I am not sure when Watson first began to go mad. He was quite sane for the longest time, and indeed was the most admirable and moral man I knew.

Therefore it shocked and distressed me when I began to see the signs of his madness. I fear it may have been my fault. He was a good friend to me, and even an able assistant on my cases, and yet I treated him quite ungratefully in return. I constantly strained his nerves with my untidy habits, my playing the violin at all hours, and my use of cocaine, which so offended his medical sensibilities no matter how much I tried to reason with him. Additionally, whenever I became frustrated with the criminal world, I often took out my bad moods on him, insulting his intelligence or his romanticism. Though he claimed to have a bull-pup temper, he always tolerated my ill behaviour more than I tolerated his. He also worried often about my health and safety, and risked himself as well during my dangerous cases. He felt hurt and angry whenever I did not share my plans with him or even had to deceive him sometimes. Indeed, I suppose my false death for three years may have been one of the major blows to his sanity. Perhaps another was the strain of losing his wife; despite his loneliness, he has denied himself any new feminine company.

I began to see his madness when he became uncomfortable in my presence, reacting sharply any time I touched him casually. He would stare at me, then turn away quickly when I looked at him, and he would blush. He also reacted oddly and nervously whenever reading the news of Oscar Wilde's scandal. I now had a clue to Watson's strange behaviour, and I recognised it as symptoms of what is termed Greek love. Still, I could hardly believe that Watson should succumb to such insanity and immorality. I decided to eavesdrop on him one night, and then I heard him in his bedroom, moaning softly and praying to God to banish his desire for me.

With this confirmation, I could no longer ignore his condition. I felt no outrage nor disgust, only profound pity for the wreck of such a noble man. So I resolved to tell him that I knew of his affliction, and to offer him my help and support in regaining his right mind. His literary agent after all had argued that such moral weakness should be treated as an illness, not a crime to be punished by prison. Therefore I would sympathetically encourage Watson to discreetly receive such treatment as was necessary, and I would promise to do my best to treat him well, so that he not have a relapse of madness.

So one night when Mrs. Hudson was away visiting, I came to Watson's room and began to tell him what I had deduced. He denied it strongly and feigned anger, telling me that I was quite mistaken. I did not let him throw me out, however, and I detailed each clue for him, though it pained me to say such things. Sinking to his bed in defeat, he broke down and wept, saying that he knew it was wrong, but he could not help it. He babbled about the pain of mourning me and how having me alive again made him cling to me indecently. Before he knew it, he was in love.

"I know," I said, "and I so deeply regret that I did this to you. Believe me, my dear Watson." I touched his shoulder, and he flinched, but I insisted, sitting on the bed with him.

He felt panic, asking me what I was doing.

I pulled him into a comforting embrace and patted his back to calm him. I told him that he was no monster to me, and that I was not afraid of him. He was still my very dear friend, and I would take care of him now.

"Take care of me?" He remained confused, but he had stopped crying.

I told him that I did not believe that this sin should be punished with prison, and that I would always protect him. I promised him that I would treat him much better now than I ever had before.

He looked quite touched, and then he held me close. "You mean--you are not upset, Holmes? You will not throw me out?"

"No, of course not, Watson." I raised his head so that I could brush away the tears from his face, and I said as tenderly as I could, "This is your home as much as mine, and I would do anything to keep you with me."

Oddly, he began to quiver and cry again. It must be due to his madness affecting his mind. He said, "Oh, Holmes!" and he kissed me then.

I was quite confused, and attempted to speak, but he took this as encouragement to kiss me much more indecently. As I caught my breath, he whispered, "I love you, I love you so."

"I know," I said, and swallowed.

He looked into my eyes in this strange way, and then he said with a nod, "It's all right. You don't have to say it. But just to know that you care for me, that you feel..."

He kissed me again, and I realised that his madness had made him mistake my meaning. He thought that I shared his sin. I suppose I should have stopped him and explained, but he looked quite happy now and even began to laugh in relief. He said that I was quite awkward in my kisses and asked me if I had never done such a thing before.

I told him certainly I hadn't, and so he smiled and told me he would teach me. Thence we spent several minutes kissing, as he encouraged me to imitate his method. The sensations were quite odd, and yet not unpleasant. I was fascinated by the feel of his moustache and the things his tongue did inside my mouth. Though he closed his eyes in his passion, I kept my eyes open to stare at him.

I had never experienced this side of Watson before, and it was quite good to discover new aspects of him after all our years together.

Most intriguing was that he did not merely kiss me with his mouth. His hands roamed wantonly over me, and his fingers ran through my hair. Then he began to kiss my neck and breathe hotly upon my skin. I found that my body was reacting quite strongly to his touch, and my heart rate quickened in just the same involuntary way that it does when I chase or combat some villain with Watson's help. He seemed to be similarly affected, and I understood now how he could have become preoccupied with me during our cases. His hands then caressed my thigh and it startled a moan out of me. I felt light-headed and realised that I was experiencing what is called arousal.

He asked me, "May I?" and I said, yes, that he should continue touching me there. He did so, pushing aside my dressing gown to touch the thinner fabric beneath. His other hand untied the sash and then he kissed me intensely again. He pushed the gown off me and then lay me down on his bed, pressing his own arousal against me.

I quite lost any coherence to my thoughts for the rest of the night. I ought to have been afraid of what he would do to me, but he still tried to "teach" me patiently and slowly about lovemaking. He showed me his war wound, and I learned the texture of his scarred skin thoroughly. But as we became naked, his passion grew fiercer and harder to control, until he was just thrusting his hips at me roughly, causing an unbearable friction until we spent ourselves.

I shivered when I opened my eyes again and saw his face next to me. My voice was still husky as I asked him if what we had done was considered sodomy.

He nodded, and said it was an ungraceful form of it, and probably just as sinful and unnatural as full buggery would have been.

"I see."

Looking worried now, Watson asked me if I regretted this.

I thought for a moment about the lack of wisdom in my encouraging his madness instead of helping free him of it. But I watched his eyes, and I said, "No, I don't regret it."

He smiled quite happily and kissed me again, confirming my decision.

I may have condemned us both to this madness, but what's done is done, and no cure could save us now. It is true what I said, that I would do anything to keep him with me. It is mainly my fault anyway that he lost his sanity in the first place. We need only take care that we are not caught and exposed to disgrace.

So we go on like this. He sneaks to my room often or invites me to his, and he then prompts me to do various unseemly things to his body. I always watch to see how reacts in ecstasy, at least if I am not reacting too strongly to what he does to me. He is better in control of himself now, and tries to be quite gentle with me, so I gave him permission to bugger me at last. It was quite--indescribable. I have never thought I should desire such sexual congress with anyone before. I do not understand it still.

Afterward, he looked worried again and asked if he had hurt me. I assured him that I was no weak female.

"No indeed," and he told me again that he did not view me as a woman, and that his illicit desire is wholly wrapped up in my masculine nature. Such is the warped nature of this sin, I suppose.

But I am in no hurry to make him leave my bed, and I tell him that I do love him. It pleases me that he smiles.