"Sherlock?"
It still irritated Holmes to hear his friend use that name, as it made him feel far too young and informal, but he did not protest.
"Sherlock," Victor continued, "Will you come spend the long vacation with me? We have excellent hunting and fishing at Donnithorpe, and I should love you to meet my father."
Holmes uncomfortably suspected that the romance in this romantic friendship could be taken too far. "I have some experiments to do in London."
"Well, come for a month at least. I shall have my dog stay in the gamekeeper's house for the duration of your visit."
"I should not like to trouble your household."
"No trouble at all. Please come." As he still hesitated, Victor took hold of his hand and smiled, knowing how to win him over. "I shall call you Holmes, if you like."
"You will?" he looked up.
Victor nodded. "Yes, my father thinks that only little boys hold onto each other and kiss each other so, and that Christian names are only for family to use. He's so old-fashioned, but I love him!" He added sentimentally, "As I love you."
Holmes looked embarrassed and coughed.
Victor laughed gently. "I know, I know. I'll make you a normal chap one of these days, Sherlock, just you wait and see!" He pulled Holmes closer to him and kissed his cheek. "So will you come? Just the first month at least?"
Holmes took a breath. "Yes."
Delighted, Victor wrapped his arms around Holmes's neck, kissing him and whispering, "Call me Victor, once more."
"Victor."
"Sherlock," he replied, before he let go and turned away. "I mean, Holmes."
So at the end of the term, they travelled to Victor's home in Donnithorpe, and there Holmes met Victor's father, the old justice of the peace. It was a cosy, comfortable household, and Holmes did feel quite at ease. Victor had not exaggerated at all about the quality of the hunting, the fishing, nor the selection of the library.
After dinner, hoping to endear his friend to his father, Victor prompted Holmes to show off his remarkable talent for deduction; Victor's admiration was one of the things that Holmes genuinely enjoyed about his company.
At first Trevor senior had been duly impressed and amused, but then he had fainted at the mention of the initials J. A., which Holmes had seen in an old tattoo on the man's elbow when they had gone fishing. Old Trevor eventually recovered from his shock and remarked that Holmes would make an outstanding detective. Despite such flattery, Holmes remained somewhat disconcerted by the incident.
That night as Holmes retired to his bedroom, Victor followed him inside. "What praise he gave you, Holmes! I knew he would like you."
Holmes shrugged. "I hope that I did not upset your father."
"Never mind. I think he'll forget about it by morning." He embraced Holmes warmly and kissed him.
Holmes forced a smile, having imagined that Victor might refrain from kisses while under his father's roof.
"Kiss me back," he insisted. Victor looked longingly at him, and it was apparently to be a proof of his friendship.
So Holmes kissed him lightly, tentatively. Unsatisfied with that crumb, Victor caught hold of him and lengthened the kiss. Holmes attempted to end it and speak, but then Victor penetrated his lips and tasted his mouth passionately.
When Holmes could free himself, he stumbled back into the bed and sat down, shaking. "That's not friendship, is it?" he asked breathlessly.
"I-I don't know." Victor shrugged, apparently surprised at his actions too. "I've never felt as close to anyone as I do to you." He came and sat beside him on the bed.
Holmes scooted away from him and swallowed. "How can you feel so close to me? We haven't known each other that long."
"But I've told you everything, everything about me. You don't tell me as much, but that's because you're shy."
"Shy!" Holmes felt exasperated. Why must Victor assign emotions and motivations to him that he did not feel?
He looked hurt. "Don't you feel anything for me? You're the only friend I've made there. My only friend!"
"I care for you, of course, but--" He swallowed and shook his head. "That kiss."
"I'm sorry," Victor clung to his shoulder penitently. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
Sensing that his friend might cry, Holmes brushed his fingers through Victor's hair to soothe him. "If you could just... restrain yourself a little..."
"Yes." He calmed and quieted down with this caress.
Holmes nodded, pleased by this progress. "Everything will be all right, Victor. You are my only friend, as well."
My first friend, Holmes thought, and he was glad that he had waited until his maturity to associate with his peers, for they were perplexing creatures indeed. Intimacy was a double-edged sword, offering companionship, but risks as well.
"You should go to bed, Victor, before your father finds us here. Only little boys hold onto each other, right?"
Victor nodded, then kissed Holmes's cheek before he got up to leave.
"Good-night, Victor. Sleep well."
After that brief episode, the remaining month went by fairly well. Victor determined to be stronger than his momentary impulses, and his kisses became innocuous again.
It was Trevor senior whom Holmes had difficulty with, for the old fellow had not forgotten Holmes's deductions, and he kept looking suspiciously at Holmes, as if he knew more than he was telling. It was not even that he suspected their friendly embraces and kisses, for Holmes had analysed Old Trevor's reactions closely for just that suspicion. No, it was something else, something to do with the initials J. A.
"I should go," Holmes told Victor privately.
His friend nodded with understanding, but remained sad. He clung to Holmes's hand. "Will you write me, in London? You won't forget me come next term?"
"No," he assured, pressing back upon his hand. "Perhaps I'll be a detective like your father suggested, and you'll win me clients with your shameless praise."
They laughed, and because the moment seemed right, Holmes leaned near and softly kissed Victor's lips. After a month, he had grown used to this; it was comfortable and remarkably easy.
Holmes quickly wrote down his address in London for Victor and gave it to him, then they headed outside to the lawn, where Victor's father awaited them. They sat upon the remaining garden chairs and enjoyed the view with him.
Though he tried to hide it behind cordiality, Old Trevor seemed much cheered when he heard that Holmes intended to leave the next day. "Don't want to keep you from your studies, young man."
