Holmes helped Watson limp achingly up the stairs that night. The jezail bullet, thankfully, had not done as much damage to Watson's leg, as the earlier bullet had done to Watson's shoulder years ago. No bone was damaged this time, and the tear in the flesh had been efficiently cleaned and stitched at Bart's. Certainly, Watson would not be at risk of contracting enteric fever afterwards.

Watson grimaced while leaning upon Holmes's shoulder. "Curse the inventor of the jezail! Filthy, horrid, painful things..."

"You ought perhaps to lie down and rest when we get upstairs." Holmes smiled with amusement. "I've never seen you so foul-tempered."

"Well, I suspect you would be out of sorts too, Holmes, if, after being invalided out of the army and living a--relatively--peaceful existence with the belief that you had seen the last of the murderous Ghazis, you should after five long years be shot at by one with the very same wretched kind of weapon and bullet as before!"

Holmes chuckled. "I suppose you would have considered it more polite had he troubled to use an ordinary English pistol on you?"

"Holmes!"

"Shh, old fellow." Holmes patted Watson's back in a soothing manner. "I'm sorry," he shrugged, "I only deduce and divert the heinous plot against you, not explain the ultimate meaning behind the strange twists of fate. I cannot make the desperate actions and schemes of diabolical men make sense. Life weaves ever more intricate and perplexing patterns than fiction ever does..."

Watson sighed, leaning at their door. "Enough, Holmes," he protested wearily. "Just get me to bed."

Brushing Watson's arm with a soft touch, Holmes reached beyond him and opened the door. "Certainly." He supported and guided Watson through the doorway and into the comforts of their sitting-room.

Watson stood leaning upon the chair at his desk while Holmes locked their door for the night and hung up their outer garments on the coat-rack. Glancing at the manuscripts scattered upon his desk, Watson recovered from his ill-temper and self-mockingly laughed, shaking his head. "My readers shall never believe me if I try to explain this case to them."

"Then don't," Holmes replied cheerfully. "Whose business is it but yours?" He supported Watson again and led the way to Watson's bedroom. "Let me check your bandages before you retire for the night," he commented as they reached the door.

They entered the room, and Holmes gently set Watson down on his bed before lighting the lamp for them. Watson sighed. "All right. I have some gauze and bandages in my medical bag over there." He eased off his shoes and began to undress while Holmes went to retrieve the bag.

Holmes paused to strip to his shirtsleeves and wash his hands in the basin. Then he quickly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and returned with the bag to where Watson waited, sitting up against the pillows.

Watson lacked his trousers and had partly changed into his pyjamas, his clothes piled on a chair at the bedside. Holmes sat near him on the bed and reached gingerly for Watson's wound.

Watson grimaced somewhat and shifted his leg to the side for Holmes's convenience.

"Should you like some brandy for the pain?" Holmes asked.

"No, I've had a bit already, thank you," he replied, watching Holmes attend to his wound. His facial expression changing, Watson commented mischievously, "I should certainly keep my mind clear, to watch the activities of a medical amateur."

Holmes looked up with a surprised smile. "You don't trust my skills, Doctor?"

"Not without a formal degree," Watson grinned. "Besides, you've been known to indulge in some ... unorthodox experimentation with certain corpses."

Holmes laughed, delighted by Watson's playfulness. His returning good-humour was an encouraging sign, and he ceased to look so tired. Holmes tsked, "We learn by doing, we learn by doing."

After a moment, Holmes turned from Watson's bright gaze and back to his injury. Holmes stripped the bandages from Watson's thigh and examined the wound for any signs of inflammation or infection. "Good," he murmured. "Your injury at least left you far from a corpse yourself."

"Hmph," Watson retorted petulantly. "It shall leave me laid up for a good fortnight or two!"

"You shall be far from invalid, and I shall get you a good cane tomorrow, that you may conduct yourself about as usual." He patted Watson's knee with amusement.

"I should like," Watson shifted again as Holmes sterilised his wound, "I should like to have your cane."

Holmes gazed up once more. "Oh, you should?" he challenged Watson's audacity.

Watson did not back down, pouting pitiably. "It would be a great consolation to me, after my ordeal."

Holmes chuckled good-naturedly. "If it would comfort you, my dear Watson," Holmes indulged him, "you may have it. Indeed, you possess fine taste. It would prove to be a uniquely formidable weapon against any possible attackers, if you should like me to teach you how to use it."

"I should." Watson looked highly pleased.

Holmes smiled. "And in the coming fortnight, you may see ... just how much you may win from me, out of sympathy for your ordeal."

"I should like that."

Holmes paused as if to answer again in their duel of words, but instead returned to Watson's wound coolly.

"Oh," Watson made little sounds of distress and pain, as Holmes stung him again with the sterilising fluid and then dressed the injury with new bandages.

Holmes listened carefully to each sound, analysing them all for sincerity.

Watson bit his lip, speaking in a low voice, "Shall you be doing this often? You're very clumsy at this procedure."

"Perhaps you'd prefer to do it yourself?" Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"But you are ... efficient," he conceded, quieting his sounds afterward.

Holmes finished tying the bandage and put everything away into the medical bag, resting it afterward upon the night-stand. He gazed at Watson for a moment in hesitation. "Is that all for you tonight?"

