28 comments/ 24390 views/ 37 favorites The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price By: Pelaam Pelaam© January 2010 It had been a typically busy and bustling day at the pharmacy, followed by a tiring meeting with one of his suppliers. Although he kept an enviable selection of varied chemicals, being the Pharmacist of choice of the renowned Sherlock Holmes meant he often needed something comparatively obscure at short notice. Fortunately, Grayson enjoyed a good relationship with all of his suppliers. The London traffic was busy; his own horse-drawn cab just one of many traversing the cobbled streets. Grayson ran a hand through thick, dark hair. He was tired and would be glad to get back to his pharmacy and his small, comfortable living quarters. The sound of a warning shout from his hansom cab driver alerted Grayson as the vehicle stopped sharply. He instantly reacted to the female screams and male yells from outside, immediately jumping from the cab. To his horror a young man lay sprawled in the street, blood at his temple. He moved instinctively to his side. Whilst he was not a physician, his work in the pharmacy he owned ensured he had some rudimentary medical knowledge. He deftly ran his hands along the young man's neck and was relieved to find there appeared to be no breaks. The youth was dressed in a loose and flowing cream silk shirt and tight-as-sin black silk breeches. His stockings were cream, also silk and his shoes expensive, burgundy leather. Grayson's eyes also spotted some bruising that looked suspiciously like fingers on the young man's bared shoulder and, for all the expensive clothing in which he was dressed, he looked malnourished. Carefully pushing aside the fine silver-blond hair that obscured the unconscious man's face, Grayson smothered a gasp. Although too thin for his liking, the visage was exquisite. Grayson stared at winged eyebrows above closed eyes, high cheekbones and perfect Cupid's bow lips. The boy was indeed a beauty. Yet Grayson could see healing bruising and dark shadows beneath the closed orbs. He was certain the young man had been beaten. "He just dashed in front of me, Sir," the cabbie's voice broke into Grayson's mind, breaking the spell this beauty had woven even while unconscious. "He was weaving in and out, running as if the very hounds of Hell were pursuing him." "Indeed," Grayson uttered, making an instant decision. "Give me a hand," he commanded. He lifted his charge's shoulders as his cabbie hefted the young man's legs. "Take me to 221B Baker Street," he added as the cab door was shut. If nothing else, his friend John could formally give his medical opinion on the boy's hurt. If there was more, a mystery to unravel...then who better than Sherlock Holmes to take charge? **** Grayson tried not to pace up and down as he anxiously awaited John's examination of the still-unconscious young man. He gave Sherlock a smile of gratitude as a glass of whisky was pressed into his hand. "Your young man is in good hands as you well know," Sherlock said reassuringly. "John will take care of him." "Hardly 'my' young man, Sherlock," Grayson replied as he sipped his drink. The drink warmed him and its mellow flavour was comforting. He smiled and nodded at his friend. "It helps," he added lifting his glass in a quick salute. "You don't mind if I smoke?" came the softly-spoken query. "Not at all," Grayson began and then turned. "At least not if it isn't that foul-smelling shag you sometimes use." Sherlock laughed as he looked at his friend. At the moment the pharmacist's normally well-manicured chestnut hair was in disarray from his constantly running his fingers through it; a nervous habit that Sherlock instantly recognised. His friend's normally vibrant gray eyes were troubled and anxious. He was obviously very concerned for the youth. "No, I'll not smoke that while I have visitors," he said as he reached for his favourite pipe. "I have been warned by John about smoking something so malodorous in company." Taking another sip of his drink, Grayson regarded his friend of many years. When they had first become friends he had wondered why the Holmes and Watson of real life differed so much from that of John's chronicles. Both men had laughed at his query and John had simply said that he had no intention of allowing every twopenny-halfpenny blackguard to recognise Sherlock instantly. Hence the fictional persona that allowed everyone to think they would instantly recognise both of them if seen. Instead Sherlock was similar in height as he, around six feet tall, and had a broader, more muscular physique. His hair was sandy-blond, his eyes a mesmerising shade of blue-green that could be as cold and hard as flint or as warm and gentle as a becalmed ocean. Equally fictitious was John's recent marriage and widower-hood. Instead his friends had been a couple almost as long as they had known each other. It had been love at first sight, although John had been reticent to accept Sherlock's suit due to fear for the older man's reputation. However, Sherlock had remained as singularly dedicated to having John at his side as he was about any case he investigated. Despite all they had done for their country, a malicious tongue had caused questions to be asked of their close relationship. Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, had assisted in the marriage deception. Mary had been an actress with no interest in any gender but her own. The marriage and her death had both been equally false. It was true that John had temporarily moved out, taken up residence in a somewhat isolated and secluded home and had lived with his 'wife'. However, the 'lady' of the house had, more often than not, been a superbly disguised Sherlock Holmes. The marriage had not lasted as long as John had chronicled and the owner of the malevolent tongue had been suitably taken care of by Mycroft. It had however, made Sherlock even more possessive of the lithe brunette that currently tended the unconscious blond. Grayson could not help but wonder at times what had happened to the owner of the serpent's tongue, but the dark glitter in Sherlock's eyes, when declaring John and he able to reside together openly once more, had made the pharmacist shudder and he had not enquired further. The sound of the bedroom door opening had both men look over with faces both anxious and questioning. "He has a nasty bruise to his shoulder and the cut to his head; however I think he is drugged as well as concussed. There is some very suspicious bruising on his body and he is malnourished. All of which are comparatively easy to recover from." "But...?" Grayson's eyes flickered briefly at Sherlock. Clearly he had heard something behind his lover's words that he had missed. He focused his attention on the lithe brunette. He felt coldness gnaw in his stomach at the sympathetic look in his friend's deep, brown eyes. "He's got some internal bruising..." John began, but stopped at Grayson's deep groan. "Grayson," Sherlock said softly. "It may be his, erm, profession." "I don't think so, Sherlock," John demurred. "No?" queried the older man. John always played down the role he played in assisting him with his cases. John's quick mind and sharp intellect often provided the impetus or insight he needed. The younger man was happy enough to leave things as they were. He could use himself as the foil by which he could explain the reasoning that led to a case's conclusion in his chronicles and it gave a false impression of him to their adversaries. His lover was also quite right when he teasingly said that he could hardly put in his chronicles that one of the best ways to help clear the detective's mind was to ride him into sexual oblivion. Although it irked the older man that while it seemed he could be forgiven a fictional need for heroin occasionally, he would be vilified if his sexual desires ever became public. "His skin is pale, scar-free and looks healthy. Not the weather-beaten and marked kind of skin a street-boy would have. I also noticed his fingers and hands were soft and callous free. Whatever his profession or background, it was not poor or manual. However the bruising on his body indicated he has been held forcibly and struck. I cannot be sure, of course, until he wakes and offers us an explanation, but the life of an enforced concubine would fit I think." "The clothing is expensive, but he is malnourished; punishment perhaps, or perhaps part of his training," Sherlock mused. "I have examined the shoes. I believe I know which cobbler made them. These are specially commissioned shoes. I think you might be right. I should be able to confirm the identity of their purchaser should we need it. There are few shoemakers that make quite such handsome footwear in leather imported from la belle France. " "I'm not sure I understand," Grayson said, his eyes flitting from one man to the other. "A sex slave, Grayson," John said as he came to rest a hand on his friend's shoulder. "There is every possibility that your young man was kidnapped to be a sex slave. From his dress, a very wealthy man's sex slave. Sad to say, it is a far more prolific and lucrative business than many would realise and beautiful young men are as highly prized as beautiful young women." "In certain circles even more so," Sherlock added quietly, nodding as he met Grayson's stunned eyes. "Only he knows if we are correct," the older man said nodding in the direction of the room in which the young man slept. "I should stay with him," John murmured. "In case he awakens." "I can do it," Grayson blurted as two pairs of eyes regarded him quizzically. "I mean...I'd just like to be there when he wakes. Please?" "If you wish," John smiled. "I think his body is sleeping off the shock and drugs. His injuries were comparatively minor, Grayson. He was lucky." "I'll alert Mrs Hudson to the fact that we have an extra for dinner and two for breakfast," Sherlock grinned as he rose to his feet. "She'll make sure she prepares enough to fatten up our young man in no time. She loves taking care of waifs and strays. Just ask the Irregulars," he added as he slipped from the room. **** Already in the bed they shared, Sherlock watched appreciatively as John removed his robe and nightshirt. He held out his hand in invitation and John came towards him. Whilst John's remained a single-sized bed in a room he never used, they had long since replaced his with a double. As the lithe body slipped beneath the covers, Sherlock heard the soft gasp from his lover as John's naked skin came into contact with his hardness. "We have guests," John murmured, not resisting as the older man took him in his arms and rolled them so that he now gazed up into Sherlock's glinting eyes. Sherlock shifted subtly, letting his shaft rub enticingly against John's awaking flesh as he rained kisses on the upturned face. He let a hand burrow between them encircling John's manhood, moaning softly at the feel of the hard heat in his hand and plunged his tongue into his lover's mouth. "I love you," he said, letting the joy which resulted from seeing John's eyes light up with happiness enfold him. "I want to make love to you, John, but I understand if you..." Sherlock got no further as John pulled him down into another passionate kiss as his pelvis pushed up against the bigger man. His growing desire was fanned as John shivered in response to his other hand squeezing each taut nether check in turn as they kissed. Sherlock groaned as the hard flesh of his desire pressed into John's smooth belly and he felt John's answering desire push into his thigh. He moved again, taking John's lips with his own, one hand finding its way up into soft, thick hair and the other grasping John's buttocks, squeezing with intent to prove ownership. As John moaned and bucked up against Sherlock, his hands clutching, urging the broader body to move, Sherlock shifted to rest his weight on his arms, which now lay on either side of John's head. Their groins were still pressed together and both men thrust creating delicious friction. Mouths joined once more, tongues dancing and teasing, mimicking the act yet to come. Moving slightly lower, Sherlock's mouth latched on to a nipple and he sucked and teased the bud with his tongue and his teeth. He felt his lover's hand in his hair, pushing his mouth harder onto the nipple. He moaned around the tightening nub, his mouth