"This is a King's Ransom!"

And indeed it was. Holmes had just received a cheque for 12,000 pounds from the Duke of Holdernesse - double the previously arranged remuneration for services rendered in the solving of the case.

The case had been to find the Duke's nine-year-old son, Lord Saltire, and to apprehend his abductor if at all possible. Holmes had achieved both in less time than it had taken Dr Huxtable from the Priory School to make up his mind about consulting him on the case in the first instance.

I stood and watched as Holmes all but kissed the cheque, quietly bemused at this rare display of materialism. But I knew, of course, that to Holmes, the actual solution to the crime was of far greater import than any financial reward could ever be.

His Grace, the Duke of Holdernesse, smiled at Holmes most gratefully. "You have given me back my future," he told my friend by way of explanation, which clearly delighted Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes is not quite as stoic as he insists I portray him in my accounts of our cases, and he does at times display astounding compassion, as he has done in this nasty affair at the Priory School.

I watched, somewhat astonished, as Holmes' dark grey eyes met those of the Duke across the desk in what could only be described as a seductive glance. Then again, I was not entirely confounded.

I had been making some private observations during our brief stay in the North country regarding the nature of the bond between the Duke of Holdernesse and my friend. They appeared, on the surface, to have little or nothing in common, except for unbending pride, a regal bearing and the ability to mask vulnerability with arrogance.

To begin with, I had also assumed the Duke to possess Holmes' self-confidence, but I feel that now, after the solution of this case, I must rectify that observation. From what Holmes had told me about him, the man's entire life had been ruled by his obsession with a lost love and his inability to master the scheming son who had resulted from it. This was not the unsentimental picture the Duke liked to present to the world at large, I gathered, but then... Which of us are truly what we seem?

But I digress.

Regarding Holmes and the Duke - I had begun to notice a certain fragile connection; I do believe myself familiar enough with my friend's oft puzzling nature to make this judgment. They appeared to have established a mutual esteem, built upon... their shared suspicion of society at large? Loneliness and a solitary place in life? Or was it more?

The last thought - I admitted to myself - was an unpleasant one. I could not name the sentiment which overcame me with it, but I did know that it was not one I wished to dwell upon.

But one never dwells with Holmes. For as soon as the thought had crossed my mind, Holmes' intrinsic energy took over the situation, shattering any lingering thoughts hanging in the air with its force.
"Your Grace is most generous and we thank you," he declared in one single breath.

"Yes, thank you indeed, your Grace."

I had barely finished my sentence when Holmes continued impatiently. "Allow me to wish you all the best for the future, Your Grace. My friend Watson and I must now depart this breezy climate and return to the oppressive, stagnant atmosphere of London."

The Duke stretched out his hand and shook first mine, then Holmes'. The latter he held for an instant, his face as immobile as his painted likeness in the entrance hall outside. "Do you have pressing business in London, Mr Holmes?" he asked. "Matters which require your urgent attention?" With this he looked back and forth between myself and Holmes - still clutching my friend's hand in his own.

Some nameless inner demon bade me to slap that pale, possessive hand of his from my friend's, but before I could so debase myself, Holmes withdrew his palm rapidly, almost as though he had burned it.

"Nothing in particular, except - of course - the depositing of our newfound fortune with our London agents. Why do you ask, Your Grace?" Holmes' voice bore mild curiosity and his face an even milder smile.

I myself remained silent, suspecting that my own face rather resembled that of a bad-tempered baboon.

The Duke walked around his desk with slow, measured steps. "I was hoping that I might entice you, Mr Holmes, and you, Dr Watson..." He graced me with a quick sideways glance I could easily have lived without. "To spend a few days at Holdernesse Hall before your return to London."

Holmes considered the suggestion. Then he turned towards me. "Watson, what do you say? A few more deep breaths of country air before we settle back into our damp and foggy coffin?"

Holmes' enthusiasm for the idea did not pass me by and I was all the more displeased because of it. But what possible excuse... Ah! "My practice, Holmes! I am not at all certain that..."

"Oh, poppycock, Watson! We are approaching spring and your ailing charges must surely diminish in numbers to a level that can be dealt with by your apt colleague."

My 'apt colleague' as Holmes called him was a long-suffering fellow doctor who doubtlessly carried a significant grudge against myself as well as Holmes - after all, being called upon to take over my duties as well as his own was a rather regular occurrence.

"Holmes, I really don't think..."

"Splendid!" Holmes declared buoyantly as though my argument against our extended stay bore no close scrutiny at all. "We can visit the local telegraph-office later today and send word to him."

The Duke looked thoroughly pleased with himself. "You will stay then?" he asked, clearly delighted.

Holmes nodded. "Certainly." And with a stern look at me, he added, "We would love to."

"I would most certainly not love to stay, Holmes, and I am rather displeased that you should simply make such a decision for both of us." I noticed with dismay that a childlike petulance crept into my voice.

We had been shown to our respective rooms - two vast, kingly chambers, separated by a bathroom which put even the Turkish Baths Holmes and I frequented in London to shame .

It had been decided - also over my head, I might add - that we would lunch with the Duke before being taken by carriage to the Priory School to say our farewells and retrieve our personal belongings. Meanwhile, we had some free time to get settled in our rooms.

"My dear Watson, calm yourself!" Holmes said, combining mirth and disdain in a way only he can while he flung his deerstalker and coat upon the wide bed and began removing his muffler.

"I do not want to calm myself. Really, Holmes, I do wish you would not take it upon yourself to decide my own fate as well as that of my patients."

He looked at me as though I required pity more than anything in the world. "What ever is so terrible about a few more days in the country, Watson? Please, do tell."

"Well..." The truth was that I was at a loss to name a specific reason. I found that my primary reservation lay with the Duke, to whom I had taken a sudden, inexplicable dislike. Something about the way he had shaken Holmes' hand...

"Watson!" Holmes' exclamation tore me violently from my reverie.

"I... do not feel comfortable here," I said weakly. "After what has happened..."

"We have solved the mystery, Watson! It is over, the boy is to return to the Priory School tomorrow and the villains have met their just desserts."

All perfectly reasonable. Of course.

"I myself am rather looking forward to a few more days in the country," Holmes continued cheerfully. "Watson, is it not you who is forever lecturing me on the health benefits of fresh, clean air and rest?"

Damn his logic!

"Yes," I admitted most reluctantly. "But there is something about the Duke which makes me decidedly uneasy."

Holmes shrugged, falling back on the bed and crossing his hands beneath his nape as he lay there, stretched out to his full considerable length and looking rather comfortable.

I felt somewhat guilty for resisting so as I really ought to have been glad that my friend was to get some much needed respite. How could I be so selfish as to let this niggling, petty... jealousy get in the way. Good heavens! Was it truly that?

"Watson, you look as though one of the Hall's spirits has just walked through you!" Holmes exclaimed, rising from the bed to retrieve some sherry from the fine mahogany sideboard.

"I should prefer to see a ghost, actually." Loosening my collar, I took the crystal glass Holmes had filled nearly to the brim with burgundy liquid.

