It began with his dog. The bull terrier had never before been so far from its home in Norfolk, and the relative bustle of the university town made the animal excitable and unruly. It soon broke away from its owner and tore down the street, joyfully exploring all the new sights and smells.
Victor Trevor ran after his dog and called its name as it darted in and out among the crowds making their way toward chapel. When a lone student passed by obliviously on the pavement, so engrossed in his book that he nearly stepped on the animal, it retaliated by locking its jaws onto the student's ankle.
"Ah!"
Trevor caught up with his dog at last, horrified by its attack upon the young man. "Down, boy! Down!" Once he got the creature to release its grip and behave itself, he offered profuse apologies to the injured student and retrieved his dropped book. "I'm so sorry. He never acts this way at home, I swear. Let me take you to have that mended. Here, lean on me."
So Trevor escorted the poor fellow to the infirmary, making sure to keep his dog occupied with a toy as it accompanied them. The dark-haired student said nothing, but he was clearly cross and in pain. They missed the chapel service, and Trevor sat guiltily in the waiting-room with his now docile dog. He realised his lack of wisdom in sending for his dog from home, but he had just been so lonely for company lately. Trevor sighed, glanced at the book in his hand, and wondered again how to make up for the trouble he had inadvertently caused.
The dark-haired student finally reappeared, with the help of an attendant.
Trevor gasped to see him reclining in the invalid's chair. "Is it that bad?"
He calmly shook his head and pursed his lips. "I shall mend, Trevor. I am simply forbidden to be on my feet for ten days." He looked uncomfortable with the arrangement, but was resigned to his confinement.
"Oh I'm so sorry! I--Wait," Trevor frowned with bewilderment, "you know my name?"
"We take the same lecture with Mr. Battersby."
"Oh, yes! That's right, you do look familiar. You're, um--" he groped for the name.
"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." He did not offer to shake Trevor's hand. "Is that my book you have there?"
"Yes, here. Not damaged, so that's one bright spot." He tried to be cheery, but Holmes did not return his smile, so he cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm terribly sorry. If there's anything I can do, anything..."
Holmes gestured to the dog lying at Trevor's feet. "You can get a new, stronger leash before you take him out walking again."
"Yes, yes, I certainly will. In fact," he became sheepish, "I suppose I'll have to send him home again. I didn't properly think through having him here with me. I'm so sorry."
Holmes dismissed the repetition with a wave of his hand, then glanced at Trevor and ventured, "Your home is in Norfolk?"
He blinked. "How did you know?"
"Your accent."
"Oh," he was embarrassed and felt like a rube. "Well, yes, Norfolk's my home. We have a little place in Donnithorpe, just to the north of Langmere."
"Must be good grounds for a dog to roam round in," he remarked. "Good day, then."
"Um, good day."
Trevor watched him turn awkwardly in his chair and ask the attendant to deposit him at his rooms. The pitiable sight was in distinct contrast to the many times that Trevor had seen Holmes exiting Battersby's lectures with a graceful, easy stride.
When they had gone, Trevor bent down and picked up his dog, hugging it regretfully. "Sorry, boy, I shouldn't have sent for you. Come on, let's go write dad to send a servant to take you back home."
Trevor visited Holmes the next day, having heard him give the name of his college to his attendant at the infirmary. Knowing that much, it was merely a matter of inquiring with the porter of Holmes's college to find out his exact rooms. Trevor brought along a book as a token of apology.
Holmes lay stretched upon his sofa in his dressing-gown and was inclined to refuse visitors, but when Trevor assured him that he was alone, and mentioned his book, Holmes finally consented to his entering.
Trevor took a chair near Holmes, and proffered his book.
Holmes glanced at the title. "A good guess of my tastes. You no doubt noticed the title of the book I had with me the other day."
"Yes."
"And you remembered the name of my college, from when I spoke it the other day. You observe details. That's good."
"Good for making amends to you, at least."
"Now stop it, Trevor! I do not need endless repetitions of apology. I fully understand that you are contrite."
"But do you forgive me?"
"Oh, is that what worries you so? Very well, I forgive you, Trevor. It was partly my fault, anyway; I should have looked where I was going, and not opened my book until I was seated at chapel."
"Does it still hurt very much?"
He shrugged. "I was left with sufficient pain-killers."
"Good. Is there anything I can do for you? May I bring you notes from the lectures you are missing? There's Penwright, besides Battersby."
"Ah, you did notice me, then."
"I remembered you there after wracking my brain awhile. You do tend to disappear into the background, Holmes. All by yourself there, hardly saying anything."
"That is the way I prefer it."
"It's funny that I don't see you in the more general lectures, the ones I thought all the lads of our year take."
"My line of study is eccentric." He made no further elaboration.
After an awkward silence, Trevor spoke again. "I tend to be by myself, too. It's a bit lonely around here, and I don't know anybody too well. It's hard for me to be so far away from the lads I grew up with."
"Is that why you sent for your dog?"
"Yes." Was his desperation that transparent?
"Have you sent him back yet?"
"Not yet. Someone's coming on the next train to fetch him."
"You haven't brought him with you?" Holmes narrowed his eyes at the door as if fearing that the canine was lurking on the other side of it.
"No, no, I'm having someone watch him now in my rooms."