watering as John's legs spread wide and he reached with his fingers to the puckered entrance of the man he loved. He needed to be in there, needed it like he needed to breathe. It was suddenly an all-consuming necessity. Watching Sherlock through heavy-lidded eyes, John began to touch himself as the older man reached for their lubricant. As he looked at the younger man Sherlock felt himself throb painfully. He had never seen anything so debauched, so sinful, so beautiful in all his life. He blindly reached for the unguent on the bedside table and coated his eager fingers. He pushed his weight to one side as his hand slipped between John's legs, trailing slick fingers over rigid flesh. Then they travelled down to the heavy sac before reaching the hidden entrance to John's core. He stroked around the tightly furled flesh, teasing it until it flexed its invitation and his finger slid inside. As his finger stroked his lover from within, Sherlock worshipped John's flesh with his mouth. Kisses and teasing nips were placed along his sleek torso, making John writhe in response. When alone, the volume of his moaning would exponentially increase as Sherlock moved further down. He grinned mentally as he heard the muted sounds of his lover. Reaching his prize, Sherlock took John's erect flesh into his mouth and John bucked upwards. He moved quickly set a rhythm that had John alternating between grasping the bedding and grasping Sherlock's head to run his fingers through his mate's hair. The older man felt his body respond to John's pleasure, knowing that it was he that could make the younger man come undone in such a sensuous manner. Twisting his digit inside John's body, his finger made contact with a small bundle of nerves that he stroked ruthlessly. John made a small, strangled sound and his hips rammed upwards. Sherlock deduced it was time to take another step and removed his finger as he hummed around the hard shaft in his mouth. He coated his eager digits with more lubrication and when he next penetrated John's body it was with two fingers. Another muffled moan escaped his lover's lips as John took pleasure from the dual sensations of Sherlock's long, dextrous fingers inside him and the wet, sensual mouth on his excited flesh. Three fingers were accepted with only the smallest of grunts and as soon as Sherlock felt that John was ready he pulled his fingers free and allowed his lover's crimson-hued organ to fall from his mouth. "Sherlock," John husked softly. "Please, my love." "Don't worry, beloved. I'll take care of you. I'm going to be so deep inside you that you will feel me in your heart." "You're already indelibly there," John whispered, earning a deep kiss. Grinning wickedly, Sherlock wrapped John's lithe legs around his waist, slicked his twitching tumescence and pressed its tip to the glistening portal to paradise. "Ready?" he asked. John nodded frantically. Sherlock looked down at John spread beneath him. "I love you so much," he said softly as he nuzzled his nose against his lover's. He pushed forward. His face was a study in concentration as he maintained his control, feeling tight muscles squeezing his rampant flesh. He heard John's slight grunt as his slender channel slowly accepted the desired invasion. Sherlock saw him bite down on his lip as John bore down and gave a small sound of relief as the bulbous head of Sherlock's arousal pushed past the guardian ring Hard flesh slid forward until Sherlock was buried halfway. Giving his lover a moment to recover, the older man slid in the rest of the way. They both groaned as his ball sac slapped lightly against John's nether cheeks. "Are you well?" Sherlock asked as he looked down at his younger lover. He carefully manoeuvred until he could entwine his hands with John's and the younger man's legs came up to wrap around his waist. "Love me," came the softly spoken demand. Their mouths met and their ragged breaths mingled, capturing each other's moans. Sherlock smiled and diligently obeyed. He pulled himself back before thrusting forward again, the head of his shaft brushing back and forth against John's prostate. His rhythm was quickly established. His thrusts were long and slow and left John quivering in their wake, his lover's pelvis lifting with each thrust to meet him and deepen the penetration of his body. He tilted his hips, eager to savour each stroke of tight flesh surrounding his member. "More," John begged. Unable to deny his lover, Sherlock increased his pace. Long and slow became short, stabbing motions that drove both John and himself wild. Sherlock relished pushing deeper into the satiny heat of his younger lover. John's body jerked helplessly with each movement, his hands clinging to Sherlock's shoulders and his legs still locked about his waist. The pleasurable spot inside John was unerringly struck with each thrust of Sherlock's hips and soon the younger man was whimpering beneath him. Feeling his impending orgasm Sherlock reached between them and began to stroke John's neglected manhood. It had leaked copious amounts of pearlescent fluid that slicked his strokes. John threw back his head with a desperate moan and Sherlock quickly took advantage of this and bit down gently on John's exposed throat. He pulled and caressed, twisting his wrist and tugging to heighten the sensations for his lover. John was on the cusp of his release and cried out into Sherlock's open mouth as his sensitive gland was struck again and again. With a muffled yelp John's orgasm detonated and creamy fluid erupted from the organ Sherlock milked. The sudden clenching of John's inner muscles pulled Sherlock into his own climax. With a final few feral thrusts, he came inside John, shooting his seed deep inside his lover's still-quivering channel. They lay together for some time, simply kissing each other's skin as Sherlock held John tightly. The older man was still inside his lover and was reluctant to pull out. He liked to stay inside John's body as long as possible. Sherlock looked at his mate and smiled contentedly. John's eyes had closed, his kiss-bruised lips were upturned and his face seemed to possess a beatific glow. For everything Sherlock had achieved in his life, nothing meant more to him than seeing John like this and basking in their shared post-coital bliss. There had been a time he truly believed he was incapable of loving or being loved, but with his inimitable quiet determination, John had taught him otherwise. He tucked John's head under his chin. Nature was taking its course and he was slipping from the haven of his lover's body. He kissed John's temple and let himself drift. **** Watching the youthful face in repose, Grayson would have thought his rescued waif still a boy. However, John was certain he had probably turned twenty and was possibly a little older. The feelings of protectiveness that washed over him every time he gazed at the sleeping youth surprised him. He made no pretence of the fact that he preferred his own sex to that of the so-called 'fairer'. However, his history was of those more like himself, tall, broad and athletic. He had also always been attracted to those with similar dark hair. He glanced again at the sleeping form; slight, slender and with hair like spun gold. The youth was as far removed from his usual preferences as it was possible to be and yet...Grayson shook his head. It was gross folly to even be thinking such things. Even if John and Sherlock were not correct about the young man, he was still far too traumatised for Grayson's mind to be wandering down those paths. The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price A soft sound of distress had the older man reach out to rub at a thin shoulder. "You're safe, you're with friends, just sleep," he crooned softy. He caught the merest hint of beautiful green eyes as lids fluttered briefly and then closed again. They had been lush and verdant and Grayson wanted to see them radiating joy rather than the flash of fear he had glimpsed. He found himself silently and irrationally vowing he would do anything he could to ensure it. **** A soft groan alerted a lightly dozing Grayson that his charge was waking. He ran his hand through his hair as if it would make it any less unruly and sat a little straighter. It suddenly seemed imperative to Grayson that the younger man thought well of him. He watched entranced as the other man's face scrunched as he began to awaken. Something must have alerted the blond to the fact he was somewhere different as the green eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. From a defensive position, his knees high and the blankets pulled close around him, he stared at Grayson who resisted every impulse to move to try placating the scared young man. "Who are you? Where am I? Where is he?" The questions came almost without breath and the fear and misery seemed to radiate in waves from the blond. Grayson smiled and kept his voice as soft and reassuring as he could. "My name is Grayson Black. I own a Pharmacy in the Strand. You are in the home of my best friends, you may have heard of their names; Dr John Watson and Mr Sherlock Holmes. You dashed in front of my cab and were injured in the process. Dr Watson felt you were not injured enough to require hospitalisation and so you are still in 221B Baker Street. This is his bedroom. As for your last question," Grayson shook his head. "I don't know who you are asking about." "I have a nightshirt," the young man said, fingering the garment as if it were made of delicate and costly material. "It's Dr Watson's," Grayson said softly, inordinately pleased to see the drawn up knees slowly lower. "He thought you would feel more comfortable wearing it." "Good morning." The sound of John's gentle voice from the doorway had Grayson turn towards his friend. "He slept well, John," he said with a smile. "That's good to hear," John said. "Mrs Hudson has just brought up some tea. Why don't you go wash, shave and join Sherlock and our young friend and I will join you presently." "Alright, John," Grayson said. As he stood, he gave the blond a reassuring smile. If he was honest, he wanted to stay, but understood that as a Doctor, John needed privacy with his patient. He quietly closed the door behind him and returned the smile that Sherlock sent his way. "John's left clean towels out in the bathroom," Sherlock said. "He's also left shaving equipment for you. How is your boy?" "He slept well, Sherlock," Grayson said. "But he was afraid when he woke." "John will soon put him at ease," Sherlock soothed, sensing his friend's unspoken concern. "He will probably react better if we all appear calm and at ease in his presence. Go and clean up and I'll have some tea ready for you," Sherlock added. He watched as the younger man nodded and headed away from him. Grayson's protectiveness was admirable, but if John was correct, the youth would need a little distance, as well as protectiveness, from the men to give him time to recuperate from his ordeal. "My name is John Watson, as I'm sure Grayson has told you," John said as he walked slowly towards the bed, keeping his arms at his sides and sitting in the chair vacated by his friend. "Would you mind if I checked your temperature?" he asked, holding up a thermometer. "Just take it in your mouth and keep it under your tongue. May I have your wrist?" He smiled as a hand reached towards him. He studied his pocket watch, pleased that there was a strong regular beat and even more pleased to see there were no signs of fever when he checked the thermometer. "All very good," he praised. "Now, would you care to tell me your name?" "P...P...Price, Price Baker," the youth stuttered and flinched involuntarily. "Don't be afraid, Price," John soothed. "He didn't want you to use your name did he?" he asked. He was not surprised at the shake of the blond's head. "He called you something...neutral and demeaning?" "Pet. He said I was his pet," Price said, tears falling silently. "He...he said if I did what he wanted, when he wanted things would go well, but if I disobeyed in any way I would be punished harshly." "He can't hurt you now, Price. Can you tell me his name?" "His name was Le Compte de Lys. I was only allowed to call him Sir or Master," Price said. "Where did he meet you?" John asked softly. "In the jewellers in which I was an apprentice. My parents died while I was still quite young and the only family