The sherry burned fiercely, yet only succeeded in taking my mind of my astonishing discovery for an instant. I noted that Holmes observed me, somewhat baffled.

"You are as white as a sheet, Watson. Whatever is the matter?"

"Perhaps an overabundance of fresh air," I offered in a weak attempt at humour.

"Oh, do give up, Watson! For once, I shall be the physician." Slipping into that role which befits my friend less than any other profession I can imagine, Holmes assessed me critically, stroking a non-existent beard. "I should say that for your condition, Watson, nothing but a few days in the North Country will do. Ah!" he then exclaimed, as though he had stumbled upon a most startling discovery. "And here we are. What good fortune."

Had I not been so distracted and shocked by my recent epiphany, I might have found his enthusiasm humorous. As it was, my apprehension built further still. Why had Holmes discovered this sudden interest in nature?

I pondered this question together with my newfound discovery regarding my own feelings towards my longtime friend and companion. I feared the two matters might well follow the same track - one could but hope that a collision could be avoided.

When we returned from the Priory School later in the afternoon - seen off by a relieved and most grateful Dr Huxtable - we found the Duke awaiting us in the Hall's garden. The servants took our luggage to our rooms and Holmes and I joined His Grace for tea.

I did not think one could blame me overly for being a little sullen, and yet Holmes appeared to take a disturbing delight in teasing me about it, mentioning even that I had made no attempt to keep my displeasure about being detained from my practice out of my telegraph to London.

The Duke, relieved of his recent burden and clearly lighter of heart than he had been for some time, hung on Holmes' every word, laughing uproariously whenever Holmes inserted a jocular remark and causing me to nurse an ever greater dislike of him.

It was not as though I could blame the Duke. When Holmes wished, he could be the most charming, entertaining fellow. What displeased me was the fact that Holmes wished it.

Dinner was no more agreeable. The Duke, whenever he did not fuss over his safely retrieved son, lavished his attentions on Holmes. Once the boy had gone to bed, matters deteriorated further still.

For a man like Holmes - who possesses the self-confidence of ten men - such a rapt, attentive listener as the Duke was a delight, so I could not truly blame him for what was in his nature.

What truly puzzled me was the Duke's utter transformation from a somewhat snobby and distant highbrow to a man who appeared to worship the very ground Holmes walked on. He could not refrain all night from gazing at my friend adoringly, as well as praising Holmes' extra-ordinary mental capabilities, admitting freely that they were far superior even to his own, honours and doctorate included. Of course, he was merely telling the truth, but it was nonetheless astonishing and most irritating.

I sat off to one side, clutching a fine porcelain cup of Earl Grey and grinding my teeth in a most unhealthy fashion.

Holmes had just finished relating the case of the Blue Carbuncle with all the considerable theatrical flourish he was capable of, causing a fit of laughter to colour the Duke's dignified, pale visage a deep pink, when he suddenly turned towards me. "Watson, put down the Earl and honour the Duke and me with your presence!"

"The Earl, Holmes? What..." I looked down at my teacup and back up at Holmes disapprovingly.

The Duke chuckled, delicately dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Pompous oaf!

"I was thinking of having an early night, to be honest," I said grouchily.

"But not this early, surely, Dr Watson," the Duke interjected.

With a rather counterfeit yawn, I said, "I really must. My apologies, gentlemen, but it has been a rather long day." That much at least was true - it had been early morning by the time all the excitement over the abducted boy had settled down. I do not possess Holmes' ability to live on what often seemed like one hour of sleep per night.

"Oh, Watson..." Holmes said softly. At first I thought he was again mocking me but when I saw honest concern in his large eyes, I felt instantly pacified.

"Sorry old man." I set down my cup and stood, stretching my weary limbs. "Nothing a good night's rest would not cure, I'm certain."

The Duke stood, folding his hands behind his back. "Goodnight, Dr Watson. Feel free to sleep for as long as you wish. I tend to stay up late myself and read, so there is no established breakfast routine. The kitchen staff will prepare something whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Your Grace." I made a minuscule bow. "Goodnight, Holmes."

"Goodnight, Watson. Sleep well."

It pleased me immensely to hear a trace of regret at my early departure in my friend's voice, and it pleased me even more when his slender hand rested momentarily against my upper arm as I passed him.

Once upstairs, I begun to doubt the wisdom of my early retiring to bed. For while I had been forced to witness the extraordinary rapport between Holmes and the Duke, I found myself far more unsettled once I no longer could.

Sleep did not come easily to me that night, but once I heard Holmes rummaging in the adjoining bathroom, I fell into a deep slumber which would cradle me in its embrace until nearly 11 o'clock the following morning.

Feeling well rested but somewhat guilty after glancing at my pocket watch and learning how many hours I had slept, I rose, washed and dressed rapidly and made my way downstairs in time to see a carriage leave, most likely bearing the Duke and his son.

"Watson!" Holmes' cheerful exclamation accompanied by a light slap on the shoulder drew my attention.

"Good morning, Holmes." I smiled at him and he returned the smile.

We had known each other for many years and had wished each other a good morning many times over, but on that day, I lingered on Holmes' smile, unable to stop my gaze from softening.

Holmes returned my unusual glance somewhat confused but nonetheless amiably. "Are you feeling well rested, Watson?" he asked softly, his eyes still connected to mine.

How was it that in all these years I had been gifted with Holmes' friendship, I had never truly recognized the kindness and affection in his eyes, nor the beautiful long lashes which grace them?

"Thank you, Holmes." I found myself not quite master over my voice.

"What are you thanking me for, Watson?" A glint of humour accented the eyes to which all my attention was still drawn.

I cleared my throat. "Thank you for... inquiring about my well-being, Holmes. I slept quite well."

"Excellent!" he boomed. "In that case, how would you feel about a late breakfast followed by a stroll through the gardens of Holdernesse Hall? The Duke assures me one can get lost in them for hours!"

Lost for hours... "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Holmes."

Alas, we did not manage to get lost in the gardens. The estate's forest and the prettily planted topiary were peaceful enough settings, as were the manicured lawns lined with rosebushes and speckled with lilac trees, even if none of them were in bloom yet. But in the comfortable silence between Holmes and myself, I found myself lost only in Holmes' presence, reassessing him entirely from this new point of view.

Had I misjudged my feelings for him so? Was this why I had always been ready to be at his bidding, travel anywhere he wished to go and at a moment's notice, investigate any case he undertook heedless of the dangers involved? And was this why I willingly bore his arrogance and moodiness? Oh yes, without a doubt, it was more - so much more - than friendship.

"You are most introspective today, Watson," Holmes declared when we sat down on a bench by a small pond.

For all I knew, we were miles away from the Hall - I had entirely lost track of time and distance. "My apologies, Holmes."

He frowned at me, likely gathering evidence. Oh dear Lord! What if he were to infer what was causing my introspection? Knowing Holmes, an undone coat button or the excessively slanted position of my hat might give away my newly discovered feelings for him!

