The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

world is to see something, and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion, all in one.' "
    Holmes made a small noise of impatience. "Yes, yes, I have a great mind, but–"
    "And a great heart," I insisted, seizing one of his hands and squeezing it between my own. "And I thank my stars for it every day."
    "John, that is absurdly sentimental," Holmes murmured, something of his usual lightly humorous tone creeping back into his voice.
    "Nevertheless, it is true. It suits us very well to let readers of the Strand think you cold and unfeeling and distant from every other creature on this earth, but I know better."
    I leaned down to kiss him, intending it to be a soft benediction, but his lips caught my own and lingered against them until one kiss blended seamlessly into another and another. Finally he released me and I sat up, my face feeling rather warm and acutely conscious of the strength of his thighs beneath me, and the fact that I was wearing nothing but a rather hastily-tied dressing-gown.
    "John," Holmes murmured huskily, his eyes dark, "are you wearing anything underneath that robe?"
    His hands had found the hem of said garment and his fingers were trailing along my bare calves in a manner that ensured he would soon find out for himself, but even so I sighed, "No" as he reached the backs of my knees and lingered. He gave a little groan at that and leaned forward once more as he kissed me, hard and demanding, coaxing my mouth open to lightly brush his tongue against my teeth. Evidently the past two days had not been easy for him either, for when I reached down to brush my fingers against his trouser front he pulled back and gasped, "I think we ought to retire to our bed chamber."
    "Actually," I said breathlessly, pressing my hand against him more firmly and watching his pulse flutter and leap in his throat, "I was just thinking that it has been rather a long time since we made use of our hearthrug."
    * * * *
    You are still sleeping, dearest, sleeping so deeply that you did not even stir when I slipped out of bed this morning. While I am tempted to think that this must be one of the signs of the coming Apocalypse, I know it is merely the exhaustion of two days' worth of agitation, both physical and emotional. So I have sat down to write the above account for you, to show you that I had already known the position you were in (more or less) and that nothing you do could make me think less of you: you are the best and the wisest man of my acquaintance, and will doubtless remain so for the rest of our lives together.
    I am sure that you recall last night, before the dying fire. How I stripped you bare and went over every inch of you before taking you in my mouth and eventually bringing you to your peak. Doing so aroused me to such a degree that you had barely opened my dressing-gown and taken me in hand before I finished in my turn, for I will freely own that I adore you madly, and being the cause of your pleasure is a dizzying, heady experience. Indeed, Mrs. Hudson mentioned to me at breakfast that she is going out this morning, and so I daresay if you come out to our sitting-room after reading this note, with the charming flush to your cheeks that such expressions of affection always induce, it would take very little to coax me back into our bedchamber to demonstrate once more the depth of my feelings.
    Later, we can sit by our fire and I will watch you attempt to deduce – from the cut of my waistcoat or the way I hold my cigarette or some other equally abstruse indication – what I intend to give you for Christmas. I say 'attempt', for I am certain you will not succeed. Smugness is a most unappealing quality, it is true, but I am convinced that this year I have surpassed myself.
    Our calendar tells me that this morning is the 22nd December, the morning after the longest night of the year. The world turns, and the days will grow longer, and doubtless before the old year is out you will have once more discovered something outré and bizarre enough to fascinate you and stave off your inevitable boredom. But for now, come out to me, and kiss me good morning, and know that for the rest of 1894 and all the years that follow, I am, dear heart,
    Entirely yours,
    J. W.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNEXPECTED DECLARATION

    "So what you are telling me," I said, making every effort to sound calm, "is