.”
He paused. “Nor are they concerned with bloodlines. Mr. Sulu, at least, is Oriental. And Mr. Spock may be of mixed blood of some sort. And yet, that doesn’t fit their story. No man of mixed blood--or even the appearance of mixed blood--would be given a position of authority in the United States military.”
“You believe they were lying about their naval service?”
“I don’t know. They have nothing of the sea about them. And yet, they are ranking military men of some sort--I’m ready to swear to that, regardless of Mr. Spock’s bloodlines.” He paused again and frowned. “I mean to solve their case and satisfy my own curiosity, Watson. I’d like to know just what business those men have here.”
I frowned as well, thinking back on the strangers. “Why do you suppose Spock insisted on keeping his hat?”
“To hide a scar of some sort, I suspect,” Holmes said absently. “We’ll find out at length, no doubt.” He paused and folded his arms across his chest. “They were an interesting pair, were they not? And they’ve known each other for some time--you’ll notice how much each man could convey to the other with a mere glance.”
“If they served in close quarters together, that would follow,” I pointed out.
“Excessively close quarters, I should say,” Holmes said with a sardonic smile. “I rather think they’re lovers.”
“Holmes!” I chided. “What on earth would make you think that?”
He turned to face me, his grey eyes thoughtful. “Does that possibility appall you, Doctor?”
I felt myself blushing. “It’s no concern of mine,” I managed.
Something flickered in his eyes--something I couldn’t quite read. But it was raw and immediate.
But perhaps I imagined it, for at length Holmes shrugged. “In all likelihood the details of their friendship will not have a bearing on the case,” he said dismissively.
“Quite,” I said before falling silent.
We did not speak again for some time--we were each too lost in our own thoughts. But my thoughts were no longer on the strangers. I found instead that I couldn’t banish that raw look Holmes had given me from my mind.
And, what was worse, I didn’t want to.
Nothing could be better. Holmes had been growing dangerously bored of late--bored enough, I feared, to turn to the needle.
“Observe the two men standing across the street, Watson,” he said as I joined him at the window. “They alighted from a cab two or three minutes ago and have since been involved in an urgent discussion.”
I stared at the pair who, fortunately, did not seem to notice our curiosity. Both men looked to be in their thirties. They presented a respectable enough appearance--although one man was moving his arms in an agitated fashion as he talked, clearly annoyed at some remark of his companion’s. Said companion, however, seemed determined to bear the agitation with a stoic resignation that betrayed only a hint of annoyance.
“They look as if they’re accustomed to arguing with each other,” I ventured.
“Very good, Watson,” Holmes agreed. “No doubt they served together--it is obvious that they were both rather high-ranking military men. Americans, I should think.”
Neither their military past nor their nationality was so obvious to me, but I did not bother to say so. “Were?” I asked instead. “They’ve left the military?”
To my surprise, Holmes didn’t answer. He merely frowned at the pair as the creases in his forehead grew deeper.
“What else is puzzling you about them?” I pressed. All the while I was hoping that the two strangers had come to seek advice from my friend--surely they would provide him with an intriguing case?
“Their clothing is poorly tailored, and yet both men are reasonably affluent. Moreover, neither man is accustomed to a cravat. The agitated man keeps tugging at his.”
“But not the stoic fellow,” I pointed out.
Holmes nodded. “He is more adept at hiding his discomfort.”
“Perhaps it’s not their cravats--perhaps they are just missing their uniforms.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s more than that.” He paused for a moment, cocking his head at the two strangers. “They're both armed.”
I narrowed my eyes at the pair, but I could not see the tell-tale bulge in their clothing that Holmes must have detected. Nonetheless, I knew better than to doubt my friend’s powers of observation.
At length the two men stopped arguing and purposely crossed toward us. Holmes and I seated ourselves as the strangers made their way to our door. We heard their knock, and then the maid taking their coats--but one of the two declined to relinquish his hat. I raised my eyebrows at Holmes, but he was pressing the tips of his fingers together as if already considering explanations for this breach of etiquette.
We rose to our feet a moment later as the maid ushered the two men inside and then took her leave of us.
