Experiments in Experience

"Is there anything that you would not forgive me for?" Holmes asked. I have been the hapless victim of chemical, physical, and psychological experiments. All of them endured and forgiven by me.

1890

We sat in companionable silence for half the day. I spent the time reading journals and news clippings apparently left upon my desk for some unfathomable reason by Holmes, and Holmes spent the time laying on the sofa eyes closed and hands pressed together lightly under his chin. The regular, Sherlock Holmes is thinking pose.

It was a relief to have him quiet. Lately it had been a struggle to retain my composure in the flat. There had been no interesting cases for over nine days, and most of that time consisted of Holmes manically inventing ways to stay occupied. Whatever catalyst brought about the altered mood, I was grateful for the reprieve nonetheless.

Of course I also feared this may also be the primary stages of the descent into one of the 'black moods' he was prone to. Should that happen and he commenced spending days at a time in his room or upon the couch, I would quickly be longing for the previous days of constant activity. It was not so much the trial on my nerves that bothered me, as it was knowing the deep disquiet that my friend suffered at those times.

There were some, perhaps many, who failed to understand the attraction I held to a lifestyle of enduring the highs and lows of such a partnership. Certainly, if living with Sherlock Holmes was anything like what those people no doubt imagined it to be, I dare say they would have been correct and I should be called a fool for enduring it. I held great esteem for my companion's energy and clarity of mind, and considered it an honour to be involved in the excitement and mystery of his companionship.

I never considered my life with Holmes a burden, even considering his peculiar habits. His lack of respect for personal boundaries have made me the hapless victim of chemical, physical, and psychological experiments on numerous occasions. All trespasses were endured and forgiven, for I knew that none of his actions were ever brought about by malice.

That afternoon when Holmes finally did rouse himself off the sofa, he sat up, leaned forward intently with his elbows on knees, and stared at me with specific intent. It was a stare that seemed, at least to my own senses, as though there was a physical force behind it. I put away my journal and paid attention.

I laughed, what else was there to do? "My dear Holmes, whatever is the matter?"

"Is there anything that you would not forgive me for?" He asked very seriously.

I contemplated the answer for a moment, as it seemed important to him. For all my effort to take him seriously though, I couldn't fathom it with equal gravity. "Is there anything I haven't already not?" I asked. "I believe that you value our friendship enough that you would not purposefully do anything that would warrant unforgiveness."

"Dear Watson, if I were to do something with no ill intention, would you allow that it was done in the spirit of love, and not hold it against me if it proved to be detestable to your person?"

"What are you planning to do?" I asked in exasperation. "Will it hurt?"

"No. No I promise it is nothing terrible, and it won't take but a moment of your time. Though I would like you to stand."

And so I stood.

He stood as well, and walked up within arm's length. "Close your eyes."

I can't say I wasn't tense or anxious. "Holmes, this is exceedingly strange. Could you not at least warn me what to expect?"

"Relax please. It will only take a moment."

I rolled my shoulders a bit, took a steadying breath. I felt his hand alight on my shoulder with the gentlest of touches. I could tell he had stepped even closer as I could smell the tobacco on his breath and feel the puff of it on my cheek. His other hand moved up behind my neck.

What was I expecting? I trusted him when he promised me that whatever he planned wasn't going to hurt, but there were many other sensations to be wary of.

I wasn't prepared for what did happen. I felt something brush across my lips. The shock of it made me recoil in reaction even while Holmes hand on my neck tightened its grip and held me in place momentarily. Sherlock Holmes had pressed his lips against my lips.

He let me go and stepped back. My retreat was much less graceful. I stumbled backwards and would have fallen if he had not reached forward suddenly and grabbed my wrist.

My heart was pounding viciously. I pulled out of his grasp. "What is this about?"

His tongue flicked out and licked his lips quickly, and there was only a brief flash of emotion over his face before he steadied his breath and straightened his shoulders. "Watson, do you forgive me?"

I took several more careful steps backwards to put distance between us. "Why? Why would you do such a thing?"

He didn't answer.

"Is it because you're bored? You wanted to see how I would react? Is it for a case that I don't know about? What?"

"Are you angry?"

I sat down at my desk, where I had been before this whole fiasco began, and Holmes sat down on the sofa. Though he seemed outwardly calm, the fact that he found it necessary to seek my forgiveness at least proved to me that he too was suffering an internal turmoil. "I am confused." I said finally.

Holmes watched me closely.

"You must explain yourself. Tell me why, Holmes." I added.

"To gauge your reaction." He answered.

"For what reason?" I reflected on his countenance and carefully considered the odd conversation we'd had leading up to that moment. There seemed to be a vulnerability in his eyes that he could not hide. Had he spent the entire morning contemplating the action?

He fixed his eyes towards the fireplace. "It was an experiment. Rest assured, it will not happen again."

"An experiment." My mind raced along with my beating heart and I gave myself a moment to settle both my thoughts and my physical reaction. "What you did was, unexpected."

"Of course it was." He agreed. "Do you forgive me?"

He had made his move, now it was my turn. "You of all people should know how to conduct an experiment properly. You do not yet know what my reaction would be should the element of surprise be removed from the equation."

"You are suggesting I conduct the test again?"

"If you feel it necessary."

We stood up at the same time. I resumed my place where I had been, and he stood across from me. I closed my eyes and he placed one hand on my shoulder and the other behind my neck. He pressed his lips against mine very tentatively. I did not pull back. I counted five seconds and he stepped backwards.

His breathing was quick, I could see his pulse racing in the vein in his neck. "Watson, do you forgive me?" He asked again.

"You have done nothing to cause offence." I answered.

He resumed his place on the couch and I sat back down at my desk. A telegram arrived hours later with a new case that drew both our attention for the next week and the experiment, whatever it was, was set aside.