"It is nothing," I lied. Nothing indeed!

"Come now, Watson. Your behaviour has me more puzzled than this case did. If you will not tell me, I shall have to deduce it for myself."

"Holmes!" I exclaimed, instantly recognizing that such a vocal denial would do nothing but further Holmes' suspicion and truly bring out the bloodhound in him.

"Ah..." Smiling, Holmes turned towards me, squinting at me and looking me up and down while tapping his cane on the leafy ground by the bench.

"For the sake of our friendship, Holmes..." I pleaded. "Please, do not persist."

Instantly, his gaze softened. "Watson, I apologize. I did by no means mean to intrude into deeply private concerns."

I smiled at him, finding myself once more glad of his compassion. It had to surely be of some significance that he did not display such an abundance of it to anyone but me?

"Your thoughts are your own, my dear friend," he assured me. "There are plenty of 'W' entries in our Baker Street filing cabinet already."

I laughed at this and Holmes joined me.

Yes, this was the sort of world I should rather like to lose myself in - just Holmes and myself. What a damnable shame it was only a make-believe world.

All good things come to an end, and so it was that the Duke of Holdernesse eventually managed to pick up our tracks and find us in the gardens. For a frightful moment, I found myself wondering whether Holmes had gifted him with a lesson in detection.

"Ah, Gentlemen," the Duke exclaimed, rushing towards us wearing a smile and a much too elegant long, dark overcoat. "I trust you have spent a pleasant day?"

"We have, Your Grace," I replied.

"Lovely gardens!" Holmes declared, poking his cane into a low-hanging branch above our heads and stirring it, causing a mass of leaves to shower down upon us.

I suppressed a smile. "Lord Saltire is settled back at his school again, I trust?"

The Duke nodded. "He is indeed. I have promised him to have a carriage pick him up so we can spend the weekend together. I fear my son has been on his own too much." He sighed. "But I do intend to make up for it."

And so you should, I thought.

Holmes grunted his agreement also.

"Gentlemen, I feel that your invaluable assistance in this matter, as well as your discretion, warrants a small celebration," the Duke declared. "I hope you will not mind, but I have taken the liberty to arrange a private evening for us - without the staff."

I noticed that Holmes' eyes brightened at the idea, his natural curiosity and flair for the eccentric clearly intrigued by the Duke's vague hints. I, on the other hand, grew decidedly uneasy about this 'private celebration' the Duke had planned. Especially as he had waited with it until after his son's return to the school.

"Splendid idea, Your Grace," Holmes declared to my great horror.

The Duke smiled at him, then looked at me expectantly. Why did I allow Holmes to let me be involved in this kind of thing? Oh yes, I remembered.

"Indeed," I declared with a suppressed sigh. "We can hardly wait."

The Duke and Holmes exchanged a smile which only further worried me and then, we continued on our walk, this time accompanied by the Duke himself.

Holdernesse's treatise on Italian cypress trees, Scottish pines and a particularly hardy species of West Country roses went by me virtually unnoticed. All I could think about was that evening and the fact that it worried me.

When I went to Holmes' room later that night, I found him changed for dinner already. Or at least, I believed he had done so.

"Holmes?" I asked hesitantly. "Surely, you will not go to dinner like that?"

"Whyever not, Watson?" He stared at me as though I had gone mad, laying back in his chair and displaying his rather Bohemian costume to my eyes.

"Well, you are hardly dressed for the occasion."

Holmes chuckled. "Watson, the occasion - as the Duke assures me - is a most informal one indeed. It is at his very own suggestion that I forego wearing a jacket and tie and I suggest you do the same."

In this oh so proper country manor? "I simply could not do that, Holmes."

"Yes, certainly you could," Holmes decided, standing and walking towards me with an assessing gaze. "Hmm... no, this simply will not do."

Looking down at myself, I wondered what was so inappropriate about my dark suit and tie and grey waistcoat. And then I found Holmes' hand insinuating itself in the folds of my jacket.

I must have gasped in shock, for he stepped back suddenly, a smile on his face. "My dear Watson, your nerves are a veritable jumble these days! Do calm yourself." He stepped forward again and I gathered his intention.

Holmes' agile fingers loosened my tie and he began to remove my jacket.

"Not without jacket, surely!" I protested, but he did not even honour me with a glance, instead pulling the tie from around my neck and flinging it on his bed. My jacket and waistcoat follow swiftly and I stood before him in shirt sleeves, feeling barely dressed at all.

Holmes walked around me, inspecting me like a mannequin in the display window of a tailor-shop. "Hmm..." he murmured thoughtfully once he had finished circling me. And to my great horror, he unsnapped the three top buttons on my shirt with all the speed and efficiency of a true harlot.

"Holmes!" I shrieked. "What on Earth..."

"Much better, is it not, Watson?" he asked, apparently satisfied with his alterations to my person.

"This is hardly appropriate for even an informal dinner at Baker Street, but here, at the Hall..."

Holmes waved my protests away and strode across the room to pick up his pocket-watch. As he too was in shirt sleeves, he took one look at it and then at himself, shrugged and flung it upon the bed together with our clothing. Our clothing...

There was something rather wicked even about our mingled items of clothing upon the blanket... I clutched my head, muttering "I must be going insane."

"I highly doubt that, Watson. Come now. We must go."

"I... yes, Holmes. Of course." Damn that hearing of his!

On entering the dining room of Holdernesse Hall, I found that Holmes had clearly been correct about the dinner arrangements.

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the room, lit by nothing but a single candelabra in the center of the lengthy oak table, I spotted the Duke of Holdernesse as he stepped from a shadowed bay window like a ghost.

"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "Please, do sit down."

Holmes did not even have the decency to look surprised, which only served to make me feel all the more bewildered. I did not think that an odd reaction to seeing the Duke - who only two days prior had looked more reserved and rigid than Her Majesty the Queen herself - striding towards the table wearing dark trousers, a loose white shirt and an open, copper-coloured smoking jacket made for comfort rather than elegance. Oddly, copper did not serve to make his pale, red-headed persona look ridiculous in any way - instead, it complemented his hair remarkably well.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I finally managed, aware that my manners were deteriorating with each passing moment.

The Duke directed me to the seat nearest Holmes, who witnessed my confusion with a most maddening grin. "I fear, Your Grace, that my friend Watson is a little perplexed by the informality of the evening."

Holdernesse smirked. "I do apologize, Dr Watson. But I thought that... Well, after all, I would like to think of you and Mr Holmes as my friends."

Clearly, those words did not come easily to a man as fiercely solitary as the Duke, and I had to admit that he impressed me with this offer of friendship. "Certainly, Your Grace. And may I say, I am honoured," I said sincerely.

He smiled at me as though he had been given a great gift, presenting to my scrutiny what I assumed to be his main reason for guarding his privacy so fiercely - an inherent vulnerability which left his usually hard features open and unguarded. Of course, it also left him at the mercy of anyone who should choose to take advantage of this vulnerability, such as his late son James Wilder.

