Date: Thu, 15 Nov 2018 17:04:33 +0000 (UTC)
From: Arthur Doyle <sirarthurpornandoyle@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Study in Fornication, Chapter 6

Chapter VI: Light in the darkness

I woke in Holmes' bed, alone. Shafts of morning light fell upon the wooden
parquetry of the floor and I vaguely remembered getting up to relieve
myself in the middle of the night. But exactly when the other two men had
departed from the lumpy mattress, I couldn't at the moment recall.

Seated at the breakfast table was Holmes, a silk robe draped over his
sturdy shoulders as he sipped tea. Taking the other chair, I found that my
flatmate was nude beneath his housecoat, which opened at the front to
reveal his burly chest. His large limp organ was visible, slumped to one
side in the cleft of his crotch. For some reason I suddenly regretted that
I'd taken Gregson in the drawing room--it seemed to bring sexual matters to
the forefront of our living arrangement. An uneasy prickle blossomed in my
chest; the image of coming home to find Holmes driving his gargantuan
instrument once again into a willing man here in our shared space. As to
why my feelings fell in this direction, I cannot say.

With an air of perfect restfulness, Holmes spread butter and jam on a
blackened slice of toast. He informed me that Gregson had left just a
moment ago, saying that the detective had been rather flustered at the
thought of explaining to the men in his office why he had on an identical
suit to the one he wore yesterday.

Giving me a sidelong glance, Holmes added that there had been some
additional entertainment during the wee hours of the night. Apparently, he
and Gregson had awoken in the darkness with hardened tools and begun
kissing wildly. Not wishing to disturb me, they snuck over to my empty bed
and gave themselves to one another with passionate enthusiasm. I tried to
remain unreactive as Holmes described the incredible sensation of sinking
his oversized contrivance into Gregson's keen and pliable pucker. Busying
myself with the teapot, I suppressed a twinge of jealousy at having not
been invited to the second act of this performance.

"I thank you for having opened Gregson to these matters," Holmes said,
unexpectedly stroking my wrist with his hand. "I'm certain we will both be
heartily received by him at some future date."

The intimate caress of his fingers didn't last long. Both Holmes and I
pulled our hands back, as if mutually burned by a flame between us, and a
moment of silence stretched.

Holmes smiled. "You provided me with a wonderful reward. After the concert,
I spent some time digging into our mystery surrounding Dreber's ruby ring,
and was able to solve almost the entire case."

I tipped my head in amazement, happy to focus on something other than the
embarrassment that we had both just experienced. "Is that so? Well I am
eager to hear the conclusion."

"Ah, but first, my dear Watson, I must explain how it is that I arrived at
this most inevitable of deductions. The facts before yesterday had been
thus: I'd learned from Lestrade that Drebber and his secretary Strangerson
were last seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on the
evening of the third, that is, two days ago. At two in the morning the next
day, Drebber had called Scotland Yard, telling them he had come home to
find his house burgled. The question which confronted me was to find out
how Strangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the time of the supposed
crime, and what had become of him afterwards. Now, from my informants at
Rache, I had learned that this public appearance had been a sham. The last
time Drebber and Strangerson had truly been together was when they both
visited the club later that same evening, around 10.30."

Here I cut in. "So that shrinks the time with which Strangerson is
unaccounted for."

"Indeed," nodded Holmes. "But even more important was what Strangerson and
Drebber had been seen doing at the club Rache--namely, arguing. The other
patrons distinctly recall watching the two men have a heated row right
there in the middle of the room, with Drebber unable to keep his temper
under control at some news that Strangerson had given him. And we know from
John Rance what this news item must have been: that Strangerson was
re-enamored with his former lover, Jefferson Hope."

"Following the concert yesterday, I set to work calling upon all the hotels
and lodging houses in the vicinity of Rache. You see, I argued that if
Drebber and his companion had a great falling out and separated, the
natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity
for the night. By eight o'clock I reached Foley's Private Hotel on Duchess
Street. On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Strangerson was living there,
they at once answered in the affirmative."

"'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. `He had
been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'"

"'Had?' I asked."

"'Certainly,' they answered. `After waiting in vain, he went off to find
the gentleman and hasn't been seen since.'"

"I asked if the man had left behind anything in his room after absconding
and the deskman showed me a single telegram that had been lying upon the
floor in his room. It was dated from Cleveland a month ago, and contained
the words `J.H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to this message."

My brows were becoming crossed at having to pay attention to all the
information Holmes was dispensing. "But then it seems you came to a dead
end."

"So thought I!" said Holmes, shooting a finger into the air. "And yet I
knew there must be more. Considering once again the ruby ring and what had
become of it, I wandered about the area, looking for a jeweler. My initial
thought was that Strangerson had decided to sell it."

"But then he already had it with him, prior to the time of the robbery?"

"Of course, my dear Watson. Drebber had needed an excuse to call the police
following the break-in at his house, and the disarray in his bedroom seemed
to indicate that a thief had been through it. But it was clear to both you
and I that robbery had not been the intent of the intruders. The scene more
resembled two companions engaging in sexual congress while the owner was
occupied elsewhere."

"Why would they do so?"

Holmes grinned mischievously. "Revenge," he said. "What better way to take
retribution on the man who treated you poorly for many years than by
fucking another in his own bed?"

I had scarcely any time to consider his statement before there was a tap at
the door. Much to my astonishment, a fashionably-dressed young man with
full lips and high cheekbones introduced himself as Joseph Strangerson. He
seemed to be in an agitated state.

"Please sir," he said, touching a light brown forelock. "I have the cab
downstairs."

"Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. "The cabman may as well help
me with my box. Just ask him to step up."

I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to
set out on a journey, since he had not said anything about it to me. There
was a small portmanteau in the room, and this Holmes pulled out and began
to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room, an
olive-skinned, rugged individual, with the long bushy moustache of a Texan.

"Just give me a help with this buckle," Holmes said, kneeling over his
task. He looked up at me. "Watson, let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson
Hope, the man who will be marrying Mr. Joseph Strangerson in a short
while."

The whole thing occurred in a moment--I could barely process the
scene. Holmes' words and their import floundered in my mind.

"We have the cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take us all to
the club Rache. And now, my good friend, we have reached the end of our
little mystery. You are very welcome to put any questions you like to me
now, and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them."

*****

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