“Mr. Holmes?” asked the agitated man as he glanced from one of us to the other.
“I am he,” Holmes said, inclining his head.
The man held out his hand to Holmes and said, in a voice that was unmistakably from the American south, “I’m Dr. McCoy. And this is Mr. Spock.”
Holmes shook the doctor’s hand. Mr. Spock--the man who was still wearing his hat--did not offer his hand, but contented himself with a polite nod of the head.
“This is my associate, Dr. Watson,” Holmes said as I shook hands with the other doctor. “Please speak freely in his presence.” With that Holmes waved us all into chairs.
Dr. McCoy had the look of a man who is impossible to dislike. His blue eyes were bright and intelligent and his face, were it not burdened by some worry, would no doubt wear a ready smile.
Mr. Spock, on the other hand, was foreboding. It was not merely his odd name. There was something about the slant of his eyebrows that was disconcerting. I found myself wondering if he was part Oriental. However, some Americans had Cherokee blood or some such, did they not? Perhaps that accounted for the unusual cast of his features.
His face showed little emotion, but his dark eyes seemed to miss nothing. They were chillingly observant. Good Lord! I had to bite back a grin as I realized that the fellow reminded me of Holmes.
“You are a doctor of medicine?” Holmes asked McCoy when all of us were seated.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor agreed.
“A military surgeon, no doubt, like Watson,” Holmes persisted. “Which branch did you serve, Doctor?”
McCoy opened his mouth to respond, but Spock interjected. “We served in the Navy,” he answered.
“At what rank?”
Spock frowned at Holmes. “I fail to see the relevance of that question.”
“I am not yet in a position to know what is and is not relevant,” Holmes said with a shrug. “Your answers will help me make that determination.”
Spock furrowed his brow. “That is logical,” he admitted, causing Dr. McCoy to roll his eyes heavenward.
I smiled at the doctor, moved to a sudden sympathy with him.
Spock, meanwhile, was answering Holmes’ question. “Dr. McCoy served as the ship’s chief medical officer. I served as the first officer.”
Mr. Spock’s accent was that of a cultured American, I noted. It was the sort of highly educated accent that retained no trace of a specific region.
Holmes must have been drawing his own conclusions regarding their accents, but he merely nodded. “And how can be of assistance to you?”
“We’d like your help, sir, in locating a friend of ours who’s vanished,” explained McCoy. “He’s not familiar with London--we've only been here a few days, on a brief matter of business. We were just selling some antique weapons. Of the three of us, only Spock has a glancing acquaintance with this city. And, well, we’re afraid that some harm has come to Sulu.”
“We last had contact with Mr. Sulu forty-six hours and thirty-three minutes ago,” Spock added. “At our rooms in Halliday’s Private Hotel, which is west of--”
“I’m familiar with Halliday’s,” Holmes assured him. “Am I to understand that the three of you were lodging together?”
“Indeed,” Spock confirmed. “Dr. McCoy and I left our rooms to eat; we were to bring back food for Mr. Sulu, who preferred to remain at the hotel. When we returned, he was gone. He had left no word explaining his absence. There were no signs of a forced entry. And we were able to account for all his belongings--nothing in the rooms had been disturbed.”
Holmes leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. “As you are both armed, I shall assume that your Mr. Sulu was as well. Did he take his gun with him?”
Spock and McCoy exchanged wry glances at that. “No,” McCoy admitted. “He left everything of importance behind. And believe me, that’s not like him.”
Holmes nodded. “Pray describe your friend.”
“We can do better than that,” McCoy assured him. “Here’s a picture of him.”
Holmes opened his eyes and straightened up at that and then took the small portrait that McCoy handed him. It was set inside a circular bronze frame, but Holmes looked questioningly at the doctor. “May I remove it?”
Spock shook his head at that--but McCoy nodded. Holmes pretended not to notice Spock’s response and proceeded to remove the frame.
After frowning at the portrait, Holmes passed it to me. It was a remarkably detailed work, depicting a handsome man with a rakish grin. He was clearly Oriental--as the name `Sulu’ implied, I suppose. I handed the portrait back to Holmes.