I had was an elderly aunt. She did not know what to do with me and so sent me to Boarding School. I did well academically and one of her friends knew Mr Dale, who owned a jewellery shop. I liked him and he liked me and we worked well together. However, he had a son who was only interested in profit. The shop made a modest profit, but Hamilton wanted it making more. I used to see him looking at me and thought he disliked me, but now...I'm not sure what he was thinking." "And the Count?" John prodded quietly. "He came in as a customer and he and Hamilton talked quietly together for a long time. Mr Dale was going away for a week not long after and the first day he was gone, I was sent to...to the Count. He made tea and it tasted wrong and it must have been drugged. When I awoke I was no longer in my home town. I was in his country home, naked, isolated. He said that no one would look for me as Hamilton had my resignation saying that I now had a much more lucrative position with...the Count." John let a soft sigh escape him. It was a similar enough pattern - beautiful youths with no one to notice or care they were missing, bought and sold into slavery. He looked at the blond who stared at him with wide, fearful green eyes. "You need not be afraid, Price," he said. "You will not be sent back to that monster." "But I have nowhere to go. I could not go back to my aunt, not after...after...and the...the Count told me that Mr Dale had retired to let his son run the business." John could hear the increasing panic in the younger man and cautiously laid his hand on the blond's forearm. "Don't worry, Price. Mr Holmes and I can let you stay here awhile. I would not be happy releasing you from my care until your injuries are healed more and you have proven able to eat healthily. Now I shall bring in some water and towels as well as one of my robes. It will be long, but I'm sure you won't mind that. I would like you to talk to Mr Holmes and Mr Black is very concerned for your health." "Grayson?" Price whispered his voice uncertain. "Yes, Grayson. I'm certain he would be very pleased to see you sitting out with us and having some breakfast. Mrs Hudson is very eager to ensure you eat heartily. There is a commode beneath the bed if you have need of it." Left alone with his accoutrements for his toilet, including shaving equipment and a comb, Price determinedly went through the basic ritual. For the first week of his captivity, he had been forced to ask for a commode to relieve himself and he had been prohibited from washing himself or using a comb. His...the Count had done that for him. He had been made to learn that he depended on the Count's good will for even the very basic necessities of his life. And he had hated it. The privacy and time to take care of his ablutions made him feel more in control of his life. He donned the robe, smiling a little as it did indeed drag along the floor by a good couple of inches. He tied it tightly; checking to make sure his body was covered from neck downwards and took a deep breath as he stood at the door that led out of the bedroom. He watched his hand reach out and watched it shake. Leaving a room had been something he only did when accompanied by the Count or one of his minions. The rest of the time he had been locked in a room, naked. He gave a shudder. He may not know for certain these men were who they claimed to be, but none had attempted to harm him in any way. He had prayed for release from the Count and now he hesitated on the cusp. Taking another breath, he clutched the handle, turned it and pulled open the door. The homely, mundane life before him had tears pricking at his eyelids. Dr Watson was pouring tea from a silver pot. Grayson and another man were playing chess. He offered a timid smile of his own as Dr Watson beamed warmly at him. "Do you take milk and sugar?" he asked as he finished pouring a cup and took it over to the man playing chess with Grayson. "Mrs Hudson will be up in a few minutes with breakfast. She wanted to give you a full-blown cooked breakfast, but I wasn't sure your stomach would be able to cope just yet. I've opted for some porridge and a boiled egg with bread and butter. Do not feel obliged to eat everything. Just as much as you're comfortable with." "I like milk and no sugar, Sir," Price whispered. "I'm glad to see you looking so well, Price." At the warm voice, Price turned to regard the man sitting opposite Grayson. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. Dr Watson explained your dilemma regarding habitation. You are more than welcome to remain here for as long as you need. I would like to look into this Compte de Lys. I have no desire for any other young man to fall into his clutches. There is no need to worry about speaking of him now. We can wait until you have recovered some of your strength. Please sit." Price looked at the chair indicated and sat down in front of a warming fire. He accepted the tea, but found he was unable to drink, memories of another time and another tea burning in his memory. He wondered how he was going to overcome his fear when an older lady bustled into the room after rapping sharply on the door. "So this is our young guest," she smiled. "I'm Mrs Hudson and I look after Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. Drink up, dear, I'll make some more. I was thinking of a nice steak and kidney pudding, Dr Watson," she added turning to the smiling physician. Slightly dazed, Price did as he was bidden and sipped at the tea. It was as warm and welcoming as the older lady herself. "I think perhaps that might be too much for Price's stomach to manage," John said, ignoring the soft whine of disappointment from his lover. "For today I think Price might manage your nourishing soup for lunch and we could have your incomparable chicken with dumplings for dinner. The pudding could be tomorrow if Price is able to manage today's fare." "Poor wee thing," Mrs Hudson cooed, turning back to Price. "Dr Watson did say you'd been unwell. But never mind, he'll soon have you fit and well. Will you be returning for dinner, Mr Black?" "I hadn't thought..." Grayson said. He was unwilling to leave but he knew he must. He glanced over at Price who seemed to silently plead with his eyes...although that could be wishful thinking on his part. "Of course he will," Sherlock said decisively. Grayson let out a breath he had not realised he was holding as he saw Price smile at Sherlock's words. "I would be delighted," he supplied, grinning at his friends. "Then that's settled," Sherlock said. "I'll be up with breakfast and some more tea," Mrs Hudson said as she bustled towards the door. "I think the young man would do well with one of my milk junkets. I'll bake some scones as well for elevenses." "Mrs Hudson likes nothing more than feeding us up," John said with an affectionate smile. "She will enjoy working her way through her extensive repertoire to fatten you, Price." The blond gave a shy smile and pinkened. It had been a long time since he had been treated so kindly. He took a bigger sip of the tea, enjoying its slight bitterness. He then watched wide-eyed as Mrs Hudson began to bring breakfast. While he was settled with porridge, creamed and sugared, accompanied by tea and toast to accompany a soft-boiled egg, the table was quickly filled with other delicacies. He watched as bacon, eggs, sausages, yet more toast, black pudding, butter and preserves were laid out. "Eat up, gentlemen," Mrs Hudson called from the doorway. "I can make more if you need it." "She means it, too," Sherlock said as he began to fill his plate. "We're lucky to have her." "I will have to leave for work after this," Grayson said as he lavishly buttered his toast. "Perhaps I can call back later?" "Of course," John said. "You're always welcome and I'm sure Price would be glad of a different face after being stuck with Sherlock or myself all day." "Thank you," Grayson said. He glanced at Price to see the young man looking at him. As their eyes met, Price blushed and resumed his attention on the porridge before him. As much as he appreciated the care shown to him by Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, he found himself wishing that Grayson could stay. All too soon for him, breakfast was over. He found himself unable to stifle a yawn. "Why don't you return to bed and sleep a while," John said indulgently. "Please, can I stay here, with you and Mr Holmes?" Price asked. He was tired, but he did not want to be alone in the bedroom. "Of course," John smiled. "I'll make up the couch for you." "I'll see you later, Price," Grayson said softly as he bade farewell to the younger man. "Your wife will be missing you," Price said, then blushed hotly, mortified at his words. What was he thinking? A finger under his chin forced his eyes to meet those of the older man and all they held were affection and amusement. "I have no wife, no fiancée and no one special in my life. At least, I hadn't," Grayson said, his voice quiet. "You can trust me, Price. I'll do all that I can to help you resume your life." "Thank you." The words were mouthed, Price unable to make a sound as tears misted his eyes and emotion constricted his throat. He found himself turned and tenderly escorted to the chaise lounge under a large window which was now adorned with pillows and blankets. He let himself be guided to lie down and the covers were tucked warmly around him. "John and Sherlock will take good care of you," Grayson said. "Rest well, Price. Price nodded, closing his eyes. He was certain that the conflicting thoughts and emotions would prohibit sleep, but he was wrong. **** When Price awoke, he noticed that Dr Watson was sitting reading a newspaper and that Mr Holmes was missing. He also noticed several large packages piled up at the side of his make-shift bed. "How are you feeling, Price?" John asked. He knew it was important to keep emphasising the younger man's name. "Very well, Dr Watson," Price said. He did indeed feel much better. His various aches had almost disappeared. "Good. Then perhaps you would like to dress and sit with me for a while," John smiled. "I have no clothes..." Price began and then stared as Dr Watson indicated the packages. "Mr Holmes has a very accurate eye. I have no doubts that most, if not all, he has purchased will fit. Go try them on. We can exchange anything too big or small." "But I have no money to repay you," Price said in a tiny voice. "Your health and well-being are payment enough. It is the purpose of all Mr Holmes and I do, protecting the innocent." "Thank you, Dr Watson," Price said, his voice husky with emotion. Picking up the packages, Price went into the bedroom to change. The clothing was plain, but good quality and, as Dr Watson had predicted, fitted perfectly. It was a relief not to wear expensive silk or clothes that were either loose or tight-fitting dependent on the Count's preference. Looking in the mirror of the dresser he saw himself as he had been some six months earlier. He refused to give in to the tears. He could not turn back the clock and undo what had happened. All he could do was ensure that it did not destroy his future. Neither Dr Watson nor Mr Holmes had treated him with anything less than respect and consideration. He was still a little surprised that his feelings for Grayson seemed to be more than just gratitude or burgeoning friendship. The older man made him feel safe and secure. When Grayson looked at him, Price felt warm, safe, even cared for. It was all so different than with the Count where all he had ever felt was cold, imperilled and frightened. Taking a fortifying breath, he returned to the living room and basked in Dr Watson's radiant smile. "Perfect," John enthused. "Mr Holmes will be immensely pleased." "Please, Dr Watson," Price began as he sat close to the older man. "I know your and Mr Holmes' names well, but you look so different in real life. Why is that?" "Mr Holmes has many dealings with the more...unsavoury members of society," John said, his eyes flitting briefly to the door as if looking for the older man to enter. "As a consequence I would not reveal his true likeness in my chronicles for fear of endangering him." Listening and watching intently, Price had a sudden insight. The two older men were more than friends. He blinked at the revelation. It occurred to him that if he had seen it, then Grayson, as a