Work Text:
(Scene opens just outside the front offices of Scotland Yard)
Clarkey had mentioned, just minutes before, that Holmes seemed incredibly distracted. Lestrade, impatient, had told the constable to bugger off and let the other men talk business. Now, a ways into their conversation, Lestrade was kicking himself and doubting Holmes' successful reputation.
"We were hopin' you could help us on this case even though the suspect's already been caught," Lestrade tried. He looked unsure as to whether Holmes actually heard him. Lestrade had seen him wired on cocaine and extensive insomnia before, but this time was different.
With a dumb smile on his face, Holmes nodded assent.
"The Yard wants you to interview the bloke as a supplement to our own interrogation, but you may have some difficulties with him, mister 'olmes. He's a deceitful one," the inspector cautioned.
"Doesn't matter; just had sex!" Holmes chirped. Lestrade watched, mouth agape, as the great detective flounced off in the direction of the gaolhouse.
While the majority of London's law enforcement was fixed on the legendary Sherlock Holmes' fanny swishing further and further away, one Dr. John H. Watson turned a hot shade of red and buried his face in his hands. Watson's suspicious behaviour went entirely unnoticed in favour of the obscene spectacle Holmes made as his humming, interspersed with soft, melodious recitations of "I just had se-heh-ex, and it fe-elt SO good..." wafted back to the policemen's ears.
As one, the assemblage of constables crept, in morbid fascination, to the entrance of the gaol wing where Bloody Tom was being held. A few men were close enough to poke their heads around the corner and watch as Holmes sat upon a half-rotted wooden stool beside the bars of Tom's cell and disclosed (mostly) in cheerful song,
"Sometimes, my dear fellow, something beautiful happens in this world. And one can't find how to express himself but to sing..." A strange but glorious light shone from Holmes, particularly in his eyes, as he sat taller and belted, "I just had se-hex, and it fe-elt so good! Dear Watson put his penis inside of me! I want to tell the world....
"To be honest, I'm surprised he even wanted me to do it. Doesn't really make sense - but, man, screw it - I'm not one to argue with a good thing. I could play his wife! That good, the best 30 seconds of my life."
Out on the lawn, behind the stupefied cluster of uniformed men spying on this startling exchange (which had the hardened criminal behind the bars shaking his head and plastering himself, frightened, to the rear wall of his cell) , Watson threw down his cane in a fit of energised bliss, caught up in the memory of Holmes' retelling.
Stalking towards the gaolhouse door, Watson couldn't help but declare, "I’m so humbled by the man's ability to let me do him; Honestly, I'd have sex with a pile of manure. With that in mind, that soft, nice smell of his is better. And he let me wear my fez and my "I Love Jam" sweater!"
The very energies and emotions riding the air inevitably had the entire constabulary enthralled. Everyone, even Lestrade and the previously mortified Bloody Tom found themselves joining in with the two illicit lovers as they refrained:
"I just had sex,
And my dreams came true!
So, if you’ve had sex in the last 30 minutes, then you're qualified to sing with me...
I just had sex!"
Watson, all aflame, met Holmes' charged gaze.
"Everybody sing."
By now, the Yardmen swayed to the mesmerising beat. "...And it felt so good! We all had sex!
I wanna' - let me put my penis inside him - I wanna' tell the world."
Holmes stood and wrapped his arms around the doctor, saying with all the promise he could muster, "I just had sex... and I'll never go back."
At that, in front of all of Scotland Yard, Holmes and Watson kissed. Then, seen off by a well-wishing (if not dirty) chorus, both detective and doctor hailed a cab and set off for Baker Street for an immediate encore of the very activity that Watson first introduced Holmes to only thirty minutes prior to their visit with Lestrade.
They just had sex, and it felt so good that Holmes insisted on repeating the experience every couple of hours for the next week. Cocaine and crossword puzzles just didn't cut it now that he'd had a taste of Mother Hen's big cock.
Watson, after the week was through, was spotted purchasing a heavy-duty leather gag.
Mrs. Hudson was relieved when the post-coital raps were replaced by muffled humming, and she could hold her embroidery hour in relative peace.