"And you, Mr Holmes," he asked, as hesitantly as one does when awaiting the response to a most vital question. "May I count you as my friend also?"

I prayed that for once, Holmes would not allow his sarcasm to the fore. But he is, of course, the perfect gentleman. "I too would be honoured, Your Grace, to be counted as a friend," he said with genuine warmth.

At this, the Duke's pale face lit up and for an embarrassing moment, I almost expected him to jump for joy. I thought it prudent to hide my smirk behind a napkin.

"Cold pheasant, Gentlemen. And some fruit and cheese. I dare say the kitchen staff were delighted to be given a night off." The Duke of Holdernesse indicated the dishes which had been laid out on the carefully starched tablecloth in a way which allowed us to help ourselves easily enough.

During our light meal, we conversed amiably about anything but Lord Saltire and the school, and I suspected that much of the reason why Holmes and I had been asked to extend our stay at Holdernesse Hall was that the Duke not only wished for but desperately needed company for a short time. James Wilder was not mentioned, but it was clear enough that His Grace had to be feeling the pain of the loss, even if the young man had been anything but a good son to him.

Once we had finished eating, we retired to the library where a cozy fire had been lit. Holmes, as it was his nature, placed himself presumptuously on the most comfortable seat closest to the warmth.

As the two midnight blue brocade divans had been arranged close to and facing the fire-place, I settled in by his side while the Duke sat opposite us.

"A cigar, Mr Holmes? Dr Watson? Or perhaps a cigarette?" the Duke offered.

"Certainly." Holmes stretched forward, reaching to extract a cigarette from the gilded box in the Duke's outstretched hand. "Watson?" he asked as he did so.

"No, thank you, perhaps later," I said, crossing my legs and leaning back, simply enjoying the red-gold flicker of the logs in front of us.

"Might I offer you a drink instead, Doctor?" the Duke enquired.

Considering it had been a chilly day and that the fire was only then beginning to fill the room with some warmth, I thought a glass of Brandy not a bad idea. "That would be most appreciated, Your Grace."

Holmes requested some Brandy also and we settled into a comfortable conversation about the bonuses and trials of living in London. It turned out that the Duke kept a small property there for his infrequent stays in the Capital, and once Holmes and I had mentioned the violin recitals we frequent, the Duke told us about the plays he had seen of late.

An hour later, all three of us were decidedly light-headed but happy.

"Enough Brandy, I think," the Duke remarked with a smile. "There is a greater treat still to come, Gentlemen."

Holmes clicked his tongue. "Indeed, Your Grace?" he teased, and I must have become quite relaxed, for this flirtatious action did not nettle me as much as it amused me. I suppose if it had not been for the abundance of fine Brandy, it may even have astounded me.

The Duke was no doubt aware of the nature of Holmes' remark as well, and I watched as his dark, usually so sad eyes lit up as he gazed at my friend across the fire-light. "Oh yes, Mr Holmes. One in which I hope we can convince the good Doctor to indulge with us, for I have no doubt that you, Sir, will be eager to join me."

Holmes placed his emptied glass on the table, his eyes never leaving the Duke's, while his lips were curved into a most indecent smile. "What do you think, Watson?" he asked softly, then turned that very same look on me.

I was, at that point, rather relieved that I had consumed some amount of alcohol with my companions, for otherwise a gaze such as that would certainly have caused me to fluster and stammer something incomprehensible before rushing from the room in a panic.

Instead, I smiled. "Why not?"

"I am glad to hear you say that, Doctor," the Duke declared, rising to his feet to procure a wooden chest from the far corner of the room. His tread was not nearly as steady as usually, but I was awed nonetheless that he should be able to walk at all, considering with what gusto he had consumed his libation.

When the box was deposited on the table and the covering lifted, I grew decidedly uneasy, for inside that box was kept the full equipage of a habitual Opium smoker.

"I must say, Your Grace, that until this moment, I had retained some small doubt regarding that rumour about your family," Holmes said boldly.

The Duke smiled openly. "Ah yes, the Hellfire Club. It is true - my family did furnish a member. No, I am not being entirely truthful, Mr Holmes... three members, in fact."

Holmes and the Duke chuckled at this, but I was a little more sobered by the Opium pipe I beheld inside the wooden chest.

"Watson, are you well?" Holmes asked suddenly.

I wanted to tell him that I would not, under any circumstances, partake of any Opium the Duke and he were about to indulge themselves in. And I wanted to begin a lecture on the dangers of addiction, but Holmes forced me into acquiescence by the strength of nothing more than his pleading eyes. So I heard myself say, "Yes, of course, Holmes."

And without further ado, the Duke of Holdernesse passed the pipe - a dark tube of bamboo about one foot and a half long - to my friend and lit the spirit lamp he lifted from the wooden chest. Then he opened a small box filled with the wretched opium pills and impaled one of them on a thin needle. Holding this over the flame to dry it to its proper consistency, he instructed Holmes to draw on the pipe the instant the pill would begin to vaporize, for there would be no more than half a minute before the vapours would become extinct.

Holmes nodded, and a glint in his eyes gave me the distinct impression that this was an activity he may have indulged in prior to this evening. Of course, his travels in the Far East...

The Duke stood and, with Holmes moving forward accommodatingly, he inserted the pill through the small hole in the pipe's smoke bowl and withdrew the needle. Holmes allowed the Duke to tilt the pipe so that the spirit lamp could be held under it to incinerate the rolled opium within the iron bowl.

Holmes drew on the pipe slowly but continuously until a small whistling sound indicated that the vapours from the pill were exhausted.

"Do not exhale through your mouth, Mr Holmes," the Duke instructed, but my friend merely nodded, letting a thin trail of smoke drift from his nostrils even as his eyelids began to flutter.

I watched this procedure with some concern, even though I knew what to expect. And I was not surprised when Holmes did not exhibit the signs of nausea common to first-time Opium smokers.

It seemed odd to me that for the relatively short duration for which the Opium's effects lasted, men would indulge in such a dangerous pursuit. I watched a slow smile appear on Holmes' face while he slid deeper into the cushions.

The Duke was quite knowledgeable on the subject of Opium, explaining to me that after a session of three or four pipes smoked closely together, one might well fall into a slumber for several hours.

"What about you, Doctor?" he asked me finally.

I watched Holmes' face relax further, and I must say that even while knowing fully the dangers of this vice, I had never been witness to so sensuous a display as my friend encumbered in that hazy, private world, his features calm and open and yet mysteriously happy as a sphinx.

I took the pipe from the Duke's hand, not at all certain that I truly wanted to. But there was something about that evening, the... company, which did serve to almost make me forget my profession and instead, sample some of Holmes' world for once.

By the time the vapours entered my system, I was barely able to watch Holmes at all, finding that the Opium was infinitely faster-acting than I could ever have suspected. Of course, I was not spared the nausea, so I did all I could to simply remain seated on the divan.

I was barely aware of the Duke's own indulgence with the pipe, for my perception of the library in which we found ourselves had altered entirely. From what I remembered afterwards, the impressions were not entirely disagreeable, some of the more unsettling imagery offset by the pleasant lassitude taking possession of my limbs.