long-standing friend, must also be aware. Aware and yet remaining a good friend. A small flicker of hope took root in Price's heart. **** The four new friends enjoyed an excellent dinner. The remainder of lunch's soup was served as an entree, chicken and dumplings were the main meal and a milk junket for pudding. Even as Mrs Hudson was clearing away the dinner dishes, she was already murmuring about sandwiches and cake for supper. Considering he had done little except eat and sleep, Price was surprised at how tired he was. As Grayson, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson settled, he found himself yawning and unable to hide it. "Perhaps you should retire," John said as he noticed the second yawn from their young guest. "Please may I stay here," Price asked anxiously. "I don't want to be alone," he added softly. "Then take off your shoes and jacket and you can stretch out on the chaise lounge," John offered. "I'm sure Grayson will be here for a while." "I'd like that," Grayson confirmed as he accepted a brandy from Sherlock. He had hoped to talk to the young man, but that could wait. The look in Sherlock's eyes suggested the older man had something on his mind. As Price settled he tried to focus on the older men's voices but they were too soft and soon the gentle drone lulled him to sleep. The conversation remained light until Sherlock was sure that Price was sleeping. He nodded at their guest. "I have some news," he murmured, his voice dropping in volume as he spoke. "It seems our young guest's moment of escape was well planned or well fated, more likely the latter. It happened when his carriage was opposite a narrow alleyway. He emerged into a busy street, across a road and then into your path, Grayson. It threw more than one carriage into uproar and attracted rather a large crowd. His pursuer was unable to get close enough to see who had taken Price." "How do you know all this?" asked Grayson, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I've been sniffing around and employed a few of the Irregulars to ferret about. There is a modest reward for information as to where Price may be found. It seems our Count is both reluctant, and arrogant enough, not to want to lose his prize so easily." "Then Price is still in danger?" asked Grayson. "I have made it known the boy has my protection. What I need now is to move him from here," Sherlock said. "He can come with me," Grayson said immediately. "Robert can help me train him in pharmacy. He can remain hidden in the back, ordering and checking supplies and refilling the jars." The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price "A good idea, Sherlock," John nodded. "It will give Price something to focus on and he clearly feels comfortable with Grayson." "I agree," Sherlock nodded. "I want him to be comfortable where he goes as I do not want him too timid to venture outside, but he also has to be wary until we know the Count is no longer a threat. The pharmacy sounds ideal. A job will help build his confidence, away from prying eyes, good reason for John or me to be there. A perfect arrangement if Price agrees." A soft sound of distress had Grayson at Price's side instantly, tenderly soothing the younger man until dazed green eyes opened. He felt pride and pleasure suffuse him as the eyes warmed and tenseness evaporated from the lithe frame. "I had a bad dream," Price whispered. "Don't worry," Grayson smiled. "It will take some time to remember you are free. Would you care to join us now?" he asked. "Yes," Price agreed. Grayson seemed to make everything so easy. It was even better to find that he was able to sit next to the older man. "We have some things to discuss with you, Price," Sherlock said, smiling as the younger man became instantly alert. "Now, let's start with Grayson's excellent suggestion." **** Looking around the pharmacy's store room, Price gave a smile of triumph. He had been elated to find he could live and work with Grayson, nervous about the lingering attention from the Count and anxious to make a good impression in front of people that Grayson considered his friends as well as employees. As a consequence, he had listened carefully to all the instructions given him by both Grayson and Robert and had applied himself diligently. Therefore all the unopened boxes that had needed checking and bottling or storing had been cleared. He had re-stocked the main pharmacy after hours and ensured that the pharmacy back room had also been adequately stocked. He had positively glowed under Robert's praise and had now completed his first order to have Grayson's signature to authorise. "Is everything ready?" Grayson's voice, warm and soft, seemed to almost caress Price's ears. He turned and smiled at the older man. "Yes. I have it here. I think I have it the way you like," Price said, passing the order to Grayson. Their fingertips touched fleetingly and they smiled. There were many such small touches and Price adored them all. He was certain the older man cared for him and was taking things slowly and it made Price love him all the more. He was not ready for anything more than they currently shared, but he relished each light touch, each warm smile and word of praise that Grayson uttered. Returning the smile, Grayson studied the order form. His smile widened as he found no errors in the younger man's work. "Excellent, Price," he praised. "You've done so well, you deserve a treat." "Treat?" Price asked, his eyes wide. "It has been a habit of mine to dine once a month at a restaurant. I'd like you to come with me." Grayson took hold of Price's hand tenderly. "I would be very pleased if you would do me the honour of dining with me, Price," he said softly. "I would love to," Price breathed, his voice full of joy and wonder. He gave an incandescent smile as Grayson lifted the hand he held to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. "You go and fill the bath and bathe first. I can follow you in and you can dress in my bedroom," Grayson offered. "Thank you," Price said, his voice betraying his pent-up emotion. He daringly drew the older man's bigger hand to his lips for a swift kiss of his own before scurrying to the stairs beyond the storeroom. He did not look back and so did not see the look of delight on Grayson's face. **** The restaurant was large and well-patroned. Price had never been to a restaurant before and cast anxious eyes at Grayson when he saw the menu had been composed in French. He felt a warm flush throughout his lithe frame as Grayson murmured the words in French and then translated them into English. The older man's voice had dropped to a low, sensual purr as he expertly spoke the foreign tongue and Price struggled not to writhe in his seat. In the end, Grayson decided for them both. To start they would have beef consommé, their main course would be chicken a la crème and for dessert a tarte tatin. It would cost him little enough to pay for Price, but the look of joy on the younger man's face was worth a King's ransom. The food was as excellent as always and Grayson even indulged them in a bottle of good burgundy. He was careful how much was poured for Price, aware the younger man was unused to alcohol. However, it did serve to make Price more talkative. Grayson very quickly learnt of Price's life. His heart skipped a beat as Price inadvertently revealed that he had never really been drawn to ladies. "Do you think, in time, you might perhaps be drawn towards me?" he asked softly. If the answer was no, he would have to keep his burgeoning affection under strict control. "I think I might love you," Price whispered dreamily, then looked aghast at what he had just revealed. However, before he could shrink away from the ingenuous reply, his hand was caught fast by Grayson. "I'm very pleased to hear it. Because you are so easy for me to love, too," Grayson said, hoping his eyes conveyed the sincerity and love he felt for the younger man. For a few seconds, Grayson was afraid that his had seriously miscalculated his words and then Price's face seemed to take on a beatific glow. "You love me?" the younger man whispered. "I love you," Grayson affirmed. For long minutes the two men sat quietly, sipping the last of their drinks and savouring the intimacy they sheared despite the many patrons of the restaurant. Then Grayson sat up sharply as Price's face went deathly-pale. "Grayson, over there. It's him, it's him." Twisting slightly, Grayson saw the man who had instilled such fear in his young love. Dimly he heard himself growl like a wild beast protecting its mate. The Count was never touching Price again. Not while there was breath in Grayson's body. "He can't see you," he assured. "Keep still and your head down." Grayson glanced around and spied the waiter that so regularly served him. Catching the younger man's eyes he was relieved that he need not draw attention to himself as the waiter hurried to attend to him. "Yes, Sir?" the waiter asked. "I'm sorry, Pierre, but my friend is starting with a migraine. I would prefer not to have to leave through the main restaurant as he is feeling light-headed and will need assistance to walk. Could you call us a cab and let us leave through the back way? I will return tomorrow to settle my bill." "Of course, Monsieur Black," Pierre instantly acquiesced. The restaurant did not want a sick man escorted from the premises in front of its other patrons. "Give me one moment." He quickly found the Maitre'D and explained the situation. He then hurried outside to arrange a cab as requested. He indicated where the vehicle was to wait and then walked with practiced ease back to the table. "Your cab is outside. If you would care to follow me, Sir?" Standing to keep Price blocked from view, Grayson urged the younger man to lean against him, turning the beautiful face into his chest to keep Price hidden. He hurried down the passage towards a side exit and ushered the slight form into the cab, almost sagging with relief. "I'll be back tomorrow, Pierre," he promised. The ride home was silent as Grayson simply clung tightly to Price's slender body as the younger man buried himself into the bigger man as if seeking sanctuary. Once home he locked the door securely and led Price into his own bedroom, detouring briefly to pick up Price's nightshirt. The younger man had been sleeping in what was little more than a cupboard that was barely big enough for the small cot on which Price slept and a tiny chest of drawers. Tonight Grayson wanted that to change. "Undress and get into my bed, Price" Grayson said. "I can either join you or sleep in your room." "With me, please," Price said. "Please don't leave me." "Never," Grayson vowed. "I will never leave you. I will just be in the bathroom getting ready," he added as he picked up his own nightshirt. He disrobed slowly, wanting Price to already be in bed when he returned. He thought it would make the younger man less nervous. Taking a deep breath to steady his own nerves, Grayson returned to his bedroom. He stood at his doorway and gazed at the beauty in his bed. The lamps on drawers either side of the bed caught Price's blond hair, giving it a warm, golden hue. He looked like a Botticelli angel or Michelangelo's David; utter perfection. "You're beautiful," he whispered as his eyes drank in the sight. Almost sagging with relief that Grayson had not changed his mind, Price held out a tremulous hand. "Come to me?" he asked hesitantly. As if the words had broken a spell that had locked him in place, Grayson moved swiftly to the bed and slid in beside the younger man. "I love you, Price," Grayson said as he hooked a finger under the younger man's chin to ensure Price looked at him as he spoke. "I love you," Price affirmed. "And...I'm yours...if you want me," he added, his voice a scant whisper of sound and his hands clenching at the bedspread so tightly his knuckles were white. "I do want you," Grayson said, his voice soft and soothing. "But not now. I do not have the necessary supplies to ease the way for our joining and you are so tense that I could not touch you intimately without hurting you. I will do all I can to make our first time special, memorable and with as much pleasure for you as I can give. For now, just let me hold you?" "Can I...can I see you?" Price whispered. He could not stop the whimper as Grayson left the bed and slowly removed his nightshirt. The darker