As they rode home in the carriage, Holmes let out his breath and inquired in his normal voice at last, "How are you?"

Watson raised his eyes. "I'm ... all right." He shrugged. "Somewhat tired and bewildered, as I usually am after our excursions."

Holmes nodded, folding his hands. "I apologise if anything upset or disturbed you. You were an excellent escort, most invaluable to me."

Watson turned to him. "I--I do have a few questions, though, Holmes. The traces by the chaise lounge, and the bedroom--"

"Ah," Holmes patted the pocket in which he had placed his envelope of scrapings, "that was evidence which I shall have to analyse under my microscope in the morning, but I believe that it pertains to our aristocrat's disappearance. The behaviour of that 'helpful' entourage of ours was highly suspicious."

"They were ... insistent," Watson recalled. "But you don't believe what they say?"

"The story they told us is at least partially untrue. After all, why did the host not come up himself and lock the door, now that they were aware of the lapse? It seems that they have actually lost the key, and perhaps the host, and therefore must escort us away as a group to make certain that our departure would be permanent. They also came very promptly for a simple matter of a reserved room. Why should so many important people drop everything to get us out?" Holmes arched his eyebrow significantly, "Curious, for them to lose both a host and a young blue-blood within a short space of time. They seem to be trying to hide the absences discreetly and to keep routine appearances going until they can resolve the matter themselves."

Watson listened to the sensibility of these arguments. Then he asked, lowering his voice, "Also, about the final bedroom we entered...."

Holmes cleared his throat and looked away. "I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable there. It was clear to me that they suspected us of knowing something that we should not. We erred badly by being caught so abruptly upstairs. The room suspiciously in disarray everywhere--except where we were--and the both of us posed unconvincingly." Holmes shook his head. "I ought to have sat upon your lap in the chair and pretended to be washing my makeup off of you...."

He shrugged, "As it was, I concluded that they ushered us to those particular rooms to allow themselves an opportunity to test our sincerity and overhear any private conversation between us about what we had seen. Since the last bedroom struck me as being still too close to the others, I assumed that they had some ventilator or hidden door available to them for spying, and I accordingly continued our roles the entire time that we were there. They apparently were convinced of our innocence, allowing us to leave unimpeded."

"Oh," Watson replied inadequately. So there was purpose to Holmes's every meandering! Watson sighed with genuine relief to recall the subtle, almost tranquil details of that bedroom conversation, for Holmes's predominant behaviour this night had given Watson the impression that Holmes preferred using bold, heated passion to create realism.

These explanations given, they sat silently the rest of the drive home. When their carriage approached Baker Street, Holmes carefully donned his scarf again and also adjusted Watson's collar and overcoat to hide a few obtrusive stains lingering on his neck and clothes. Arriving at their doorstep, they next descended to the pavement, and Holmes tipped the driver before sending the borrowed vehicle off to its proper home.

Watching the departure of that masked carriage in the hush of the early morning, Holmes and Watson turned at length from its stately elegance to their own respectable, but humble, residence. They ascended the stairs gingerly to not disturb Mrs. Hudson or the servants, and presently arrived together in the familiar sitting-room once more.

With hardly a word to one another, Holmes and Watson retired separately to their bedrooms, each washing their faces and changing their clothes.

Watson sat upon his bed wearily, but did not sleep, his mind still too full with the events of the night. He fancied that he could still taste some of Holmes's ardent kisses, and he also recalled in vivid detail the encounter that he had witnessed with Lord Cresley. As a result, Watson found himself mentally arguing the merits of asking certain indelicate questions of Holmes. After some indecision and introspection, Watson at last could not bear it any longer. He threw on his dressing-gown and went to Holmes's door, knocking urgently.

There was a pause, during which Watson supposed that his choice of timing was particularly flawed, but an answer finally came. "Yes, Watson. I'm awake."

Watson opened the door slowly and saw Holmes, also in his night-clothes, seated at his dressing-table as if he had been there for a while. Holmes looked drained and slightly anxious, or did Watson imagine that? "Come in," he whispered.

Watson entered and leaned against the door behind him, hesitating on what he would say.

Holmes gazed at his own reflection in the mirror, folding his hands. "What is it, Watson?" he prompted in a measured tone.

Watson walked nearer, not looking directly at Holmes as he spoke. "I was ... wondering, did you obtain all the information you needed? Shall you require another visit to that house?"

"Possibly." Holmes blinked, listening to every sound of Watson's breath. He pursed his lips and then offered slowly, "If it disturbs you, Watson, you do not have to be my escort again."

Watson glanced up. "You'd go without me? How--how would you explain being with someone else? One of your actors?"

