When the train stopped, Watson got up and wordlessly began to gather up his bags. But I blocked the door and begged him not to go. "No, stay."

He shook his head. "Holmes, I must get another train."

"No, please. I need you with me. All these months without you, missing you and craving--" I stopped when I realised that mentioning my craving to touch him might upset him again.

He frowned and put down his bags. "You need me."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry. I had forgotten why you came. I--" He came towards me then and reached for my left arm. He pushed back my sleeve and began rubbing my wrist with his thumb. "Is that better?"

I nodded again, a little confused but grateful for his touch. He even stood nearer to me, and as he brushed against an old needle scar, I realised that he thought I was speaking of my craving for morphine. He is far more addictive, but for the moment the misunderstanding helped me. He would stay with me.

"Holmes," he whispered, finally looking up from my wrist to my face.

"Watson." I could not control my voice very well, and wondered for a moment if I would be unable to deceive him. I wanted to touch him too and kiss his lovely cheek.

He sat me down with him, and took off my coat. I think I trembled now that he had joined me on the seat. He undid my cuffs and pushed back the sleeve while I stared at him. I hoped that he would kiss my skin again, but he shook his head. "Just," he swallowed, "just to distract you." His fingers caressed along my bare arm, and I sighed in pleasure.

He even pulled me into an embrace, letting my head lay against his shoulder while he still rubbed my arm warmly.

"My dear."

"Shh." He murmured to me, "Do not kiss me or... tempt me, please. Just, just go to sleep now."

"You will not leave me?" I feared that he would sneak out and get another train.

He hesitated for a while, then answered with difficulty, "No, Holmes. I will remain here if you need me, but I will return to the other seat."

"Good," I said, accepting the compromise. I hoped that he really meant what he said, but his hesitation had raised some doubts. I once thought Watson was incapable of lying to me, but after all I had not known about Murray kissing him before.

I tried to remember those days in April 1894 before he had moved back to Baker Street with me, and I did recall an evening that he had acted strangely. He had poured himself a drink and did not at first hear my inquiries about whether he had posted an advertisement to sell his practice yet. When I finally got his attention, he apologised, saying that he had merely seen an odd patient at his practice today. An old friend whose ailment surprised him, but he refused to say more, on grounds of professional discretion. He also started at noises in the street and in the days following seemed fearful of some attack upon me. At the time, I had concluded that he was still nervous of Colonel Moran somehow escaping. Ironically, I had spent years fearing that Moran would take his revenge on me by harming or killing Watson. Soon Watson moved in with me, but then it became May 4th, and we spent that day in uneasy silence, with him still hovering about me protectively, while I could not express my sorrow about my false death.

"Holmes," Watson said, "not so tight."

I reluctantly tried not to cling to him so much, and his other hand caressed my hair gently. He kept soothing me but I did not want to sleep. I still thought that he would be gone when I awoke. That it would be, ironically, like a dream. Watson had said that he thought this morning that he had dreamed everything. That I had never come to Germany for him. I too irrationally feared that this was all a dream. That he had not agreed to come home with me, that he had decided to stay with Dr. Klemperer, and that I was returning to London alone.

"I need you," I whispered.

He hushed me again, but I could not be silent. I needed to make him understand.

"I--you say that I romance you, Watson, but I had not meant to. I did not mean to upset you at all or aggravate your condition. It's just--I told you that I would treat you better now, Watson. That I would make amends for my deception."

"You don't need to--"

"But I want to. And besides, you always make a fuss over me when I am ill or injured. Why can I not make a fuss over you while you are ill?"

He turned to face me, and he said, "Is that what you meant?"

I nodded. "I did not mean to tempt you, or to break your heart. Remember during our picnic in Baker Street, when we cried and held each other? You promised you would not shun me, Watson, and you said that I should simply love you like this. Did you not mean that we should kiss and embrace?"

He remembered that night, apparently with regret, given his anxious frown. Perhaps it was because we had shared his bed afterward. If only I had not pushed too far that night! Perhaps Watson is right, that I have been excessive in my physical affections. "I am sorry. I shall try to restrain myself if I must."

"Thank you," he said finally. "I am sorry too, Holmes. I did still want to kiss and touch, but there are limits--"

"I know," I said. "You want us to be English friends then?"

He snorted, and I was glad that he was capable of some humour. "Yes. I cannot take what you call a French friendship, Holmes."

"Very well."

"Thank you."

He slowly calmed, and with another whistle, the train started moving again. With the steady rocking motion, Watson caressed my bare arm in a more absent manner, until I noticed that he had fallen asleep. I thought about his desire to return to the opposite seat, but I really could not motivate myself to move him and leave his embrace. We were finally at peace again, and this would be the closest we could get to sharing a bed for now. So I simply remained with Watson and fell asleep as well. I am so glad he was still there when I awoke.

---

So we travelled through Germany and into France. At some train stops, we had to disembark and check into a hotel together, though he did insist on getting a separate room from me. After our dinner together, he joined me in my room to talk but insisted on sitting in a chair instead of one of the two beds.

Watson smoked and said, "I shall need those medical journals to find a new specialist. Did you safeguard them, as I asked you?"