man's chest was broad and peppered liberally with fur that tapered off towards his stomach. It then led from his navel to a thick bush that surrounded a half-hard organ of pleasing dimensions that befitted the taller man perfectly. Rising to his knees, Price removed his own nightshirt, not sure whether Grayson had seen him naked before. His head dropped as he remembered he was not the innocent he had once been. His body trembled with fear that Grayson would remember, too and no longer love or desire him. "Look at me, Price," Grayson demanded softly. He waited until the green orbs that reflected doubt and fear were focused on him. "You are beautiful and I love you. Your body is pure to me because you never chose to give yourself before. You are choosing for the first time to make love. I will honour and cherish that choice. It will be both my pleasure and privilege, to be the first you want to lie with, the first you want to share your body with, the first who will make love with you." "Hold me, Grayson, please?" Price begged, reaching out to the older man. The honestly-declared words had him blinking back tears and desperate to be in Grayson's arms. He nestled, loved and cherished, held tightly by his lover. It felt so right, so perfect that he leaned up and daringly captured Grayson's lips with his own. The kiss was gentle, sweet and chaste and then he was being tucked under Grayson's chin. He no longer feared rejection or that nightmares would invade his sleep. In the sanctuary of Grayson's arms he felt safe, secure and loved. **** The next day, Grayson and Price called round to Baker Street. Seeing the anxiety on both men's faces, John took Price aside to speak to the younger man, leaving Grayson to talk to Sherlock. Listening intently, Sherlock gave a sound of annoyance as the Count's appearance was revealed. It could have just been coincidence, but the older man could not be certain. Grayson was wound tighter than a drum and Sherlock could understand and sympathise. "Grayson," Sherlock murmured, taking the pharmacist's hand in his and forcing the anxious man to face him. "In all our time together, just three have hurt, or threatened hurt to, John. One lived to be hung only because John would not have me kill in cold blood when he was winged by his assailant's bullet. The body of Colonel Sebastian Moran will never be found and I threw the corpse of Professor Moriarty off Reichenbach Falls with a smile on my lips." Grayson stared as if he had never seen the man before him. Sherlock's smile was as chilling as the words he had recently uttered. "Much of my work is cerebral, deductive reasoning requires thinking," Sherlock said, his eyes closing briefly and then pinning Grayson with their glittering stare. "But John sanitises much of the dirty work we both do, the scum we have to rub shoulders with and the squalor in which we sometimes have to work. John's safety is as important to me as my anonymity is to him. The merest hint that he would be harmed in any way is met with zero tolerance. That is why we are still able to do this work." "But what of Price?" Grayson asked, not sure what his friend truly meant, other than a clear verbal display of the love he had for his own younger man. "I also fight to protect my friends and that which is good and pure. If this Count attempts in any way to harm Price, or kidnap him, then John and I will do all in our power to stop him. Permanently, if necessary." That statement had Grayson raise his brows. There was no mistaking its finality and Sherlock's face brokered no argument. "Thank you," he murmured. Sitting on the bedroom chair, John indicated that Price perch on the bed and listened to the younger man. Although the Count was a major concern for the younger man, so was his love for Grayson. "What if I cannot give him what he wants, Doctor Watson?" he asked, his green eyes clouded with worry. "Call me, John when you are here, Price. I would like you to consider Sherlock and me as your friends. Sherlock is still looking into the activities of the Count and has even called upon his brother Mycroft to assist. Let him deal with that concern," John said, patting the younger man's knee. "Now, as to the other..." "I do love him," Price insisted. "I'm just...just..." "Afraid," John supplied. "And understandably so, the Count treated you terribly. However, you love Grayson and he loves you. He will understand you need time. Do not force yourself before you are ready. In that direction lays disaster. Become accustomed to the loving touches that can be shared without being too intimate. Enjoy kissing. One of the things Sherlock and I like is to have the fire blazing, the lamps dimmed and set out blankets and cushions on which to lie. The warmth and muted lighting makes it cosy and as if just the two of us exist. Above all, Price, remember you are loved and Grayson wants to both receive and give pleasure. Do not try too hard." "Thank you, Doc...John. You have been a great help to me," Price said. He had much to think about. **** It had been a week since they had declared their love for each other. A week that was nearly perfect in Price's mind. Grayson and he had taken the time to talk and discover the depth of their feelings and of Price's fears. Grayson felt freer to touch Price and indulged in his new privilege whenever possible. He touched Price when they were alone, a hand on his back or stroking his hair, or occasionally, trailing fingertips across his face. From the night of their declaration Grayson would ensure Price was settled in the bed they now shared and curl protectively around him. It was wonderful and loving and chaste. Price felt the love he held for Grayson warm him as he remembered the older man's promise that that they would go slow and they had. His fear had held him back from doing little more than cuddle and kiss chastely. But now, a week on, he was ready to progress. It was time for him to bury the memories of how the Count had treated him and learn love from the man he adored and who loved him deeply enough to let him dictate their pace, no matter how slowly that might have been. "I would like us to... um...be a little...um...more intimate, Grayson," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. As much as he wanted it with his heart, it seemed his head was still a little recalcitrant. A crimson blush accompanied his stumbled words. Grayson smiled tenderly. He had known all afternoon that something was on the younger man's mind. They had eaten the dinner provided by his live-out housekeeper and they were now snugly ensconced in his tiny sitting room in front of a nicely blazing fire. "I want to be more intimate, too. But you need to be comfortable asking for what you need. If you cannot ask, you are not yet ready and we are not going to rush." It struck Grayson that they had not really kissed as yet. Not really. All Grayson had done, so far, were chaste kisses on the forehead and occasionally on the lip; a mere fleeting touch that was little more than a brief promise of things yet to come. Carefully, he drew Price towards him, angling a little so they faced each other. Price looked up at him, his verdant eyes wide, then he slowly closed the gap between them and they kissed. It was everything but chaste. It was deep, and slow, Grayson licking at the seam of Price's lips and groaning his delight as they parted. His tongue slid forward, tasting the sweet depths of the younger man's mouth. He was elated as he felt his lover's shyer muscle slide alongside his more adventurous one. Before he realised what had happened, they had moved to stretch out on the couch, Price on top of him, their mouths never losing contact. For a long time, they followed an easy pace, cuddling and kissing. Their shirts melted away in the heat of their passion, revealing new areas in which to delight. Grayson revelled in the smooth, alabaster skin of his younger lover and Price adored nuzzling his face and lips over the dark fur of Grayson's chest. Finally Grayson pulled back a little, letting them lie wrapped in one another's arms. Price sighed happily laying his head trustingly on Grayson's chest. "Let's go to bed," Grayson suggested. "You go get ready. I'll make sure everything is secure here." Dropping a kiss to the older man's lips, Price obeyed. Standing in the bedroom, his nightshirt in hand, he nibbled anxiously on his lower lip and then made a decision. He folded the garment and left it over the chair in the corner of the room. Then he slipped naked into bed and waited. As Grayson entered, he saw Price who looked at him. He appeared so small and vulnerable in the huge bed. Then the older man noticed that Price's torso was naked. He glanced at the chair and saw the younger man's nightshirt. Slowly, he removed his own and folded it to join Price's. He got into bed beside his lover and pulled the covers up. Then he reached out and put an arm around Price, drawing him close. Price settled cuddled against him with contented sigh. They ended up the way they had been on the sofa, with Price's head on Grayson's chest, Grayson's strong arms cradling his lover protectively. "This is nice," Price said. "Yes it is," Grayson agreed happily. He had initially thought they could cuddle, kiss a little, and go to sleep. However, having Price naked in his bed, in his arms, he suddenly felt the need to do something more. It had been easy to remain chaste and keep desire in abeyance when Price was not ready for anything intimate, but now the feel of a naked and aroused Price was almost overwhelming. All his instincts were demanding he do something to mark his mate, his beloved. He slowly rolled so Price was beneath him and began kissing down his lover's neck and then his chest. "Is this alright, my love?" he asked. "Yes, oh, yes," Price whimpered. Tentatively he carded his hands through Grayson's hair and then guided him downwards. "Please?" he begged. The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price Grayson smiled and kissed one perfect, pink nipple, lightly teasing it to tautness. The soft moans from Price vocalised the younger man's pleasure as the older man tasted more of his precious love. Finally he moved his lips upwards and kissed the area above Price's heart. Then he took a succulent morsel of sweet flesh between his teeth, sucked determinedly and gave a little nip that would leave a small mark. With his eyes gleaming, he looked at it, this visual sign of possession, of love. He moved upwards and kissed Price's lips once more. Price returned the kiss knowing he now bore his lover's mark. Nestling in Grayson's protective arms he was asleep in seconds, a soft smile of contentment curving his lips. **** That night started a gentle, loving and relaxed pattern for the next few days. Evenings were spent cuddling, talking, kissing and with caressing that grew bolder and bolder. Grayson paced it slowly, and was delighted when Price would shyly initiate something new. His natural curiosity and gradually evolving eagerness made Grayson feel as if he himself was learning how to love, and make love, seeing it through the eyes of his younger lover. They lay naked together, facing one another. Price's hands were exploring the topography of his lover's strong, furred frame, travelling down Grayson's side, pausing at his waist and then tracing over his hip. In return Grayson's hands ran down the smooth skin of Price's back, resting on his buttocks. Price made a sound of need and inched closer. The move brought his groin into direct contact with Grayson's hip. A similar sound escaped Grayson's lips as the touch instantly inflamed him. Their caresses had not gone as far as this before. For a time they explored hips and buttocks, but avoided contact with genitals. Grayson was avoiding pressing his hips up, not wanting to startle Price or make the younger man feel he had to do more before he was ready. Making a unilateral decision, Grayson stopped and pulled Price to his chest, kissed him in a slow, sensual melding of the lips, then cuddled him against his chest. Price already understood that this was Grayson's way of indicating that it was time to stop, and he obediently settled back. He silently gave heart-felt thanks that it had been Grayson who had rescued him and who loved him. Price nestled against the warm solidity of his lover. He was sure he needed to initiate the final step. Grayson was a