Some time must have passed, for when I found myself fully conscious again, Holmes was watching me curiously.

"Watson..." He appeared to be talking extra-ordinarily slowly.

I nodded, not at all certain that I would have been able to speak even if I cared to try.

The Duke also appeared to be back from his brief trance, looking wholly more relaxed than we had come to know him, but also undeniably less distinguished and intelligent.

This thought amused me greatly and I heard myself chuckling most impolitely.

Holmes smiled languidly. "I see the Opium agrees with you, Watson."

"Actually, I feel... rather unwell..." I managed, clasping the arms of the divan. No, I was wrong... one of the arms belonged to Holmes.

"My poor, dear friend." Holmes leaned toward me, drawing me into a more upright position and tugging a cushion upwards from behind my back until it cradled the back of my neck.

"Thank you," I managed, forced to keep my eyes closed for a short time to stop the room from spinning unpleasantly. Even so, I could not help but revel in Holmes' attention.

When I came to again, I noticed that the Duke was preparing the pipe for another dose. "You will feel much better after the second time, Doctor."

I shook my head, instantly regretting the action. "Oh no..."

"It is true, Watson," Holmes assured me, his deeply resonant voice sounding still rather slurred. "Your nausea will pass virtually immediately."

At those words, the Duke stared curiously at Holmes, one eyebrow raised. Then... "Ah!" he declared laughingly.

Holmes smiled and shrugged. "Once or twice, perhaps."

I looked back and forth between my two companions, still feeling like an entirely different and very unwell person. "You are certain of this, Holmes? Is there no other method for me to feel more agreeable again?"

"Not as quickly, Watson. Try it, please."

Sighing, I stretched out my hand, reaching for the pipe which the Duke supplied only too gladly. He smiled. "I find it is not so much the taste of it as the effect I enjoy," he informed me as I gently inhaled some of the vapours - I was most careful to not empty the pipe.

"The effect?" I asked quite unnecessarily, for I soon felt the true extent of it, not distracted by the queasiness.

For an instant, my brain appeared to contract and expand again and my skin felt flushed. I would not have dared to even attempt to stand at that moment in time, for my limbs appeared to have decided to float off through the library without me.

Oddly, the entire conglomeration of sensations was not unpleasant at all, and I felt the smile on my face as I drifted off.

After a short while, I came to once more and noticed that Holmes must have indulged again as well. This thought brought the reality of the situation back to me and I attempted to sit up and clear my mind.

The Duke, too, lay back happily, his tense face relaxed into a dazed smile as he pressed himself into the curve of his seat. He sighed with contentment as though all was well with his world.

I came to the inevitable conclusion that I was the only man in the room attempting to hold a sensible thought, for my companions had both willingly exchanged reality for some sort of waking dream. No doubt I was so affected because I struggled so hard for sanity in the face of this stupor.

"Relax, Watson..." Holmes murmured, sighing contentedly.

"Hardly," I complained, but even as I spoke, I found my limbs growing ever more comfortably heavy, almost as if my body was preparing to fall asleep again.

"Lovely..." Holmes stated very slowly. "Isn't it lovely, Watson?"

I felt my friend's hand steal into my own and he squeezed it weakly. I smiled gratefully, expecting him to withdraw it again, but he did not. Instead, he entwined his long fingers with my own and I felt suffused by a warmth which - I was well aware - had nothing to do with the Opium.

"Thank you, Watson."

I smiled. "What for?"

"Indulging me in this. Joining me, just this once."

I had been correct then. This was what meant so much to Holmes. But I had to make quite certain he knew it was, "Just this once."

"Yes." His voice seemed clearer, and I turned my head - which still rested against the thick cushion - to meet Holmes' eyes.

He was smiling at me, and I knew that the Opium had much to do with the nature of the smile, but could it explain the sensuous quality of it? Moreover, could the Opium explain why it was that Holmes lifted my hand and - with his beautiful eyes closed - kissed the back of it, resting his lips against my knuckles for an instant?

"Holmes..." I murmured, my eyelids fluttering shut no matter how much I struggled to witness this display of tenderness. It had to be the drug - the touch of his lips was like fire on my skin, the sensation akin to being kissed... much more intimately.

When Holmes drew back, I felt empty and despondent, but he was still holding my fingers in his own, squeezing them once in a while as if to tell me we were safe, together.

I believed that Holmes sensed how frightened I was by the situation - not by his caresses, but by the stupor in which we found ourselves. In a way, his touch was reassurance. But was it more?

The Duke shifted on his divan across from Holmes and me, and I realized he had been laying back with his face towards us, smiling most contentedly indeed. He was smiling at us.

Holmes gazed across to him, his lips quirking up a little at the corners. "How peaceful this is," he said lethargically.

The Duke nodded in response, his dark eyes seeming to glow in the room lit only by fire and flames, and the incandescent hues we saw in front of our Opium-deceived eyes.

Holmes' gaze had not shifted from the Duke and when their eyes met warmly, I found it rather beautiful. I realized then that my jealousy was subsiding with each passing moment - not one of the Opium's more irksome side effects.

Holmes lifted his legs up onto the divan and reclined on his side, his head leaning against my shoulder, and he stretched out one long arm, the fire-light playing shadows over the loose white sleeve and the long-fingered hand protruding from it. Sleepily, I followed the line of his arm and realized he was reaching out to the Duke.

Our host rose slowly, not steady on his feet, until he eventually conceded the superiority of gravity over his own determination and virtually fell the rest of the way, landing on his knees in front of our divan but managing to do so gracefully. He laughed softly.

Holmes smiled, his hand lowered to the brocade in front of him. It was this hand the Duke reached for as he sat on the hearth rug, his long legs pulled close to his body and his weight shifting until he was leaning against the divan. He took Holmes' arm and embraced it with both his own, resting against my friend with a sigh.

Holmes allowed this possession of his arm and lifted the other to stroke a hand over the Duke's red hair as though he was stroking a cat.

It was such a serene picture, and I could not say how much time passed before Holmes leaned forward, his movement attracting the Duke's attention and causing him to glance up at him. Holmes used his hand to stroke back the Duke's soft hair and pressed a tender kiss to the high forehead. And that, too, was beautiful.

Aware of my friend's sleek dark hair against my shoulder as he lay back once more, I too dared to touch, the sensation again multiplied by the Opium. Holmes sighed, leaning more heavily on me, and I knew that if I had the ability to stop time at whatever point I wished, it would have been right then, right there.

My eyes met those of the Duke over the crown of Holmes' head and we shared a smile. He was settled against Holmes' hip, his chin leaning on his hand.

"Watson... don't stop," Holmes pleaded softly, and I obliged only too gladly, my fingers combing through his hair, stroking it back towards me until he pressed back further and lifted his face to mine. "Kiss me, Watson."

My heart clenched with the emotion his words brought upon me. And his eyes... oh his eyes... the way they looked at me when he turned his head to allow me easier access to his delightful mouth!