"Yes, Watson, along with your letters."

He glanced at me in surprise. "You did not burn them? My letters, I mean."

"No." I suppose I should have done, given their impure content, but I could not bear to destroy them. "I know it was unwise to keep them, but they were all I had of you then."

He only stared at me.

"Do not worry about blackmail, for I've locked everything up in my private safe."

"A safe can be burgled, as you well know."

"I know. But it is in my control, unlike your tin-dispatch box at the bank, and those are sensitive documents as well."

He shrugged indifferently, and after a moment, Watson ventured a strange, unrelated question. "Holmes, how did you woo Milverton's housemaid?"

I could only think he had been reminded of our burglary of Milverton's safe. "Agatha? I told you, Watson. We went walking together at night and had endless talks."

"About what?"

"Nothing. Everything. Foolish romantic notions. I told her your story of the double-barrelled tiger cub, with my best attempt at imitating your addled state."

"Holmes!" He seemed rather offended. "You didn't serve in the army."

"No, but what was I supposed to do? Tell her that I had travelled to India and Afghanistan while I was faking my death? Such a story would not befit a plumber."

He looked confused and surprised. "You went there?"

"Yes, Watson. They are along the way to Tibet after all. I thought I should pause long enough to explore the countries in which you served. Moran also had spent his military career there, and I thought it might help me to understand his mind, to know what his plans would be now that Moriarty was gone."

Watson paused to consider the revelation, but he nevertheless returned to the topic of Agatha. "You told my story to deliberately woo her, " he said disapprovingly. "So you definitely intended to get engaged? How callous of you."

"Not at all. I had merely intended a fortnight's infatuation. The engagement was her idea."

"What?"

"Yes. I do not understand you people who can fall in love after only a few days. She kept trying to kiss me, and I told her it would be improper to do so before we were married. Thus she demanded that we be married."

"I see."

"I had to acquiesce, or else Agatha would not lock up the dog on the night of our burglary." I frowned at the memory of my hasty engagement. "Then she kissed me rather firmly before I managed to tell her that I must be off to another plumbing job. She said that I should come back soon and kiss her some more. I said that we were not married yet, but she insisted that I could come anyway and get some practice."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you never saw her again."

"Certainly. I am glad that we successfully managed the burglary before she demanded a ring from me, or more kisses. She was better off with my hated rival."

"Yes," Watson said pensively. "Yes, she probably was."

I tried to change the subject back to his treatment and to encourage him to find a specialist in London if possible. He nodded, but did not seem to be paying attention. He said, "Goodnight" suddenly and rose to leave.

"Watson." I followed him to the door and asked permission to kiss his cheek. He let me do so but did not kiss me back. He stood staring at me for a time, then touched my lips with his fingers. Before I could say anything, he repeated his goodnight and departed.

After shutting the door, I sighed and stared forlornly at my room with the two separate beds. If only he would stay here with me, so I would not fear him being gone in the morning. I sat down in the chair that he had vacated, and I smelled the scent of his smoke.

I briefly thought of wiring to Fran�ois le Villard to see if he could find out Murray's address in Paris. But then, how could I engineer an occasion to see the former orderly? I did not want to let Watson out of my sight, lest he be tempted by all the deviants who frequent certain districts of Paris. It was a three-pipe problem, and I intended to stay up all night pondering it. But I suppose that my insomnia lately has worn on me, and I fell asleep in his chair.

---

I only woke up the next morning when he was kneeling in front of me and kissing my face all over. He panicked when my eyes opened, and he attempted to back away, but I stopped him. "Don't go."

So he stayed and looked ashamed, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

"No, Watson. Kiss me some more."

He blinked and shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because I want to, so much."

"Please." I tried to kiss his cheek, but he would not let me.

"No."

"Please."

He suddenly kissed my mouth this time, and I tried to turn away, but he said, "Please. Just a little kiss. Agatha has kissed you so. Can't I have that too?"

I considered it, then nodded. After all, Watson means far more to me than any woman. Any other person at all.

So he kissed my lips again, and I did not protest this time. It was an odd sensation, and our noses bumped at first, but he corrected me. I had believed that a deviant kiss would feel more threatening and disgusting, but it was soft and gentle instead. In fact, not very different from his other kisses upon my face. He had shaved this time, but of course his moustache remained, and it tickled my skin.

At last he pulled away and said, "Thank you, Holmes." He sighed in relief.

I watched his eyes and touched his hands, which still lingered on my face.

Watson said, "It's just, when you beg me to kiss you, that is what I long to do."

"I see." I wondered whether I should allow him more such kisses in future. Perhaps deviant kisses are only unpleasant when they are invasive. Certainly I had not liked the immodest kisses that Agatha had pressed upon me. But then again, I must not tempt Watson and break his heart. It pains me to know that I have upset him when I meant only to show him my love and affection. "I'm sorry."

He nodded and said softly, "I know." Then he let go of me suddenly and got up from the floor. Turning away, he cleared his throat and went to the door. "I shall meet you downstairs for breakfast, and then we shall catch our next train."

"Yes," I said.

So he left, and I stared after him, feeling quite bereft of his touch. As I groomed and packed my bags, I only hoped that we might again be close on the train.