Watson blinked, placing his hand over Holmes's. "I should like to thank you for the loan of your cane."

Holmes watched Watson's eyes. "A small favour," he remarked.

"Yet you are always so protective of your personal property, are you not?"

"Have I been ungracious?" Holmes asked.

"Merely private." He lightly brushed his fingers across Holmes's skin. "Tantalizingly withdrawn."

"Tantalizing," Holmes echoed, pursing his lips. "And ... have you a thirst, and a hunger, like Tantalus?"

Watson almost innocently shrugged. "I would merely relish having a possession or two of yours, for perhaps vain reasons."

Holmes cocked his head with fleeting disbelief. "Do I still remain so fascinating a roommate after these five years?"

Watson smiled. "You are a challenge. A puzzle." He laughed quietly. "And you have never really been my roommate."

"To sleep, at least," Holmes recalled their often all-night vigils for cases.

"Perhaps that is a shame. If we shared a room together, I should learn so much more about you."

"What do you wish to know?"

Watson half shut his eyes, sighing, "Are you ... opening yourself to examination?"

Holmes averted his eyes, blushing at last. He whispered, "Even my lovers never spoke to me the way that you do."

Watson caressed Holmes's wrists, blinking with surprise. "Who are these lovers of yours, and why should you boast of them now?"

Holmes met Watson's gaze again. "Merely two persons who each seduced me years ago when I was young enough to still have an interest in that kind of experimentation."

Watson almost purred, pulling Holmes nearer to him. "What kind of persons would be so bold as to seduce Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes could not answer him at first, feeling breathless. "I ... believe a third such person is here now."

Watson again looked deceptively innocent, "Me, Holmes? But I am injured, and I could not..."

"Not so injured," Holmes voiced. "Not so." He slid his hand along Watson's leg.

"Then," Watson half lowered his eyelids, "I could...? I am permitted to...?"

Holmes swallowed and closed his eyes. He was not sure whether he nodded or said yes, for he tried to do both, but found himself uncommonly muddled.

Watson drew Holmes close by the waist and kissed his lips. Holmes sighed and ventured to press his body against Watson's, trembling at the heat of it. Pulses quickening, they sank down together upon the bed, and Watson whispered between his heated kisses, "So, tell me about these lovers of yours." His aggressive hands rapidly set to work on getting Holmes undressed.

While reaching under Watson's shirt in return, Holmes awkwardly struck against Watson's wound with his knee. Holmes withdrew immediately at hearing his cry of pain. "I didn't mean to--!"

Watson dismissed Holmes's concerned and guilt-ridden apologies, sitting up. "Shh. I know you didn't." He drew Holmes near again with a kiss.

Holmes brushed him away. "But we should not do this now," he frowned. "Your leg..."

"I'm the doctor, dammit!" He sighed, softening his voice. "We'll be careful enough." Watson clasped Holmes to him again, breathing into his ear. "I am not waiting until I recover ... to do you." He licked and bit Holmes's neck, making him gasp. Watson felt Holmes shiver again and subside into his arms as though faint.

They soon had slipped the rest of their clothes to the floor, scraping their fingers now down each other's bare skin. Holmes kissed Watson's mouth as if he could not get enough of the taste.

Watson shifted upon the pillow under his leg, feeling the hot, salty sweat of their bodies sting his wound. Pushing Holmes back a little by his hips, Watson reached and probed his fingers along the contours of Holmes's ever-hardening shaft.

Holmes broke his mouth away and moaned.

Watson continued until Holmes arched his back and clutched his fingers into the sheets below, biting his lip. Watson watched the lovely contortions of Holmes's face with desire and ran his hands through Holmes's hair. Watson kissed the graceful curve of his white throat and quietly asked again. "Who were your lovers, Holmes? Who had you before me?"

Blinking at Watson's sincerely inquiring countenance, Holmes swallowed with difficulty and carefully gauged his voice. He frowned, softly admitting, "The ... 'most winning woman I ever knew', and Victor," he gasped, "Trevor."

Holmes became inarticulate while Watson resumed doing incredible things to his groin, both directly and indirectly. Watson growled with jealousy. "Victor Trevor! So it wasn't an accident about his dog? He's lucky that he's tea planting in Terai."

"Oh, God!" Holmes's legs were increasingly losing stability, quivering beneath him.

Watson caught Holmes closer to him, slowly stroking their two shafts against each other. Holmes still groaned like some speechless animal, reacting sharply to Watson's bite on his sensitive nipple. "He never did this to you, did he?" Watson whispered. "Made you feel this way?"

Holmes shook his head, searching for his breath. "Never so personal. An idle fling of youth." Holmes kissed Watson's collar bone and shifted himself to get a firmer hold of Watson. He passionately demonstrated his very personal love for Watson, licking and caressing from his wounded shoulder down to his other wound, with certain interesting detours along the way.

Watson let his body be devoured in the increasing fire of their touches. "Hmm," he sighed pensively. "And she--the woman--" He recognised Holmes's peculiarly persisent discretion about her, to never reveal her name. "She was that same poisoner?"

"She was," Holmes frowned. "She was cunning. Assured. A shrewd temptress, calculating myself into her plans of escape, until I deduced..." With an uneasy breath, he clung tighter to Watson, cherishing him with a kiss. "Thank God you are not a criminal!"