I leaned forward, the hand which had revered his hair a moment earlier now underneath his chin as I raised his face to mine and pressed my lips on his.

Whether it be in an Opium languor or not, there is no feeling in the world which can compare to kissing Holmes, to feel all that hard, cold detachment melt away on one's lips in the way a delightful confection would melt in the mouth. And his wholly unexpected responsiveness...

Holmes reached back and up with one arm, clasping me around the neck and holding me to him in this way, prolonging this most wonderful of kisses for as long as both of us could breathe. In our state, it seemed like hours, and I found myself praising the Opium for this glorious deception.

When we finally parted, I felt as though I could no longer be without the feel of his lips against mine, but he smiled at me reassuringly, his forefinger touching my lips tenderly as if to take my taste with him as a keepsake while leaving his own behind for me to savour.

"My darling Holmes..." I sighed, and his eyes gleamed up at me before he shifted into his former position, contentedly laying back with his head upon my chest and reaching out to the Duke who still knelt before him like an adoring child, the gentle brown eyes gazing up at Holmes.

We remained quite still like this for some time, Holmes in my arms and stroking over the Duke's hair with a comforting hand, before our host rose to his knees, curiosity and desire urging him forward. He seemed unsure but boldly continued to move closer. "May I?" he asked demurely, and I felt Holmes nodding.

A moment later, my friend shifted forward and drew the Duke into an embrace, their mouths finding each other hungrily as I watched the Duke's nervous fingers clutching at the back of Holmes' shirt.

On an impulse, I covered them with my own hands, stilling the edgy touch against Holmes' back, only to find the Duke's fingers tangling with mine. No matter. The result was as desired - he was comforted.

When their kiss eventually ended, the Duke's hands remained where they were as he laid his head upon Holmes' shoulder, a shudder passing through his body.

Holmes gently continued stroking his hair as he had done earlier. All the while, he murmured to him soothingly.

It was then that I realized the Duke was crying silently. And as close as I felt we had all become, I knew instantly why. He held such painful memories - brought to the fore by our very closeness - some of which so fresh that the Duke's sensitive nature was laid bare before them.

I felt I needed to help somehow. After all, I was a doctor. Leaning forward, I removed my hand from the Duke's grip and touched his cheek soothingly.

Holmes shifted slightly and I glimpsed the noble, tear-streaked face over his shoulder - it was as I had expected.

"You're not alone now," I assured the Duke, speaking as calmly as I could.

Smiling in that way which magically transforms his stern face into that of an innocent boy, he nodded, looking back and forth between Holmes - who was still stroking his hair - and myself.

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Indeed not."

As if to afford the Duke more privacy, at that point one of the candles died and we were surrounded by only two single candles and the light from the fire-place.

Holmes smiled down at him - I could see that much in the dim light. "How should we address Your Grace, Your Grace?"

"Alan." The Duke's eyes shone and he licked his lips, clearly discovering - as did I - that in the soft light, Holmes was the most ravishing sight.

I followed a wild impulse and reached over Holmes' shoulder - his head was once more supported by me - to slide across his chest and to his strongly protruding collarbone where I began to undo a number of buttons as he had done to me earlier in his room. However, my motive then was not nearly so innocent as his had been.

I felt the almost instantaneous increase of his heartbeat and he placed a hand over mine, pressing it harder to his chest, before sliding it inside his opened shirt.

He should have been gasping, but it was me who was short of breath. Holmes appeared to have discontinued breathing altogether, apparently using all his senses to focus on my touch. I felt the warmth of his smooth skin against my palm and the steady rhythm seemingly imploring me to go on. And on. And on.

And I obliged. Because if I had not, I would most certainly have died. My hand moved lower, the soft white shirt parting in its wake until it was undone to the very edge of Holmes' trousers.

I followed the trail downwards, memorizing each sweet sensation as my fingertips moved along soft skin and a light dusting of hair growing more distinctive as I traveled closer to my destination.

Holmes sighed when I parted his shirt folds all the way, tugging the linen from his waistband and letting it fall loosely at his sides to brush over the brocade seat.

The Duke - Alan - had been watching this slow revelation with all the reverence of one having an epiphany, and I cannot say that I blamed him, for Holmes must surely be the most radiant creature on this Earth. It is only appropriate he should be revealed to the eye as one would reveal a work of art - by slowly letting lush folds of fabric slide along the sleek lines, barely touching them at all so as not to tarnish them with worldliness.

I gazed at Alan across Holmes' fire-gilded skin, inviting him to do what I knew he must surely be aching for. And I was correct, for he leaned forward, making eye contact with Holmes for an instant, before resting his hands on my friend's hips and bending to place a kiss on the gently sloping stomach.

Holmes inhaled sharply, bucking towards the touch, and Alan continued, his eyes closed and his lips a gentle whisper on Holmes' skin as they traveled upwards, searching for the heartbeat I had already found - lingering there nearly motionless with the tip of his tongue tasting the heated skin before moving onwards to sample yet more delights - tiny rosebuds reaching for the moist touch of his insatiate lips.

I squeezed my friend's shoulders and ran my hands up and down his long arms before revealing one shoulder to my eyes and pressing my lips to the curve of bare skin.

Holmes stretched sensuously, catlike. He lay sprawled between Alan and myself, allowing us to worship him. "This must surely be heaven..." he murmured, his wonderful, vibrant voice rough with pleasure.

My lips moved from his shoulder to the side of his long neck, where I began to feast on the spicy, gently sloping skin.

Meanwhile, Alan had once more traveled lower down Holmes' body, his hands sliding behind his back and drawing him towards himself. I could feel those hands against my thighs as they reached around my friend's waist and we shared a quick smile.

Holmes protested the interruption with a low grumble, demanding our full attention. How like him this was!

Bemused, I continued to nip along and upwards from his neck, my lips briefly at his cheek before once more closing over his mouth which opened to me eagerly. I had thought our earlier kiss to be the pinnacle of human experience, but to then find my tongue drawn into his mouth, to feel him suckling on it hungrily, stroking it with his own in a manner so intimate... that surely had to be a treat not off this Earth.

Alan used this distraction of Holmes to his best advantage, and my foggy disposition at the time managed to pick out the sound of a snapping button.

Holmes sighed into my mouth, apparently finding the Duke's further advancement most agreeable. I gathered, from my own situation, that there had to be a certain relief in finding his strained anatomy exposed further. And then, Holmes bucked upwards, his kiss growing yet more eager as his back stretched like a bow, curving away from my own body.

My heart pounded when I divined the cause of Holmes' sudden stretching and twisting. I found I had to look - it was quite imperative.

Alan's hands were on Holmes' hips, and his full head of red hair obstructed the view of his activity, but it took no mastermind of Holmes' caliber to ascertain how his mouth was occupied.

I was quite mesmerized by the sight and my eyes followed the thin trail of hair from Holmes' navel downwards as far as I could, then moved onwards over the one administering such pleasure and on to Holmes' thighs, muscles trembling discernibly beneath the fine material of his trousers and Alan's roaming hands.

