A Chivalrous Gesture, Part Five

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Sherlock Holmes

Feedback: Any and all welcome!

Summary: In this sequel to A Masterful Performance, Watson and Daniels work together to convince Holmes to follow-up on a case...

Link to Part One

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Part Five: John Watson

"Do you know what Holmes needs?" Daniels asked me.

I opened my eyes. I was sitting in a worn but comfortable arm chair, dozing off. Daniels was lying on a settee opposite me, staring up at the ceiling.

"In relation to what?" I asked, pausing only to yawn as I glanced at the clock. We still had a few hours, I noted, before setting off for the gaming hell.

"His boredom. His lack of challenging cases. We'll have this Burnwell business wrapped up tonight, I shouldn't wonder. Or soon enough, at any event. And then what will occupy him?"

"The needle, like as not," I answered grimly.

"Just so," Daniels agreed. "What Holmes needs is a master opponent. Someone who's invariably one step ahead of him...someone with a finger in every criminal pie in London."

“A criminal mastermind?" I said, catching his spirit. "The controlling brain of the underworld?"

"Precisely! You ought to write one up for his entertainment. I read your notes to the Scarlet case; you've got a way with the pen."

I grinned at him, recalling again his small but pivotal role in that case. "We'll need a suitably devilish name for this fellow."

Daniels frowned. "True. What shall it be? Something that sounds morbid, I think."

"Moran?" I ventured.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That's not quite exalted enough. I suppose it could belong to some sort of assistant, though." He paused, furrowing his brow. "I know! That can be our villain's right hand man. Holmes has you, after all. It's only fair to give his opponent someone he can rely on."

I smiled at that, flattered that he thought of me as Holmes' 'right hand man.' "Then our villain will need a counterpart for you as well," I pointed out.

“But I worked for the other side, remember?” he said, turning his head toward me. “Although when I agreed to pose as that old crone, I didn't realise that my friend had murdered anyone. Not that I quite blame him, though, under the circumstances.”

I cocked my head at him, considering the problem. “Your counterpart shall also work for the other side—which, in this case, would be Holmes. Surely Holmes will need a man on the inside? An informant?”

Daniels laughed and clapped his hands together. “That's perfect! Just perfect. I—”

He broke off, interrupted by a tread on the stairs, which was followed by the sound of a key turning in his lock. I started before realising that it must be Holmes—as, indeed, it was.

So Holmes owned a key to Daniels’ rooms. I suppose I should have been disturbed at this fresh proof of the intimacy between the two men, but I took the revelation in good part. I did, however, raise my eyebrows when Holmes, disposing of his coat and hat, walked over to the settee and leaned down to kiss Daniels lightly on the mouth. Then, after some well-choreographed moves on both their parts, he sat down on the settee, allowing Daniels to lie with his head upon his lap.

It was all so casually done that I found it difficult to take offense. And yet I’ll own to some shock—Holmes and Daniels had never before flaunted their affair in front of me.

“How goes the case?” Holmes asked me, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

I blinked before managing a response. “Quite well—did you follow us here?”

“Hardly,” Holmes answered. “Why should I? As I said earlier, I don’t believe it’s possible for you two to bungle this.”

“Could you say that again?” Daniels asked, rolling his eyes. “And try to sound a bit more contemptuous and dismissive this time, please.”

I choked back a laugh at that—and Holmes, to his credit, managed a smile of his own.

“I meant no insult,” he said contritely, looking from Daniels to me. “I did not follow you because I have every confidence in both of you—no doubt you have already acquired information on Burnwell.”

“We have,” Daniels admitted, smiling up at him. “Thanks to the fact that Watson flirted outrageously with Kitty.”

Holmes nodded. “Women are invariably attracted to Watson—I have often used that fact to my advantage during a case. And I am fortunate indeed that no woman has managed to snatch him up yet,” he added, staring directly into my eyes.

It was a perfectly innocent remark, I am sure, and yet I felt myself blushing. I could not help but remember Daniels’ cheerful belief that Holmes was suffering from an unrequited passion for me—and that the two of us should ‘share’ him.

I swallowed as Holmes’ grey eyes continued to bore into mine. At length, however, I forced myself to look away. Surely I was misinterpreting the invitation I had seen in them? Holmes must know that I was no sodomite.

Holmes mumbled something to Daniels. I couldn’t make it out, but whatever it was, it was not in English. It was not in French either, the only other language I knew Holmes to speak fluently. Apparently he’d been picking up another tongue from Daniels. Yiddish or Russian, like as not.

I allowed myself an inner sigh: the bedroom, they say, makes for the best classroom.

Whatever Holmes whispered, it caused Daniels to grin and then to sit up and reach for his boots. “I’m going to check on Kitty and make certain that she’s not pining for you,” he said, sparing me a wink.

A minute or two later he was gone. Holmes and I heard his footfall disappearing down the stairs.