"I thank you for your hospitality."
Unfortunately, there came a sudden unpleasantness in the form of an old sailor named Hudson, who arrived that afternoon and appeared to have known Trevor senior in the past.
Holmes was puzzled by Old Trevor's deference to the downtrodden sailor, but he did not remain long to investigate it.
He went up to London to work for seven weeks on experiments in organic chemistry. Victor wrote him letters as the vacation wore on, addressing them "Sherlock", so Holmes reciprocated with "Victor."
Occasionally Victor would mention Hudson with what seemed to be growing irritation, but mostly he wrote of missing Holmes greatly, with all the florid language of romantic friendship. Though he was not quite so dramatic and romantic, Holmes wrote back wistfully that he missed his friend's company too. He was genuinely fond of Victor, which, considering his dispassionate nature, was saying a good deal.
Holmes wrote of his experiments, and books again, and wondered how the dog was doing now that Victor let it roam free once more. His ankle still ached sometimes; Victor playfully offered to come kiss it.
Then came Victor's sudden telegram, begging, "Come, oh come! Something's happened to dad! Help me!"
Holmes dropped everything and returned at once to Donnithorpe. Victor met him at the station with a dog-cart, showing signs of distress and sleeplessness.
"The governor is dying!" Victor announced miserably.
Horrified by the news, Holmes clasped his hand to comfort him, then got onto the cart beside him, and they drove hurriedly to the house. Victor told him of the sinister behaviour of Hudson, and of his father's collapse yesterday evening, due to a short and very strange letter from Fordingham.
Unfortunately, Old Trevor had already died by the time they arrived at the house. Heartbroken, Victor hurried upstairs with the doctor, and Holmes remained in the study, stunned by events.
Victor came down after an hour, clutching some papers and looking blank. Finding Holmes in the study, he locked the door and rushed wordlessly to his arms, breaking down against his friend's shoulder. Holmes held him close and tried to soothe him, kissing him and brushing his hair tenderly. "I'm sorry, my dear Victor, so sorry."
"I never thought this would happen, or I should have told you more in my letters. I thought Father would send the wretched Hudson away, or I would take care of it, or..." he choked.
Holmes hushed his tears.
Finally Victor was able to compose himself, and he reached for the papers he had dropped. First he handed to Holmes the mysterious note that had caused his father's collapse, begging Holmes to discern what it could mean.
Holmes read and reread the note, analysing the words until he deciphered, "The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life."
Hudson apparently held some awful secret over both Trevor and his old friend Beddoes, enough to strike fear deep into their hearts.
Victor remembered the rest of the papers then, and handed them to Holmes to examine. It was a long statement that Trevor senior had drawn up a few days ago, when Hudson had left in a huff for Mr. Beddoes's residence. Victor asked Holmes to read it for him, as he had no heart to, and Holmes asked if it might not be a personal message from his father, but Victor only responded, "From you I have no secrets."
So Holmes read it out to him, revealing that Old Trevor was no Trevor after all. He was James Armitage, a convict involved in a violent mutiny on a prison ship bound for Australia during the Crimean War. Beddoes had also been there under his former name of Evans, and Hudson had been a sailor on the ship who witnessed its destruction. Now that Beddoes and Trevor had made their fortunes in Australia and become respectable men back home in England, Hudson had turned up to blackmail them with their past.
When Holmes finished reading the terrible history of the Gloria Scott, they sat in silence together, not knowing what to say.
Victor asked at last, "What about Hudson? Where's he gone? After Beddoes?"
"Yes. It seems he did as he threatened when he left you, though Beddoes managed to get a warning out in that cipher, so he at least may have escaped."
"What should I do?"
"Rest, have your father buried, and grieve. Let me speak to the police about Hudson and Beddoes, and I can ask them what they intend to do."
"Thank you, so much."
Holmes kissed Victor, then they parted sombrely, each to his own task.
The local police had already heard the sad news of the old J.P.'s death, but no one had informed them yet about the sinister Hudson nor about the note that had sent Old Trevor to his deathbed. Holmes had never dealt officially with the police before, and he strove to act as a professional of sorts, introducing himself as a friend of the family who wanted to know what was being done about Hudson. "Hudson who?" the police replied, and now it was clear that Hudson had not actually betrayed anyone's secrets to the police yet. Still, the guilty truth must emerge eventually, so Holmes explained what had happened leading up to, and after, Old Trevor's death.
The police listened to his fantastic story, thinking that Holmes might be some young prankster until he showed them the cipher message, and Old Trevor's posthumous confession of mutiny aboard the Gloria Scott. With this proof, they now agreed that Hudson seemed to be a plausible threat to Mr. Beddoes in Fordingham and immediately made inquiries to Hampshire. The police there reported back that Beddoes had gone missing, and they too had never heard of this suspect Hudson. Soon the two police forces were busy collaborating in hopes of finding Beddoes and Hudson before some fresh tragedy occurred.
Holmes finally got the Donnithorpe police to pause their investigation long enough to say that no, Victor Trevor would not be held accountable for his father's past crimes as James Armitage. This assurance relieved some of Holmes's worries about Victor's fate, so he left the police station at last, wondering if he would often have to deal with policemen if he ever became a detective.
That night, when Holmes retired to the same guestroom that he had occupied upon his last visit, he found Victor lying in the bed. Looking fragile, Victor begged Holmes to hold him again, and so he did, letting him weep some more in his arms. Then they lay down and slept beside each other in solemn silence.
By the morning, Victor had returned to his own bed, knowing how people might talk.