I grew distinctly uncomfortable around my own nether regions, shifting beneath Holmes' weight and wishing fervently that he would not decide to remove himself from my embrace to afford me more space.

But instead, his lust-dazed eyes opened, blinking up at me, and with a smile which I can only describe as lascivious, he moved his hand back behind himself and straight to the center of my troubles.

I heard myself whimpering when I felt his long fingers brush past me, quickly working on the closure of my own trousers and stealing inside astonishingly quickly.

"Oh, John... John, my poor friend..." he cooed, instantly setting himself to the task of relieving my state. His tight clasp and rhythmic strokes blurred my mind beyond reason, while Alan's dark, feverish eyes peered up at us.

I feel certain that the Opium had a part in prolonging the experience so, yet I am certain that it was Holmes' unexpected skill in this area which caused me to approach the brink of consciousness many times over before he finally allowed me release, pressing back against me as if desperate to feel the effects of it.

Alan had slowed his ministrations to allow Holmes sufficient concentration, but as soon as I lay once more slack and satisfied beneath my friend, the Duke's vigour returned.

Holmes - I was gratified to learn - was much affected by the release he had brought to me so recently, and thus found his own in Alan's willing mouth shortly after, groaning in a manner I should never have expected from him.

We lay still for some time, resting against each other, entwined most deliciously.

But before long - and I should not be surprised by this - Holmes found his energy return to him, no doubt prompted by the realization that our host had been thus far left unfulfilled.

I gathered from the corner of my vision that he reached beneath the Duke's face, raising it towards his own. "Come here, Alan," he beckoned. "Let us help you." And he shifted his long body to the opposite corner of the divan, creating a space in between him and myself for our host.

Alan allowed himself to be drawn upwards, and Holmes and I immediately began to lavish him with attention.

Holmes lifted one of Alan's hands - which lay trembling on his thigh - raising it to his lips and kissing the tips of the well cared-for fingers before discarding several of them to pay special heed to the middle one, drawing it into his beautiful mouth and suckling on it whilst allowing Alan to drown in his deep, dark eyes.

I began to correct the overdressed state of our host, reaching for the closure of his collar and feeling the pounding of his heart beneath my palms. With a sudden urge to partake of the treat he had been given only moments earlier, I turned his flushed face towards me by his chin, moving to kiss him and find some remnant of Holmes' taste in the idle but sensuous mouth.

Alan was delightfully willing to share, thus I took all I could from him, the salty flavour of my friend's release a perfect complement to his own, sweet breath.

I felt Holmes reach for my hand, sliding it down the front of Alan's body and resting it on the thigh closer to mine while his own hand moved to the other.

We have always worked so well together - Holmes and myself - and this was no exception. That thought evoked a smile in me, returned by the man whose lips were still moving against mine, making our kiss that much sweeter.

I drew the strong, lean thigh against my own, feeling its extraordinary heat even through all the cloth separating our skin. It was clear by the strain of muscle I could feel that Alan had to be a most accomplished horseman, the strength in his legs - despite the leisurely lifestyle of the aristocracy - evidence of this.

When our mouths finally parted, I glanced over to Holmes, bemused by the confident way in which he had restrained Alan by way of one long leg hooked elegantly over the other thigh, thus cleverly leaving his hand free to roam.

And roam it did, stroking over the smooth surface of Alan's sumptuous shirt where it met pale, exposed skin, finally undoing another button. And soon, one more. He dipped his hand into the open folds of the shirt, and I gathered from the outline in the cloth that his palm was resting on Alan's chest for an instant before it bulged where his fingers were circling one single point of pleasure, causing our host to gasp markedly.

I pressed a single kiss on the flushed cheek close to my own, finding the gesture mirrored by Holmes. We exchanged a smile and a brief kiss before Holmes' lips met Alan's and I glimpsed his tongue parting them before their kiss was concealed by the low lighting.

My hand lay on Alan's flat stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall of it and sensing the great heat not far from where my palm rested. Drawn towards it, I slid my hand lower, finding the expected bulge throbbing against my touch. I did not immediately give relief, instead stroking slowly but heavily through the fine linen, feeling the strain of muscles in the thigh resting against my own.

A sudden jolt marked the moment Holmes' leg restrained the Duke's more tightly and he drew his thigh away, leaving a larger area for my hand to roam.

I would not have believed only a day earlier that this nobleman - this reserved, solid pillar of society - could be so undone as to lay sprawled in this manner, trembling with desire and reaching for each touch, each sensation with every fiber of his being. I had to withdraw for an instant to convince myself that it was true.

Alan, his large brown eyes fever-glazed, did indeed lie panting, the very picture of romantic excess, while Holmes had him - quite literally - in his clutches. Or he had, until he began to kiss him wildly and pressed him back against the seat with his own body.

Holmes... How easily my dear, beloved friend adapted to this aggressive role was oddly no true surprise. Perhaps it was because very little he did could surprise me. Perhaps it was because the pathways of my mind were still filled with Opium. Whatever the reason, his transition from the detached, untouchable genius to this purveyor of romantic desire appeared... inevitable.

"John, please come back," I heard him murmur then, and I smiled, happy to find myself missed so soon.

He turned back to gaze at me, his hand withdrawing from inside Alan's shirt to reach for me and pull me close.

And I obliged. Oh, I obliged so willingly, kneeling beside Alan on the divan when Holmes turned toward me to kiss me, then kissed Alan again - playfully changing back and forth between us until he drew back and fixed me with a gaze of utter mischief.

His mouth curved into a shameless smile as he gestured downwards with his chin, indicating where our efforts should be focused.

I smiled in agreement, and Holmes pinned Alan against the cushions, his long leg still gathering that one thigh close to his own. I mirrored his pose, delighting in Alan's flustered and heated reaction when he gathered our intent.

"Yes..." he murmured, swallowing heavily. "Yes, oh please..."

"Shh..." Holmes calmed him gently, letting his palm play teasingly on the heavy fabric of Alan's trousers, his touch shifting ever higher.

I continued to mirror my friend's movements, only barely deviating in that I slid my palm down the inside of Alan's thigh once in a while to enjoy the little tremor this caused.

As if by prior arrangement, Holmes and I converged on the closure of Alan's dark trousers, our fingers meeting by a buttonhole. Our eyes remained connected as we negotiated the task, our willing victim panting heavily between us, stirring to steal an accidental touch of fingertips.

The sigh of utter relief when our fingers advanced inside together was utterly sweet, and Holmes instantly took command, covering my hand with his own and curling it around Alan's blazing hot need.

Astonishing us with how vocal he could be, Alan murmured incomprehensibly - delightful, considering his mental prowess and distinction - and even groaned in quite a base, animalistic fashion now and again.

Holmes leaned forward, covering the distance between us to whisper in my ear.

I agreed to his suggestion with a nod and a smile and as he withdrew his hand from above my own to move it up around Alan's neck as he kissed him deeply, I bent down and gathered up a first taste of our host.