Somehow I managed to look Holmes in the face again. Why was I suddenly nervous, as if we had never spent time alone before? This was my closest friend, my boon companion. There was no excuse for this fluttering in my stomach.

“If—if you have so much confidence in us, why did you seek us out?” I asked, trying to fill in the silence that had fallen between us.

“I did not come to check your progress,” he said softly. There was an uncanny glow to his eyes, I noticed, courtesy of the dying embers in the fireplace. “I came before I could lose the courage to approach you.”

I stared at him. I could not pretend to misunderstand him—his meaning was too plain. It was written on his face, in the way he was leaning toward me and in the tensing of his muscles.

He looked away suddenly. “If I am mistaken in you, Watson,” he said, staring into the fireplace, “simply say the word and I shan’t trouble you again. You are good enough, I think, to forget that I ever allowed my sentiments to run away with me.”

“Holmes, I—” I broke off, confused.

Holmes offered me no help. He continued to stare into the coals of the fireplace instead.

“Oh dear God,” I said at last. “I ought to be telling you that we must both forget this moment, old chap. I don’t know why the words won’t come. I suppose I should blame Daniels—this is his influence, no doubt.”

I was babbling, but Holmes seemed not to mind. “Daniels spoke to you, did he?” he asked, turning back to me. “I was afraid of that.”

I nodded. “Oh yes,” I answered, smiling a little. “He assured me that you’re quite taken with me. And when I ventured my objections, he informed me that there’s more to sodomy than one particular act—so I needn’t let that put me off. And he’s of the opinion that you are far too trying for one lover, so it really would be in the best interests of all concerned if the two of us were to share you.”

Holmes bit back a grin. “I should, perhaps, have warned you that Daniels is not excessively bourgeois in his thinking.”

I laughed outright at that understatement. “No,” I agreed. “But I’ll own that he’s refreshingly honest and forthright. It was the most absurd conversation I’ve ever taken part in—but somehow I can’t hold it against him. On the contrary, I suppose I’m glad to have the matter out in the open.”

I may be mistaken, but I believe Holmes drew in a sharp breath at that. “May I take it, then, that I have not offended you?”

“Of course you haven’t,” I said at once. “Even if I can’t bring myself—damn it, Holmes. I don’t know where I stand in all this, but how can I be anything other than immensely flattered by your attentions?”

He seemed to relax somewhat as he took in my words. “Well, there is no rush, my friend. I’m not pressing you for a decision.”

I cocked my head at him. “You won’t cast Daniels aside, will you?”

Holmes sighed. “You have a small opinion of my honour, I see. No, I have no intention of throwing him over—not even for your sake.”

I grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. You can be quite trying, Holmes. I don’t think I should mind sending you `round to Daniels periodically.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “No doubt the two of you can devise some schedule,” he said dryly.

“Oh, rest easy,” I said. “I imagine Daniels is already working on one.”

He had the grace to laugh at that. “Undoubtedly,” he agreed. Then he paused to hold out his hand to me. “Come here,” he invited.

I stared at his hand for a long moment…if I meant to refuse him utterly, it must be now.

But I did not refuse him. Instead, I let out a rather long, self-deprecating sigh, as if giving in to the inevitable. The next instant my hand was in his…and then somehow I was sitting next to him as he placed his arm around me.

I was afraid that I would blush giddily, like a green girl with her first suitor. I was a man of immense experience, I reminded myself. I had known women on three continents. Why should I be nervous with Holmes? Besides, we would go no further in Daniels’ rooms. Whatever business Holmes and I had—and I was unsure, as of yet, what that business would be—it would take place in Baker Street, in the privacy of our own quarters.

Nothing happened between us that afternoon—I can attest to that. And yet, by the time Daniels returned upstairs, I was leaning back against Holmes with my legs stretched out on the settee.

Daniels bounded in with a triumphant smile on his face. He took little note of the sudden intimacy between Holmes and me, except to give us a vague nod of approval. Obviously he had something of greater import on his mind.

“Moriarty,” he announced. “That’s our man.”

It took me only a moment to catch up with him. “Excellent,” I said with genuine enthusiasm. “Yes, that will do.”

I could sense Holmes furrowing his brow. “Who is this man?” he demanded.

“Your arch-enemy,” Daniels explained with a bow. “Watson and I have just created him. We felt that you needed a master-villain against whom to test your mettle—even if we had to invent him from whole cloth.”

“Sorry we can’t provide you with a real one,” I added.

Holmes, I think, was smiling as he responded. “The greatest schemer of all time and the organiser of every deviltry, I hope.”

“Of course,” I said. “He must be, if he’s to challenge you sufficiently.”

“Hmmm,” Holmes said, resting his chin against the back of my head. “Then you had best give him an innocuous career—all the better to hide his deviltry. He should be a professor, I think. A chair in mathematics, perhaps?”

“Professor Moriarty,” I mused, settling in more comfortably against Holmes. “Yes—that will answer quite well.”