“May I keep this at present?” Holmes asked.
“Yes,” McCoy answered.
“No,” Spock said at the same time.
The two men exchanged glances again--a whole conversation seemed to pass between them in the looks they shot each other. But, astonishingly, Mr. Spock relented.
“Thank you,” Holmes said as he pocketed the portrait. “And now, gentlemen, perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what sort of danger is involved in this case? And do you intend to involve Scotland Yard?”
“We do not wish to involve the local authorities,” Spock said. “And it is unclear, as of yet, how much danger is involved. I have no reason to believe that Mr. Sulu had any enemies--especially here, where he is a stranger. However, I cannot dismiss the possibility that he was taken at gunpoint....although for what purpose I cannot surmise. But Sulu is careful and competent. If he has been the victim of a crime, then I would venture to say that the perpetuator is quite dangerous indeed.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “If you are concerned with involving the authorities and there is potential danger in this case--well, then, gentlemen, I expect to be handsomely paid.” And Holmes proceeded to name an outrageous sum.
Mr. Spock raised his eyebrows slightly at the amount, but did not refuse it. He turned to the doctor instead, who shrugged impatiently.
“Very well,” Mr. Spock said, turning back to Holmes. “We will pay you half that amount in advance--and the rest when you discover Mr. Sulu.”
“That is more than satisfactory,” Holmes assured him. “Now, I shall want a look at Mr. Sulu’s rooms--shall we meet at Halliday’s this afternoon? At four o’clock?”
I was surprised that Holmes was dismissing them without asking for more information. However, the two men agreed and, shortly afterward, took their leave of us. As soon as they were gone I let out a low whistle.
“That’s a princely sum, Holmes! I can’t believe they agreed to it!”
“Dr. McCoy had no notion of just how high that sum was,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “Mr. Spock did, but he did not believe it worth his while to haggle with me. Money, apparently, means very little to either man.”
“Then why on earth are they staying at Halliday’s?” I asked. “Surely they can afford better?”
“Quite so, Doctor. Just as they can afford exquisitely tailored clothes; yet their suits were merely serviceable. I’ll say this much for them--they’re not obsessed with luxury.”
He paused. “Nor are they concerned with bloodlines. Mr. Sulu, at least, is Oriental. And Mr. Spock may be of mixed blood of some sort. And yet, that doesn’t fit their story. No man of mixed blood--or even the appearance of mixed blood--would be given a position of authority in the United States military.”
“You believe they were lying about their naval service?”
“I don’t know. They have nothing of the sea about them. And yet, they are ranking military men of some sort--I’m ready to swear to that, regardless of Mr. Spock’s bloodlines.” He paused again and frowned. “I mean to solve their case and satisfy my own curiosity, Watson. I’d like to know just what business those men have here.”
I frowned as well, thinking back on the strangers. “Why do you suppose Spock insisted on keeping his hat?”
“To hide a scar of some sort, I suspect,” Holmes said absently. “We’ll find out at length, no doubt.” He paused and folded his arms across his chest. “They were an interesting pair, were they not? And they’ve known each other for some time--you’ll notice how much each man could convey to the other with a mere glance.”
“If they served in close quarters together, that would follow,” I pointed out.
“Excessively close quarters, I should say,” Holmes said with a sardonic smile. “I rather think they’re lovers.”
“Holmes!” I chided. “What on earth would make you think that?”
He turned to face me, his grey eyes thoughtful. “Does that possibility appall you, Doctor?”
I felt myself blushing. “It’s no concern of mine,” I managed.
Something flickered in his eyes--something I couldn’t quite read. But it was raw and immediate.
But perhaps I imagined it, for at length Holmes shrugged. “In all likelihood the details of their friendship will not have a bearing on the case,” he said dismissively.
“Quite,” I said before falling silent.
We did not speak again for some time--we were each too lost in our own thoughts. But my thoughts were no longer on the strangers. I found instead that I couldn’t banish that raw look Holmes had given me from my mind.
And, what was worse, I didn’t want to.
15 comments:
Ooooh! I'm hooked! And the angst at the end regarding Holmes' "raw look." Awww!