Alan was not easy to restrain, bucking upwards eagerly, but I pressed him down by his narrow hips, leaning heavily on his thigh at the same time.

When I raised my head again, it was to exchange places with Holmes, who leaned low to continue my ministrations while I kissed Alan gently.

We switched in this way once more before I felt the first spasms on my tongue, hurrying to draw the moment out and share my libation with Holmes as any good friend should.

It seemed as though we had once more fallen into a slumber, all three of us huddled together on the divan as we had been, for when I next opened my eyes, I noted a thin sliver of light inside the room. I soon recognized it as the morning sun.

"Oh dear Lord!" I exclaimed with the sudden grasp of our situation.

Both Holmes and I were draped across our host in a manner most unbefitting to visitors of a stately home, and certainly it was not for the eyes of the domestic staff of Holdernesse Hall. I scrambled to remove myself from the bundle of limbs and loosened clothing until I heard a soft chuckle.

"Good morning, John," Holmes murmured, clearly bemused by my haste.

"It won't be if we do not remove ourselves from this room with the utmost alacrity, Holmes," I warned him, but a pleased smile managed to affix itself to my mouth. I was most gratified that I had apparently not dreamed the previous night.

A low grumble answered me and long fingers clutched at my arm. As well as at Holmes' arm, I noticed. Then, sleepy brown eyes opened and attempted to focus. "Good morning, gentlemen."

Now Holmes laughed out loud, nearly sliding off the divan.

"Shh, Holmes, we must get out of here!" I hissed, frantically doing up my disheveled clothing and depositing the Opium pipe and other accouterments back into their wooden box.

"Mmm, you're right, of course." Holmes' eyes met mine.

I stopped my frantic movements, stilling to gaze back at him. We smiled, and all was well. "Yes," I confirmed.

"Upstairs, I think. Your Grace?" Holmes heaved the slouching nobleman to his feet and draped an arm around his middle, using his free hand to tuck a few items of clothing back into place. His own had surprisingly been repaired during the night and he was thus the only one of us who looked like a true gentleman.

I helped as soon as I had removed all traces of the previous night's debauchery, and we managed to sneak upstairs quietly, evidently before any of the servants had begun to bustle through the Hall.

"I am not surprised he has no breakfast routine, are you, Watson?" Holmes joked about our quietly mumbling, high-born baggage.

"Not in the least," I agreed. "I should be surprised if he normally rises before noon."

This caused us both to break into laughter, but we managed to sneak into Holmes' room in time before the young chambermaid at the far end of the corridor could either see or hear us clearly.

"Safety, Watson!" Holmes exclaimed, giving the door a swift kick.

All of that was happening too loudly, I was sure, but I was likewise still too tired and much, much too happy to argue about such minuscule details.

We deposited the Duke upon the bed and fell down beside him, our temporary burst of energy dissipating and our lack of drug-less sleep winning out over us once more.

We did, eventually, manage to wake and remain awake, deciding there and then that only a most leisurely day would do. I can report to my delight that not one of us appeared to harbour any regrets regarding the previous night, nor was there any discomfort between us.

We spent a most delightful day on the lawn, with the Duke attempting to teach us to play croquet and finally resigning to simply have a picnic with us when we fared very badly indeed.

I have rarely spent so pleasant a vacation and I must note that I will never forget those few days at Holdernesse Hall - they shall remain among my most pleasant memories forever.

When the time came to return back to London, we did so with some regret, delaying our departure for as long as we could justify it. We would, perhaps, have stayed longer still, but the Duke had been called away to one of his other estates and the weekend was nearly upon us - the weekend which would belong to the Duke and his now only son, Arthur.

"I... well..." the Duke began when we found ourselves, packed and far from ready to leave, in the library for which we had understandably developed a great fondness. He looked like a lost little boy and my heart went out to him.

There was a carriage waiting for us outside, which was to take us back to the station, and I could not help but regard it with some sadness through the open doorway.

Holmes fared better than the two of us, or at least he was better able to hide his melancholy.

"I have had a delightful time, Your Grace," I said. And, leaning closer to him, whispered, "Most delightful indeed. I shall never forget it."

The Duke smiled at this. "As did I! I cannot thank you both enough for having stayed with me... and when I needed company more than ever before in my life."

I was surprised that he should admit this need so freely, but I should not have been. This most solitary of men had opened up remarkably over the past few days and I should not be surprised if he was far better able to communicate with his son in future.

We both realized that Holmes had turned away, scanning the room as if searching for something.

"Holmes?" I prompted him, frowning when I saw him cross the room towards the opium chest.

The Duke drew me close. "This... adventure..." He smiled adorably and with some embarrassment.

I returned the smile. "It will certainly not be a story for The Strand, my dear friend." He sighed with relief. "If it should ever be published, it will end with our departure from Holdernesse Hall two days ago."

Before he could respond, Holmes suddenly dashed back across the room, rejoining us by the fire-place. "Of course, there is the continuation of the tale!"

"The continuation?" I asked.

Holmes laughed, holding up the item he had gone to retrieve a moment ago. "The case of the missing Opium pipe!" He tucked it into the side pocket of the bag sitting by his feet.

"Indeed." The Duke smiled. "I do wonder what has happened to it?"

Holmes shrugged. "I should think there is a very good chance that it has been abducted to be held hostage in... let me see... 221b Baker Street perhaps?"

I laughed, delighting in the Duke's joyful smile. "Sadly though, that shall be yet another adventure I will likely not be able to chronicle for public consumption."

Holmes raised his hand, his forefinger across his lips. "Most definitely another case for the private collection." He gave the Duke a most seductive gaze. "Should you need any help in your investigation of the pipe's whereabouts, Your Grace, you know where to find us."

The Duke nodded, his pale complexion bearing a faint rosy hue and his eyes somewhat watery.

I thought it wise to get started on our return journey before there were tears. "Be well, my friend," I said, squeezing his arm when I realized the carriage driver was standing in the doorway. "Until some time soon."

"Very soon," the Duke confirmed.

Holmes bowed to him with a flourish. "Your Grace!" he exclaimed, smiling up from under his long lashes. Then he turned and left, on his way out tapping his hand on the bulging pocket of his bag where the pipe was hidden.

I followed him with another glance back at our host who stood - regal and upright - at the French doors of the library. When our carriage drove past, he waved and smiled.

Holmes and I were silent until we were seated in our first class compartment of the overnight train to London. He immediately plucked his woollen travel rug from his bag, spreading it over his knees, and then he looked at me.

"Holmes, the pipe..." I began, smiling. "Most ingenious."

"Thank you, my dear Watson." He adjusted the rug, exhaled harshly so that his breath hung in front of him like a small frosty cloud, and declared, "It is freezing cold in here."

I nodded. Then, I realized he had a mischievous smile on his face. "Holmes?"

He lifted the rug and beckoned me. "If you should find it within yourself to call me Sherlock once in a while - silly as the name may be - I should like to invite you to join me, John." When I smiled, he reached out to me and took my hand. "Let us warm up together."

We did.