The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 10

John crawled under the thick covers of his bed that night with little promise of sleep.  The man he was to marry was unusual, extraordinary.  More changeable than the wind.  One second he was annoyed, the next, nearly flirtatious.  Perhaps he was just awkward and unsure of how to act; John certainly was.  Still, John didn't get the impression that Sherlock Holmes thought too much about what others thought of him.

John had gone in search of his company tonight, he thought, to get to know his intended a little better but the man was a mystery and John had no idea how to talk to him, what to say.  What did he learn so far?  Sherlock and his brother got along less well than John and Harry.  Sherlock had a much more forthright personality, brilliant and demonstrative of that fact.  And last, something had happened to make Lord Sherrinford demand that his brother marry and Sherlock wasn't going to volunteer the information.  He was upset by it.  How very curious.

John sighed and turned his head to the side and imagined the man in bed next to him.  He'd be on his side, head propped up on his hand, covers pulled up halfway over his bare alabaster chest.  He'd have that twinkle in his eye, a playful grin on his lips.  He might reach one hand towards John, his husband.  He'd say his name, "John," in that voice that made John's insides writhe like a happy puppy.

God, John, stop it, he scolded himself.  Don't start fantasizing.  You don't know that he will ever choose to share a bed with you.  While socially and financially fortuitous marriages between men were common, particularly among the aristocracy, the rules of marital intimacy did not apply.  If they both chose to do so, they could share a bed, share love.  More frequently, though, there were mistresses and illegitimate families, nearly separate lives.  Marriage between men, so often younger brothers, preserved the elder brother's direct line of inheritance, since there would be no legitimate issue to divide the estate or monies.

There would be no children born of this union.  If John wanted children, he would have to go elsewhere.  And what sort of life would that be for them?  As a couple, they could foster the children of a relative, perhaps, or take in a ward.  Did Sherlock even like children?  Did he already father some?  Could that be the scandal his brother so desperately wanted to tamp down?

John wondered what Sherlock Holmes thought about him, what such a dynamic man thought about being married to a man who couldn't easily descend a stair.  Would he want a man whose leg was twisted with scars, who would always limp, who couldn't sleep the night?  They couldn’t share a bed without injury, probably, even were Sherlock so inclined.

John blew out the candle by the side of the bed, always worried that his restless sleep would knock into a lamp or candle and start a fire.  The glowing coals in the fireplace offered some light in the middle of the night, but not always enough for John to awaken from his nightmares and realize exactly where he was.  A lamp would be better, but John worried.

This line of hypotheticals vastly dampened any fantasy John might have indulged in about Sherlock.  He turned onto his back, one arm above his head, and sighed.  What would life be like with Sherlock Holmes?