I loved how keen Watson was to s Spock's resemblance (manner wise) to Holmes and his instant empathy w/McCoy's long suffering! This promises to be a delightful tale. Brava!
Oooh, lovely. Brings back fond Star Trek memories. I love your take on this, and I can't wait for more! (Will Spock and Holmes discover their logical kinship? Will we have a "and how do you take care of your genius?" commiseration scene between Bones and Watson?) Go, you!
Very, very nice start! But part one?! I will whine very loudly if you keep feeding me WIP stories all around :)))) ~aq
Thank you, all, for the lovely comments! I deeply appreciate them.
Liederlady ~ Thanks! I was pretty sure that Watson wouldn't be able to help but sympathize with McCoy, lol. They're going to find out they have quite a bit in common!
Elena ~ Thank you! Lol--I love the idea of a commiseration scene between Bones and Watson. Brilliant--if I wasn't planning on one before, I certainly am now!
AQ ~ Thank you! Lol--I'm trying to do more one-shots; really I am. But, as far as series go, this one (like A Touch of Diplomacy,) will be relatively short, so you won't have to wait too long for resolution =P
Thanks again,
Rose
Squeeee! This is so cool! I'm a HUGE Star Trek and SH fan from waaaaay back and I love how you've captured these characters. I can hardly wait to read where you take them!
Mary, aka Love Bug 54
PS: BTW, thanks for linking to Watson's Journal! I'll return the favor if I can figure out how to do it on LJ. Hmmmm...
I always wondered--In ST6, did Spock mean that he was related the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or to Sherlock Holmes? I was never certain about that.
This is the beginning of another wonderful ride.
Oh, that last comment was by me,
Peace!
Julianna
Oy--I messed up that last comment. Let me try it again:
Thanks Mary & Julianna!
Mary ~ Thank you! I'm enjoying this chance to combine two of my favorite fandoms.
And my pleasure in linking the journal. You've got some new stuff up, I see, so I'll be treating myself later tonight!
Julianna ~ Thanks! We were just posting about that quote on the Holmes Slash list. And someone pointed out that Nicholas Meyer--the author of The Seven Percent Solution and other great Holmes fic--was one of the screenplay writers for Star Trek VI. How cool is that?
Here's the quote from Spock:
"An ancestor of mine maintained that if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be the truth."
I always took it to mean that he was descended from Sherlock Holmes or his brother Mycroft Holmes...but, of course, it could be a reference to Doyle. I don't know which was intended =P
Thanks again!
Rose
COOL! A Star Trek/Sherlock Holmes crossover?! AWESOME! ;-D I can't wait to find out what happends next!
-Igiveup
Wow, what a great start!
But, FYI, De Kelley was part Cherokee (Eastern), not Spock! Unusually for his time, he never tried to hide his bloodlines.
That was a lovely beginning. I can't wait to read more. I don't know how you do it but you keep writing such fantastic stories that make me come back for more. I loved Holmes deductions about Spock and McCoy and Watson's questioning the 'look'. ^_^
~rhea
Thanks Igiveup, Anonymous & Rhea!
Igiveup ~ Thank you! I'm glad you like the idea of a Sherlock Holmes/Star Trek crossover...I was a bit nervous about it. More soon =)
Anonymous ~ Thanks! Oooh...and thanks so much for the info on DeForest Kelley =)
Just to reassure you, I wasn't implying that Spock or Nimoy was part Cherokee--only that, because Spock's half-Vulcan, his features are slightly different than your average Victorian Englishman's. So Watson was guessing that perhaps he's part Asian or part Native American or some such to account for said differences. (And he's wrong--he hasn't guessed half-alien yet, lol.)
Rhea ~ Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying this. Hehe...it was fun to guess what sort of deductions Holmes would make about Spock and McCoy. And I suspect Watson will see more of that look...
Thanks again, all!
Rose
OMG, more please! I love the way Holmes is very cautiously feeling out Watson's take on the possibility of male lovers.
Thanks Tafizgurl!
Yes, that's just what Holmes was doing: he needs to carefully sound out Watson's feelings on this matter. I'm glad you liked this first part--the next part is coming!
~Rose
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