man of honour and would do nothing Price was not ready for. "Sleep well, my love," Grayson whispered, dropping a last kiss to the top of Price's blond hair. "Goodnight, Grayson. I love you," Price replied. As he felt sleep claiming him, a decision was made for the morning. **** A sensation awoke Grayson, feather light touches, so light he could barely detect them, traced over his chest. The fingers reached his groin, hesitated and then began to retreat. Opening his eyes, Grayson raised one hand to cover Price's. "You are free to touch me," he said. He met Price's gaze, it was equal parts embarrassment, nervousness and love. Grayson trailed a finger across Price's lips. "Lovers touch each other." He moved to kiss where his fingers had touched. "Now, you were..." Grayson guided Price's hand back down. However, he was careful to place it close to, not on, his rising shaft. Slender fingers carefully encircled his penis, which was fully erect and beginning to weep tears of pre-come. Price gazed levelly at his lover and, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence, he stroked the eager organ. His movements became bolder as arousal began to take over. Unable to restrain himself, Grayson made a rumbling sound of pleasure and Price looked at him curiously. "It feels so good, my love," Grayson husked. "Truly?" Grayson smiled at the thrilled tone in Price's voice. Clearly encouraged, Price continued his ministrations. His hand ran up and down the thick shaft, occasionally rubbing over the tip to spread pre-come or cupping and rolling the heavy ballsac beneath. Grayson closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations and letting Price take his time and explore. All too soon, Grayson caught his lover's hand gently, stilling the younger man. "Did I do something wrong?" Price asked puzzlement in his expressive verdant orbs. "Not at all," Grayson managed to gasp. "I am close to spilling and I would like us to spill together," he added as he slid an arm under Price, drawing him close. His other hand hovered above Price's erection, which was as alert and eager as his own. "Yes." The single word was barely above a whisper, but there was no hesitation or uncertainty, only eagerness and excitement. Grayson found that the anticipation of giving pleasure to the young man in his arms was more exciting, more arousing and more sexually intoxicating than anything he had ever done before. Grayson moved them a bit again, making them both comfortable, gathering Price against him, their eyes locked on one another's until Grayson touched his lover's penis, then Price's eyes drifted shut. "Oh, Grayson," he breathed. The touch was every bit as tender and loving as Grayson himself and Price almost came undone at the first stroke. His mind briefly compared the rough, demanding handling he had endured and then pushed it into the oblivion it deserved. Grayson was sharing pleasure, sharing love and there was no comparison. He relaxed into the touches and quickly matched the rhythm Grayson set, drawing a pleasured gasp from his lover. It could not last, both men too eager, too close to their fulfilment. Price could sense his impending release. The added joy of being with someone who truly loved him, and whom he adored, during this intimate act was driving him almost to distraction as he desperately tried to keep his hand moving. He was torn between the increasing euphoria he was feeling and wanting to pleasure his lover. "G...Grayson, I...I..." "I know, my love." Grayson whispered in his ear. "Relax and spill for me." The older man could feel the building pressure in Price's penis and the instinctive pumping motions of his lover's hips as the young man arched into Grayson's touch. Grayson groaned as he felt Price determinedly increase the movement of his hand on his own manhood. Within a few more seconds later, Price lost his control as he came. "Grayson," he cried aloud. Even as his orgasm crashed over him in wave after wave of ecstasy, he managed to continue his strokes on his lover. His reward was a shout from the older man and semen bathing his hand and abdomen, some droplets reaching as far as his chest. The world around him greyed as his orgasm peaked and he lay limp in its aftermath as it finally abated. Exhausted, he buried his head into the broad shoulder under him. Still gasping from his own intense release, Grayson rolled onto his back, pulling Price on top of him. It took him several moments to regain his breath. He opened his eyes, which had closed during the intense orgasm to see his lover's face wreathed with an almost a beatific glow. "Thank you, my sweet one. I love you," Grayson whispered, pressing a kiss to the younger man's temple. "I love you. I never knew it could be so...so wonderful, so fulfilling," Price whispered back. "I promise our love-making will always be that way, Price," Grayson vowed. Clutching tightly to the bigger man, Price let himself drift. In Grayson's arms it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist and nothing and no one could touch them or mar their joy. **** A rap at their door had Sherlock and John look up. Sherlock was reading and John was updating one of their many scrapbooks of cases. "There's a gentleman to see you, Mr Holmes," Mrs Hudson announced. "Show him in," Sherlock said. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the visitor; the Compte de Lys. Hair of salt and pepper colouring, eyes hooded, grey and cold and thin lips encircled by a moustache and well-trimmed goatee. The man was broad of chest as well as tall and projected an aura of power and strength. His demeanour was arrogant as he strode forward, barely waiting for the invitation to enter as he swept past Mrs Hudson. His eyes locked with Sherlock's and his lips gave a small twist in imitation of a smile. "Mr Holmes, I wondered if our paths would ever meet," the Count said, his English perfect although accented. "And Dr Watson, of course," he added turning slightly to regard the other man. His lips curved as his eyes devoured the younger man. "The description I received of you did not do you justice." "Is there a purpose to your visit?" Sherlock asked from between clenched teeth. He wanted nothing more than to simply pick up the Count and toss him from the window like the unwelcome garbage that he was. "Not so long ago I lost something of mine. I do not take kindly to losing my possessions, especially when they are then kept from me. I know it was here and I have no doubt you know its current whereabouts. I am not ready to give up this possession so easily," the Count said, his eyes sliding back to John once more. "I am certain that you would not want to experience damage... or similar loss to a precious possession of yours, Mr Holmes." "Any threat to what is mine would be met with whatever action I deemed necessary to ensure its safety, Count. I protect what is mine as well as that which is unable to protect itself from marauding predators," Sherlock said, his voice low and deadly. "I see," the Count said. He turned to regard John more openly. "You, too, like beauty and elegance, mon ami. It is a shame we will part as adversaries in this case. I am not a man to make an enemy of, Mr Holmes. My reach is long, as those I have defeated will attest." "Many of those I have defeated are hung or jailed, my dear Count," Sherlock said. "Others will never be found," he added, his voice cold and hard. "Do not underestimate me or my reach and do not assume I would not do anything I believed to be necessary, or fight to my last breath, to protect what is mine." "I see," the Count responded, his voice bored and dismissive. He moved to stand close to John. "You are truly quite exquisite, and equally quite wasted on one so willing to put you in harm's way." "I fully endorse everything Holmes has said, Count. I will stand by his side as always." "A shame," the Count shrugged. "But, c'est la guerre. To the victor, the spoils, Mr Holmes," he added, letting the detective see his blatant leer in Watson's direction. "Let him go, Sherlock," John whispered soothingly as Holmes stood, fists clenching and unclenching menacingly as the door closed behind the Count. "If he ever, ever, lays a single finger on you, or harms a single hair on your head, I will kill him, John. You have my promise on it." Knowing that there was only one thing he could do, John guided Sherlock to their bedroom, before ringing for Mrs Hudson. "I'm afraid Mr Holmes has one of his migraines," he said softly to the older woman at the door to their room. "I am going to give him a shoulder massage and then leave him to rest. Please ensure we have no visitors unless it is Mr Mycroft, Mr Black or Mr Baker and use the buzzer we installed if you send anyone up. That will give me time to wake Mr Holmes." "Of course," Mrs Hudson said. "You take care of him and if you need anything, just ring. I'll take care of everything, Dr Watson. You'll not be disturbed." John smiled as she bustled away. He was certain she knew exactly what they were doing. One of her nephews had his own male lover and they were as much a devoted couple as he and Sherlock. They claimed to be cousins and no one batted an eyelid at their residing together, especially with Mrs Hudson visiting on a regular basis. Locking the door, he headed to the bedroom. Sherlock was already naked in the bed and John quickly shed his own clothes to join his lover. He straddled the older man, peppering the beloved face with kisses, letting Holmes' hands rove imperiously over his body. They reached behind him, slick and probing and John relaxed, allowing the brusque demand. He knew Sherlock would only be appeased when he was surrounded by and buried inside him, reclaiming what another had coveted. He felt strong hands cup and spread his nether cheeks. In response he reached back to seat the blunt head of his lover's sex against his opening. With a sigh he lowered himself, accepting inch after inch of hot, hard, thick flesh. Once Sherlock was buried to the root, John leaned forward and began dropping random kisses to his lover's face as the older man's hips pumped steadily and strongly. He gasped as a demanding hand began to pull almost roughly on his upstanding rod. It took little time before the sharp jabs to his prostate, and the demanding tugs to his flesh, resulted in his crème pumping over Sherlock's stomach as his lover's seed jetted into his contracting channel. As he panted through his release, he was pulled tightly against the older man and Sherlock's tongue possessed his mouth. When the last of his lover's essence had emptied into him, John was rolled onto his back and he watched, heavy-lidded, as the older man crouched over him, licking him clean. He moaned softly as the pink tongue delved lower, sliding down the crease between groin and thigh, over his depleted sac and then laved sensually and slowly over his entrance. Finally he was gathered into strong arms and he nestled comfortably against his lover. "I love you, Sherlock. I'm yours, body, heart and soul and only yours," John whispered. "You are mine," Sherlock said possessively. "As I am ever yours," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to John's temple. "No man lives that touches what is mine. The Count is already a dead man walking," he added darkly as he heard John's breaths become gentle and even. He held in his arms his most precious possession, his dearest friend, his staunchest ally and the man he loved above all others. John was his saviour, his humanity, the one who had bothered to look beneath the shell of cold logic to find the man starved of love and affection. Without him, Holmes knew he would be little more than a flesh-and-blood, calculating machine. No one touched, or threatened to touch, John with impunity. **** The day in the pharmacy had gone well and both Grayson and Price were tired but happy when they retired to their rooms. A warming chicken casserole was in the oven for them and the accompanying vegetables were with it. There was also a cinnamon-scented apple pie for dessert. Grayson smiled affectionately as his lover immediately began to set the table for them. They sat to the simple, but deliciously filling meal before settling on the small couch and cuddling affectionately. Their intimacy had been growing incrementally over the past few days and Grayson knew Price was building slowly towards a demand regarding