"You ought to go back and check on him, then. A stranger may not be able to manage him easily, and you yourself lost control of him yesterday." With that dismissal, he opened the book that Trevor had brought him and began to skim its pages.
Not knowing what else to do, Trevor got up to leave. "Good morning, then."
"Good morning. Close the door as you go."
Despite Holmes's coldness, bordering on rudeness, Trevor felt compelled to keep calling upon him as he recovered. He had the excuse of sharing his notes with Holmes, after all, and after the ten days of confinement had passed, Trevor carried things for Holmes while he hobbled around on his crutch. Holmes clearly hated losing his independence, but at least Trevor could offer intelligent conversation and did not play the nursemaid too much.
So they became friends, which cheered Trevor considerably, for he had thought he might never make any friends at this university. By the time that Holmes progressed to walking with a cane, Trevor visited his rooms almost daily, and Holmes began to tell him about his hobby of deducing facts about people based upon details of their behaviour and appearance. His demonstrations impressed Trevor a great deal.
One particular day marked a turning point in their intimacy. Trevor entered Holmes's rooms without knocking, as he was accustomed to doing lately, and smiled as he saw Holmes lounging upon the sofa with a book, not even raising his head to acknowledge Trevor's arrival.
Chuckling a little, Trevor quickly crossed the room and knelt by his side on the floor. He casually moved to kiss Holmes, and startled him.
"Trevor!" he drew back sharply, dropping his book.
"Call me Victor. We're friends, aren't we?" He tried to kiss his lips again.
Holmes avoided him nervously. "I-- What sort of friends?"
"Good friends." He frowned, looking hurt and snubbed. "Sherlock--may I call you, Sherlock?" Trevor only found him unresponsive, and he narrowed his eyes pensively. "Haven't you ever kissed your friends?" he asked.
"No." Holmes blinked at him, evaluating Trevor in an altogether new light. Could it be that this fellow was a deviant too? Was the whole university crowded with them?
"It's only an innocent kiss," Trevor assured him. "It's quite common."
Holmes prevented himself from replying, "Common among your sort." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "Perhaps you ought to leave now, Trevor."
"Leave?"
Holmes shifted, as if trying to find a graceful way to get around Trevor and off the sofa without straining his still weak ankle.
Trevor stopped him from getting up and grasped him by the arms. "Now wait a minute, what have I done wrong? Aren't we friends after all? I thought you liked me."
Holmes grimaced sternly. "It's the kissing that I mind, Trevor."
"Why? I've kissed all my good friends."
"Is that a country custom?" he sneered.
"No!" Trevor stared at Holmes, astounded that he chose to ignore the plain evidence around him. "The lads around here kiss each other too, or haven't you observed them? You see them every day, strolling along together and smiling and kissing fondly."
Holmes reluctantly admitted, "Yes, it's common, as you said."
"So you know!" Trevor insisted, trying to understand how Holmes could be so uneasy about the slightest show of affection. He sighed sadly, "Why, seeing all those happy friends, those easy chums, it just makes me lonelier to have a friend of my own who'll hold my hand and talk to me--"
"And kiss you too?" he interrupted softly.
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"
Holmes was at a loss, seeing the lack of guile in Trevor's eyes. Perhaps his assessment had been too hasty. Yes, many undergraduates did kiss one another, doing so rather freely in public, but Holmes had always assumed that they were deviants. Maybe Trevor was right, however, about the innocence of a kiss. Some of the kissing chums had seemed quite manly and fervently opposed to any form of Greek love.
Holmes relented, feeling awkward as he tried to excuse his overreaction. "I'm sorry, Trevor. I've told you that my family is far less demonstrative than most. I've not had anyone besides my grandmother kiss me."
Trevor smiled. "Then let me kiss you now!" He pounced on Holmes again and tasted his lips eagerly.
Holmes forced himself not to pull away this time, but could not eradicate his discomfort. He simply had not been raised this way, and he frowned once it ended. "Is that, is that all right?" he stammered.
"Call me Victor, won't you?"
"Well--Victor, then."
Trevor kissed him once more.
"Victor!" he jumped a bit.
Trevor only laughed fondly, still embracing Holmes. "Relax, won't you? You shall never learn to be a normal chap if you don't."
Holmes felt like protesting that he did not want to be a normal chap, but Trevor would have only believed he was being shy. From Trevor's perspective, all men naturally sought and needed the companionship of their peers.
"What a strange life you have lived, Sherlock," Trevor sighed against his shoulder pensively.
Holmes tried not to squirm and wondered why they had become friends, being of such different temperaments. Holmes was alone by choice, Trevor by homesickness.
As week after week of the academic term passed, Holmes remained friends with Trevor and tried to steer their conversations to the books they read and the lectures they shared, but Trevor often wished to clasp Holmes's hand and discuss his loneliness and other frustrations here at the university. Holmes humoured him, since Trevor after all had displayed considerable patience for Holmes's own eccentricities and faults.
Holmes allowed Trevor to keep kissing him, but only because he still observed other friends doing so, and had analysed their behaviours closely to be sure that they were not secretly lovers. Holmes had his doubts about some couples, but there were enough who behaved innocently that Holmes allowed his own romantic friendship to go on. It was apparently the fashion among young men, and he studied the phenomenon for what it could reveal about human relationships.