Holmes shrugged fractionally. "I could behave as though I am being promiscuous, or go alone and tell Cresley that I came back to see him ... to make 'Jack' jealous."

"I--see." Watson did not quite know how to react, and was thrown off from his original purpose. He sat down on Holmes's bed, considering this news quietly.

Holmes seemed worried, turning to Watson with a questioning frown. "So, would you prefer me to go without you? I understand that it must have been difficult to-night--"

"No," Watson interrupted firmly. "No." He looked at Holmes steadily to assure him of this one certainty. "I am all right, really, being Jack. It doesn't disturb me."

"But you look..." Holmes still eyed Watson cautiously, "apprehensive."

Watson nodded slowly, "--About, about my next question."

Holmes waited, swallowing.

Watson clasped his hands together and began, "I was wondering how ... far, how-- Dammit!" He calmed himself and asked more resolutely, "Did you ever kiss Milverton's housemaid like you did me?"

Holmes blinked. "Agatha?"

Watson explained, "You pretended to loving her for the sake of Lady Eva's case, and you pretended to loving me for this case."

Holmes stood up, shaking his head with bewilderment. "No, I never kissed her so. I thought I had made it clear to you--it all consisted merely of moonlit walks and endless conversations catered to a maiden's incurably romantic disposition." He hesitated with an apparent desire to step closer to Watson.

"Then," Watson hesitated, seeking clarification, "your behaviour to-night--your intense kisses--were not some standard practice of yours, some routine strategy?"

"No," Holmes came forward, sitting next to Watson. "No, I ... I simply supposed that I might risk such bold moves to-night. You were aware, after all, of my playing a role, so surely there was no harm in--in not restraining myself to guarded propriety?"

"And Cresley?" Watson pressed.

Holmes cleared his throat and murmured quietly, "I wanted information, as you could see. I knew you were there all along, and I made sure to make my intentions obvious to you." He shook his head. "I did not let him get beyond a roguish flirtation. Neither you nor I would have let him."

Watson looked reassured by Holmes's earnestness. He leaned nearer, taking Holmes's hand and whispering another question. "And if it had been an actor that you hired and not me, would you have behaved the same with this 'Jack'?"

Holmes averted his eyes and swallowed, admitting slowly, "I think ... probably not." He shrugged it off dismissively, "Actors are temperamental, more so than even myself on occasion. They may only put up with so much for a quick, hired role. But you--you know me. You trust me. You respond to me ... well." Holmes stopped and hoped that this faltering explanation would be sufficient, for Watson seemed quite intent on finding honest answers.

Watson's face brightened considerably, and he sought out Holmes's glance. "So you would have been more cautious with someone else? It was only me?" Watson brushed Holmes's shoulder and looked immensely relieved. "I'm glad, I'm-- You had me worried for a while. The thought that you might do that sort of thing with just anyone, simply for a case--!"

Holmes finally met Watson's eyes again, surprised at the light and easy expression there, and tried to analyse the meaning of it. Tender protectiveness?

"I'm glad," Watson repeated involuntarily, squeezing Holmes's hand again and smiling. "I know that you don't think much of love, Holmes, but if you were to use passion regularly as an expedient, I should feel that I do not know you at all."

Holmes found Watson's gaze rather deep, and he answered faintly, blinking, "I should not want you to feel that way."

Watson leaned closer, lowering his own voice. "I ... would gladly continue to be Jack for you, escort you any night that you ask me." He watched Holmes's eyes and ventured carefully, "I would not want to leave you alone with Cresley."

Holmes whispered, glancing down at the cramped space in between them now, "He was not so forward, nor without encouragement."

Watson nodded and bit his lip, but still recalled the shock of seeing Cresley touch and kiss Holmes. Watson sat tensely near Holmes now, only just restraining himself from saying or doing something further.

Holmes glanced elsewhere, murmuring softly, "If ever the opportunity even arose, I could take care of myself and successfully ... keep my virtue."

Watson nodded, his breath hurting his dry throat. "Yes. Yes of course you could. I'm being unreasonable." He grimaced, trying very hard to not venture just one more question on his mind.

Holmes swallowed and finally could not bear the tension any longer. "I--" he risked grasping Watson's shoulders suddenly. "For instance, if he were to--" Searching Watson's eyes for an anxious moment, Holmes kissed his lips harshly, insistently. With a determination not to be refused, he opened Watson's mouth again and forced his tongue inside, entirely forgetting the rest of his sentence.

Watson did not resist, and he kissed back quite intensely, better than he had done at the house, in pretense.