their love-making. The older man was more than content to let the younger dictate the pace. He smiled as Price raised a hand and lightly touched his face, ensuring their eyes met. "Make love to me?" The half request and half demand had Grayson smiling. He turned his head and kissed the palm of Price's hand. "Always," he whispered tenderly. "I will always make love with you." His hands moved to open the shirt that impeded his access to his lover's chest as Price eagerly reciprocated. Their lips met and parted again and again, becoming more heated with each exchanged. Whimpering softly, Price moved to straddle Grayson's thighs. Taking advantage of the movement, Grayson's lips travelled down Price's neck and chest and began teasing pink nipples. The younger man arched up into the suction, groaning seductively. The older man sucked harder, knowing the plump, ripe nubs were a particular erogenous zone for his lover. "Want you, Grayson," Price whispered against his lover's ear. "I want you inside me." These were the words Grayson had longed to hear and he groaned softly against his lover's temple as he felt his sex surge and throb. Urging Price to stand, he clasped his lover's hand and led him into their bedroom. Lovingly, each man finished undressing the other and then they lay together, kissing deeply, letting arousal build unhurriedly. A final kiss to ripe, full lips and Grayson began moving over the slighter body beneath him. Subconsciously urging his lover on with whispered sounds of delight and arousal, Price shivered, moaned and thrilled as the older man made love to every inch of him. Grayson knew all his sensitive spots, where touches would turn too ticklish and where they would electrify him. His hips began to thrust against Grayson as his nipples were sensually teased with talented lips and teeth. By the time Grayson's kisses had reached his groin, Price was clutching his lover's broad shoulders and panting wetly. From his vantage point on Price's thigh, Grayson looked up, savouring the sight before him. His lover's eyes had closed and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on the pale skin. It was beauty beyond comparison or price and it was his, and only his. With something akin to a growl, he lowered his head and engulfed Price's penis in his mouth. As Grayson's warm lips surrounded his lover's flesh he heard Price uttered a soft cry of pleasure. Soft moans accompanied his mouth working the enticing erection and needy whimpers began when Grayson began a steady rhythm up and down Price's eager arousal. Relishing Price's enjoyment, Grayson used his tongue to tease the tiny slit at the tip of his lover's penis. He probed and lapped, before sliding down to the base, where his lips increased their pressure. When his lover instinctively tried to thrust his pelvis, Grayson held the slim hips firmly, keeping his mate still. He was in control and wanted to draw things out for a little while. He heard Price whimper faintly as the sweet torture continued. In response he began to move smoothly up and down hot, turgid flesh, sucking and licking, listening delightedly to Price's sounds of increasing pleasure. Shifting a little, Grayson let one hand release his lover's hip so that he could tease Price's ballsac. He could feel how high and hard its precious orbs were and knew Price was close. There was a familiar change in his lover's breathing, a tension in his muscles. Grayson knew Price's body was racing to ejaculation. He took the solid flesh deep into his throat releasing his hold on Price's hips. At the sudden freedom to move, Price thrust once, twice, and then his orgasm hit him forcefully. He wailed Grayson's name, shaking as his release was masterfully prolonged. Grayson sucked him rhythmically, eagerly taking all he had to offer. He felt his lover's hands play with his depleting testicles and trembling inner thighs, coaxing yet more tremors out of him. It seemed a small eternity before Price slumped, his climax finally abated. Swallowing the last few drops of crème, Grayson savoured the taste of his lover's release as he finally released Price's limp flesh from his mouth. A few last, leisurely licks and he looked up. His heart skipped a beat and his sex throbbed ominously. Although Price had looked incredible before, it was nothing compared to the way he looked in post-orgasmic bliss. It was as if his lover was illuminated from within and love shone deeply in the sultry, green orbs. He moved to stretch out beside him, cuddling him close and letting him gather his breath. "I love you, Grayson. I want to feel you inside me, loving me fully," Price murmured from the cocoon of his lover's protective embrace. "I love you," Grayson whispered against the top of his head. "I love you with all my heart and soul. I will make love with you as you want, as you deserve. I want us joined in this most intimate of ways, beloved," his lover said reassuringly, stroking the silken skin of Price's back. The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price As Price eased onto his back, he was instantly blanketed by Grayson's bigger form. Their bodies touched from chest to groin and Price moaned at the feel of his lover's comforting weight. He marvelled at how carefully Grayson measured his greater strength. He knew the older man was so cautious around him and treated him as if he were made of the most precious and fragile porcelain. He showed his love in his actions as much as his words. As if reading his mind, Price found Grayson looking deeply into his eyes and a large hand cupped his face. "Anything we do that does not feel good or pleasurable, or if you get nervous, we stop. This is about pleasure and love." "I know." Price lifted a hand to cover Grayson's. "I trust you, my love." Price watched a muscle twitch in Grayson's jaw, the only outward sign of his lover's struggle to stay calm. Price knew Grayson would never betray his trust. They settled back into gentle kissing and caressing, but their hands quickly grew bolder. Price daringly caught hold of a taut nipple with his lips, teasing it, as Grayson's hands caressed his back in long, slow, languid strokes. They slid still lower, to his buttocks, and cupped them lightly, pulling Price against him. Price gasped as Grayson's erection slide across his stomach and he arched, feeling hot, hard flesh rub against him. Nibbling at his lover's collarbone, Grayson moved to straddle Price. He ensured that the majority of his weight was on his knees and hands. He possessed the lush lips once more, letting his erection rub against Price's smooth skin in areas that he considered to be non-threatening. He felt a wave of love and relief wash over him at the sound of Price's pleasured sigh and the way the younger man settled under him, turning himself over to Grayson's ministrations. Groaning as slender fingers began to tease his own peaked nipples, Grayson tried to concentrate on kissing and caressing, determined to ensure Price was consumed with passion and desire. So much so, that he would not fear when it was time to become as one. He reached out and retrieved a jar of oil. Kneeling up, he liberally coated his fingers and the faint scent of lavender permeated the air. He had used this to massage his lover regularly to ensure the younger man associated its aroma with pleasure. Smiling down at his lover, he slowly, sensuously, let a few drops fall onto Price's flushed chest and Price moaned softly, eyes closing in pleasure, as Grayson began to massage him. Grayson purposely played with the small, pink nipples, knowing they were a particular erogenous zone for his beloved. He massaged over Price's shoulders and down his lover's arms, before indicating his lover should roll over. He felt a surge of love at Price's immediate obedience. Settling carefully, Grayson continued the massage over the slender back and slowly began moving lower, brushing Price's buttocks. Watching intently, he gauged his lover's level of arousal and when Price began grinding his pelvis into the mattress, he knew his lover was ready to progress. Rolling to his side, Grayson slid an arm under Price's chest and drew him close so they were facing each other. He lay quiescent as Price's hands caressed his own body, pleased that the younger man was eager to both touch and be touched. He locked gazes with Price and then pulled him close for a long, deep, kiss. Their tongues slowly twined and stroked as their hands tenderly caressed, languidly, sensually. When they broke apart, Grayson could see the desire clearly flaming in Price's verdant eyes. He took a deep, fortifying breath. Sliding a hand down, Grayson manoeuvred Price's right leg so it lay over his hip. The bigger man then slowly pressed one of his knees forward, between Price's legs, helping keep them parted. In this way he could prepare Price face-to-face and ensure his lover was neither afraid nor hurting. He felt the lithe body shiver in anticipation and excitement, deliberately rocking forward into him. The older man coated his finger in the oil that sat on the bedside locker. Kissing his lover tenderly, Grayson began to stroke Price's buttocks with his free hand. "Just another touch, Price, nothing else," he assured. He moved his fingers between the perfect buttocks, parting them a little. Then the oiled finger touched Price's anus. Grayson was careful to ensure the touch remained light, rubbing gentle circles, letting Price get used to being touched by him in his most private place. "It feels good," Price whispered. "Just relax and trust me, my love." Grayson kissed the top of Price's head and continued the slow rubbing, occasionally pressing a little harder, but still making no attempt to enter his lover. "Ready to try one finger?" he asked quietly. "Yes." Grayson smiled at the determined sound to Price's voice. Then, very slowly, he pressed against the furled opening until it bloomed in invitation and he slowly entered the hot, tight sheath. As his lover's tightness relaxed minutely, Grayson pushed aside the thought of the Count forcing himself on his beautiful lover. This experience would be pleasurable, for both of them, as it should be, as it would always be from this moment on. He pressed fully inside, waited a moment and then began to gently thrust back and forth. "A second, my love," Grayson whispered. There was a small, pained sound from his lover, but Price immediately looked up at him and the nod ensured the older man pressed the two digits in fully. He waited again, feeling the rippled protestation and his lover's sheath stretched to accommodate him. As the narrow strait relaxed, he stroked in and out. "I love you, Grayson." "I love you," he replied, smiling tenderly. "Let me know if this feels good," he added. His long middle finger had found the little nub he had sought, but he had been careful to not brush against it, wanting Price to first be used to his fingers before attempting additional stimulation. Now, he purposely stroked over it. He grinned as Price arched against him, gasping and his hands seizing hold of Grayson's shoulders "More, please," Price begged. Grayson complied, gently rubbing the spot, drawing more cries from his lover. Price's whole body shook from the intensity. Grayson could feel his lover's flagging erection grow, nudging against his own engorged organ as Price awkwardly shifted his hips, trying for an instinctive rocking motion. He took this as the time to introduce a third finger. He felt the tight passage spasm slightly and he held still once more, leaning forward to possess Price's lips and suck slowly, sensually, on his lover's tongue until the younger man relaxed once more. As the lithe body lost its tenseness, Grayson resumed his fingers' slow thrusting, spreading them incrementally to stretch his lover to take something longer and thicker than mere fingers. Apart from the occasional hitch in his breathing Price remained relaxed, taking pleasure from the sensations. Grayson deliberately brushed the little gland again and the younger man arched, groaning, his blood-suffused, rosy shaft jumping and dripping. As Grayson touched the little spot again and again he drew soft cries from Price. "Grayson...please, inside." "A few more moments, my love," Grayson whispered against his mate's blond hair. He wanted to ensure Price was as stretched as he could be. He gave a groan of his own as Price shivered against