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It was late in the evening, though, according to common social conventions, a rather deep night when I finally put my precious violins (a commemoration of my French grandmother) in their safe hiding place in a sturdy leather case.
I have no idea how long I tortured their delicate strings with the horsehair of the bow and coaxed tones that, even with tons of good will, had nothing to do with music. Their harrowing cacophony was more of a material embodiment of my own confused thoughts swirling through my head at the time and rushing out in the only possible way they knew.
As soon as the lid closed behind it, I, fully clothed, reached for the bed and folded my arms behind my head. The only company I had was a little bit of dim flickering light emitted by a fading gas lamp behind the window, and a longing silence into which my room had plunged again. By this it finally joined the rest of the dusky London, peacefully dozing behind its windows.
But unfortunately, any of this didn't put me nearer to sleep in the slightest. I stared at the ceiling and the thought of what was hiding behind its inconspicuous firm whiteness creeped into my brain almost against my will.
A room upstairs so similar to mine.
A simple bedroom equipped with only a few cheap pieces of furniture, until recently desolate and empty, but now undoubtedly inhabited.
The gentleman, who have recently started to call it his home, was initially nothing more for me than a cute nice amount of money, which will ensure that, despite my thin appanage and alms, I receive from the police and my colleagues in the bussiness, I could afford this maybe a modest but neat apartment in the city center. Which would otherwise be far beyond my financial means.
If the amount of my religiousness was just somewhere near the ocean of cynicism that filled my soul, I would now have to berate the heaven. But with current state of affairs I had nothing but a bitter laughter.
Money! Rent! Savings! All this was suddenly the last thing I should be worried about. No! With my new flatmate, it was as if I have made a spiral and unintentionaly returned to precisely that, what I‘ve tried so desperately to escape from. To a wild lustful and forbidden carnal desires.
Dr. John Watson!
I in my solitary refuge I began to ponder about my new handsom flatmate. Did this unannounced night concert of mine wake him up? Or does he, the one who instigate it in the first place, sleeps in the manner of the righteous, not having the slightest idea, what kind of turmoil takes place just one floor below, in the chamber of his wicked roommate? Probably the first option! After all, he used to fall asleep in the middle of the uproar of war during the roar of handguns and artillery cannonade. A few squeaky violin tones will certainly not disturb him.
I imagined him lying on the bed, in nothing but a nightgown, breathing regularly and calmly, tangled in blankets and lined with soft pillows, and something in my heart moved. How neat must his blond hair stand out compared to the white sheets? How peacefully, how innocently, must his appealing face look like right now? And despite that all…
I smirked, due to the memory. So, wasn‘t this adorable little angel with eyes painted in the sky blue shown himself as a true devil? As he was, full of sincere admiration, whispering into my ear, seductively as well as ingenuously: "I just want to please you."
And even now, here in my serene sanctuary, I‘m blushing with shame, for freezing and not being able of any reaction, whether approving or disapproving.
But him! For God‘s sake, did he loose any time? With real soldier-like vigor, he didn‘t wait a second and let me taste a pinch of what would await me behind his bedroom door if I accepted his invitation.
And oh, what about my treacherous body!? How willingly it gave up when my brain, oh my stunning perfect brain, deserted it cowardly.
The memory of that hot hand, which without hesitation and shamelessly made its way lower and lower, to my lap, pierced my head. Of my own thighs, which opened for him, like a gate. Even of the gentle touch of his lips on my face.
The image, which slowly emerged from the vague grayness of memories, was becoming too vivid. Oh, be cursed, you sweet angelic boy with the face and body of a Greek god. Cursed be your audacity, with that you did not wait for permission, deftly unbuttoned the few obstructing buttons and drove inside. Cursed be your rough palm which I felt on my bare skin.
"And this is just an advance payment! There are several other ways a gentleman can give a pleasure to another gentleman. I can show you all of them. You deserve it. Believe me!"
Even now, his seductive whisper rings in my ears, as charming as naive.
No, my dear doctor! I'm not as inexperienced as you may think, grinned I in my solitude. I know what do you mean by that mysterious paths of pleasure of yours! I know them all too well. Better than I would have wished to. That's why I‘d like to know, do you even realize what you are asking for? Do you understand, what kind of perils do you expose yourself? What would we both being exposed to? Are you willing to commit that crime with me? Do you know what would await us if our little sin would come to day light?
You have no idea, but the Royal Police is still in possession of a certain compromising file with my name on it. Nothing but ugly gossip, as the state prosecutor himself assured me. But if one of us wasn't careful enough… Can you even imagine what it could have cost us?
I sighed. My dear Watson! How easily all my good resolutions dissolve when you look into your azure eyes.
The heat that had ignited in my body became more and more unbearable. I unbuttoned my vest and dropped it, as if it were the thing that had taken my breath away. I narrowed my eyes and took a deep breath. The frantic beating of my heart did not subside.
Oh, Dr. Watson! Your bold hand in my lap!
I gave up and touched exactly the place where it had been just few hours before. Suddenly it was so desperately insufficient, but what could I do? The pulsing heat under my palm must have resembled the one you felt back then. I unbuttoned myself.
Dear doctor! What would happen if I would answer you positively and accept your invitation? Now, right now, in the middle of the night, while you are innocently lingering in Morpheus' arms? Should I, sinful and eager, appear on the doorstep of your bedroom? What would you do? What would you do to me?
That was my pondering in the dead of the night, while my hand was imitating his gripp on my own manhood with unmistakable precision. My mouth let out a blissful sigh. I continued in my task.
Watson! What kind of a devil made you enter the attic of St. Bartholomew's Hospital in that cloudy afternoon?
My clenched fist quickened my movement, and I muffled my own moans, as if afraid that my flatmate in the room above me might hear them, consumed with shame that I was subjected.
Until I finally narrowed my eyes happily and bit my own lip. I with a sigh of relief. I reached the top! Oh, my God, my dear Watson!
It took a while for the strongest waves of pleasure to wash away. Everything that left, was a pleasant fatigue. I turned over and curled up in a ball, took a deep breath and tried to calm down. The next day was approaching and I was still no closer to conclusion than at the dusk.
And in the upper room, a retired army surgeon, Dr. John Watson, was still sleeping peacefully.