Holmes frowned in a somewhat puzzled way, but did not have the breath to say anything when Watson grabbed him and pushed him down sharply upon the bed.

Holmes was winded and dizzy, breaking off from him and lying back while Watson withdrew a bit and looked at Holmes apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "I'm sorry, I--" He kissed Holmes's throat remorsefully, lying close against his body and looking at Holmes anxiously.

Holmes caught his breath and stared at Watson blinkingly. "Watson, you--you do desire me, don't you?"

"Yes." He caressed Holmes's face and kissed his lips softly again. "I--I haven't just scared you off, have I?"

Holmes shook his head and pressed Watson's shoulders reassuringly. "It's just that--I didn't understand why, at the house, you would never quite kiss me the way that I would kiss you. It worried me."

Watson widened his eyes. "Worried you? I was trying all night to determine whether you were acting incredibly skilfully, or were truly interested in me."

Holmes chewed his lip. "So was I."

Watson released Holmes and sat up, intrigued now. "Do you mean me or you?"

Holmes smiled cryptically. "Yes."

"Holmes!" Watson attacked him with a frustrated growl.

He only chuckled, pulling out of Watson's grasp. He crawled away and pretended to be injured. "You animal, you! Someone must save me from such a brutal beast."

"Holmes!" he was not amused.

Holmes only laughed more.

Watson muffled him with a pillow, then wrestled with Holmes heatedly until he pinned down Holmes by his arms. They were both breathless again, their pulses racing. Watson sighed and watched the wicked gleam in Holmes's grey eyes. "I want you so," Watson whispered.

Holmes caught his breath and licked his lips. "Shall you brutalise me?" he murmured. "Isn't it against your hippocratic oath?"

Watson pulled Holmes close by his pyjama collar and kissed him quite seriously. He hungrily devoured Holmes's mouth and ran one hand inside Holmes's shirt to scrape his fingernails against Holmes's skin.

Holmes moaned, "Watson..."

"Why not call me Jack?"

They both opened their eyes and smiled.

"When did you see through my subterfuge?" Holmes blushed and chewed on Watson's lip.

Watson opened Holmes's shirt and shrugged. "'Jack' is a common nickname, even for men not named 'John'. I do not think that I truly noticed it until we were kissing against a wall and your cries of 'Jack' made me wonder if you would sound the same had I propelled you suddenly onto the bed and pounded you into oblivion."

Holmes grinned, his eyes bright. "Why didn't you?"

Watson widened his eyes. "You must be joking. Interrupt you in the middle of a case? Impede your search of the room? You may be ... engrossed in me now, but you certainly turned off of me quite quickly then."

"Ah yes, the case. I had forgotten."

"Really?" he looked surprised, then proud. "I am the only man to ever make Sherlock Holmes forget his case."

Holmes chuckled. "For to-night, anyway."

Watson smiled, bruising Holmes's lips with his kiss. Then he spoke in a low tone, "I do not really like the nickname 'Jack'."

Holmes blinked. "Oh? I should have guessed so, I suppose. I do not like it for myself either."

"Why should you think of it for yourself?" he demanded, having secretly adored 'Sherlock' to no end.

Holmes smiled quite softly. "My first name is John."

Watson was stunned. "What?"

"Sherlock is my middle name. John is my first."

"You--but that's--I'm--!"

Holmes grinned, tracing Watson's face with his fingers. "Tell me, what does your initial 'H' stand for? Is it 'honey'?" he teased.

Watson finally recovered from his incoherence. "You never told me."

He shrugged. "I never use that name. I found it amusing knowledge when we first met, but not enough to mention. Then when I ... succumbed to your charms, I found it quite strange. A mishap, an inconvenience, a puzzle." He smiled. "I'm sure you never had such a problem with the women you've known."

"No, indeed." Watson relaxed and stroked Holmes's hair. He watched his eyes and murmured, testing, "John."

Holmes shook his head, pursing his lips. "Call me Holmes, and I will call you Watson."

He nodded. Kissing Holmes and laughing again, he teased, "I suppose then that your cries of 'Jack' were a form of narcissism!"

Holmes growled. "Common, cursed name!"

"Holmes," he admonished.

"Kiss me!"

Watson did so, and they tangled heatedly together. Watson sighed, biting into Holmes's neck. He ran his hands down Holmes's abdomen. "What about that idea ... pounding you into oblivion?"

Holmes blinked, then pushed Watson onto his back and challenged, "Try to."

Watson certainly did, first with Holmes's taunting resistance, and then with his growling cooperation. It must have been a quarter to four o'clock before they finally exhausted themselves and collapsed beside each other on the bed.