him, his lover's hips now moving smoothly back to meet the older man's thrusting fingers. Satisfied that his lover was prepared enough, Grayson withdrew his fingers. "Roll onto your other side, my love," he urged. "Need to see you. Have to see you." Up until that moment, Grayson had not thought of his lover's need to be able to see him. It would be harder for Price to take him whilst on his back, but it was what the younger man needed and Grayson would deny him nothing to make their union one of joy and pleasure. "Let me do all the work, precious," he said, kissing the younger man. He urged the lithe legs around his waist and slid a pillow under his lover to help lift Price's hips. He eased himself into position, the burgundy head of his sex pressed tightly against Price's glistening portal. He locked his eyes with his lover's and waited for the nod that granted permission for him to move. He smiled as Price's slender hands framed his face and he was drawn into a loving kiss. "Love me." At the gentle command, Grayson pressed forward. There was initial resistance and then the head of his shaft penetrated into tight, searing heat. He groaned his pleasure, remaining immobile at the soft, slightly strained gasp from Price. "I love you," he said. "Let me in, please. Let me make love with you." Grayson followed his words by gently brushing his lips over his lover's. "I want to give you pleasure, my love," he whispered. Whether it was his words or his actions he did not know, but the crushing tightness around his flesh lessened. He watched Price take a few calming breaths and the tight passage relaxed further. At the silent capitulation, his conquering flesh slid in deeper. There was less resistance as his lover's sheath yielded to the welcome invader. Slowly, incrementally, Grayson persevered until he was finally fully inside his young love and his sac nestled intimately against Price. His sigh of bliss was echoed by Price. Not wanting to move until he knew Price was ready Grayson slid a hand to the deflated flesh at his lover's groin and began to stroke. It took just a few, firm strokes to have the shaft fill and rise. He bit back a groan as Price's body began to rock back and forth in time with his measured movements. He gave a slow undulation forward. At the pleasured gasp from Price, Grayson repeated the movement. "Yes, love, just like that, please, Grayson." The whispered litany encouraged Grayson and he began to undulate a little faster, a little deeper, watching carefully for any signs his lover might be distressed in any way. His speed steadily gained momentum. His thrusts angled to massage Price's sweet spot. The sight of the blond's head rolling from side to side and the sounds of pleasure from kiss-swollen lips threatened to send him over the edge prematurely. His hand continued to work Price, speeding up as Grayson felt his own imminent release. His lover's hands grasped him tightly and Price's hips now rhythmically rose to meet each of Grayson's downward thrusts. The older man moaned as he lost himself in their rhythm, thrilling at Price's ready acceptance. He could feel the shaft in his hand throb and knew Price felt only pleasure and delight. Each one of his lover's soft cries urged him on, striving to give Price maximum pleasure from their lovemaking. "Grayson, it's...so...good." The words were a soft, breathy sound that seemed designed to go straight to Grayson's groin and he groaned at the jolt of heat it produced. He was close and he was certain Price was just as close. He began to falter in his rhythm as he approached his crescendo. His hand was a blur on Price's erection, determined the younger man would spill first. He threw his head back with a cry as he heard Price wail. Wet heat pulsed over his hand and the sheath surrounding his sensitive flesh contracted with almost brutal force as Price's orgasm engulfed the younger man. Grayson wanted to ensure Price was milked fully, but his own release would no longer be denied. A few short, sharp snaps of his hips and he moaned Price's name as his seed flowed into his lover's channel. It took Grayson several minutes to regain his wits following the most intense and satisfying orgasm he had ever experienced. He had slid from his lover's haven and briefly mourned the loss of their joining. He glanced down at Price and was elated to see a beatific, sated smile on his lover's face. He claimed the red, kiss-swollen lips. "I love you, Price," Grayson murmured against his lover's lips. "I love you." "I love you, too. Hold me?" "Of course," Grayson whispered. He enfolded the smaller man in his arms and cradled him tightly to his chest, dropping kisses into the blond's hair and keeping up a soft litany of love and devotion. Finally Price twisted enough to gaze at him. "Thank you for loving me. Thank you for saving me and for showing me how wonderful making love can be." "There is no need for thanks," Grayson replied, pulling Price into another kiss. "You are my heart, my soul. I will love you always." He smiled and dropped loving kisses into Price's hair as the blond burrowed tightly against him. As he held the single most precious thing in his life close to his heart, he could not help but think about the one dark cloud on his horizon; the Count who still posed a threat to his lover. **** The day was busy in the Pharmacy. Both Grayson and Robert were in the front dealing with customers and Price was kept equally occupied providing refilling of pills and potions as the two men shouted through to him. He kept a careful note of how much stock was being used and listed what would need reordering. He smiled as he refilled another jar. Grayson had promised to allow him to work in the shop once the danger the Count posed was removed. He gave a slight shudder. He knew Mr Holmes and John were working tirelessly in an effort to find reason to have the Count either arrested or deported. Although he could testify about his treatment, it had been decided not to put him through such an ordeal. There was no assurance that bringing a charge would be successful and no one wanted him in the public eye in such a manner. It would have far-reaching consequences for both him and Grayson. Shaking himself mentally, he resumed his inventory. He and Grayson needed their anonymity. Grayson had been telling people that Price was the only child of old family friends who was recently orphaned and so was learning the business to have a trade and an income. They neither needed nor wanted undue attention. He was content to leave things in the hands of Mr Holmes. Grayson trusted him and, therefore, so did he. Out in the shop Grayson finished with the customer he was serving and looked up to see the next. He strove to remain calm and act normally as he looked into the face of the man before him. To be this close to the Count allowed him to see cold, pale, grey eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. There were fine lines around the Count's eyes and mouth which was thin and cruel and the thought of an innocent like Price in this man's clutches almost made Grayson retch. Instead he forced his face into blank neutrality. "How may I assist you?" he asked blandly, determined to keep his loathing out of his voice. "Are we going to play such a tedious game?" "Game, sir?" Grayson asked, affecting a tone of bewilderment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Robert reach beneath the counter. He kept a pair of sturdy sticks underneath the counter as a safety precaution. He hoped he did not have to use them, but he was not afraid to defend his lover. Another man, large, dark and menacing came forward from the door to grin nastily at Robert as if aware of what the younger man was about to do. "Thank you, Jacques. I am quite sure this little morsel, so much to your taste, will make no further moves. Now, Monsieur, I, as you know quite well, am the Compte de Lys and you have in your possession something that belongs to me." "I can assure you, sir that I have nothing in my care that can ever be described as having belonged to any other man." Grayson met the Count's eyes levelly. Price had been a prisoner of the man before him and he would not permit his beloved to fall into the Count's hands once more. "Perhaps I should go and find a constable?" "I think not." The Count answered Robert's question before Grayson could speak. He glanced over towards his friend and the man who watched Robert with a hunger in his dark eyes that made Grayson shudder. "Jacques is partial to teaching pretty boys who disobey me the error of their ways. I would suggest you keep your hands where he can see them and remain where you are." "If either of you touch him..." Grayson began, his voice hard and angry. "You will have me to answer to." "Sherlock!" Grayson exclaimed his friend's name with relief. He could see the older man was not alone. John was close behind him, his normally placid, dark eyes glaring with undisguised loathing at the Count. However, it was the third man who held his attention. He was as tall as Sherlock and looked to be in his mid-thirties. His hair was as black as a raven's wing, poker straight and reached chin length. His face was angular, with prominent cheek bones and full lips. He was beautiful in an entirely masculine way. His eyes were grey and intelligent and looked intently at him for a moment and then swept around the room taking everything in. "I rather think he would have me to answer to, Mr Holmes." The newcomer's voice was confident and well-modulated. Looking between his friend and the stranger, Grayson was surprised to see the slight hint of a smile on Sherlock's face. "You are entirely right, Mr Rawlinson. Grayson, permit me to introduce Spencer Rawlinson, a rising star in my brother's employ." "I will be staying here, on these premises, for a short while, Mr Black. It was deemed...propitious by Mr Mycroft. Additionally, I have arranged for the local constabulary to patrol this vicinity with regularity. It seems there may be some blackguards in the neighbourhood that are likely to target your establishment." "You are most welcome, sir," Grayson said. As difficult as it would be to accommodate a third in his tiny living quarters, he would find a way if this man was sent to help protect his lover. "You have already become quite tiresome, monsieur Holmes. In the protection of the one, do not fail to ensure the safety of your own...things of value." Grayson smothered the gasp of shock at the look of hatred that passed over his friend's face as the Count leered openly at John whilst he spoke. "I suggest, sir, that you leave quietly. Mr Mycroft is quite fond of Dr Watson and should aught befall him, I can assure you that the perpetrator would feel the full force of his considerable wrath." Holding his breath, Grayson watched as the Count turned slowly to regard Rawlinson. His skin crawled at the way the Count's eyes blatantly roved over the slighter man's form as if undressing him. "I have met your kind before, sir and I fear you not. Leave now before I have you and your hired thug tossed into a cell for polluting the air we breathe." "Come!" It was with a silent exhalation of relief that Grayson watched the Count's man obey like a dog at its master's heel and the men leave. He waited long enough to see John lock the door and turn its sign to read 'closed' before he rushed into the store room to take a pale-faced Price into his arms. "It's alright, he's gone," Grayson murmured into his lover's hair as the younger man burrowed tightly against him. He held Price against his chest, feeling the tremors that wracked the smaller frame. "He is not giving up. He frightens me." "He is not taking you from me. No one is taking you from me," Grayson said, his voice reflecting his determination. He could not, would not, give up his love. Not for any man. "Let us go through and speak to Sherlock. He has brought someone to stay here and help protect you." He smiled reassuringly at the stricken look on Price's face. "Sherlock would not jeopardise us, my love," he murmured kissing the pale cheeks before claiming the lush lips. For a moment, Price was stiff. Then, to Grayson's relief, his lover seemed to melt in his arms, pressing so close to his chest that Grayson could no longer be certain whose heart he could feel beating. He slowly eased the younger man back to gaze lovingly into the emerald depths.