A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free

sir,” the clerk informed us.
    As we mounted the stairs, I could not help but ask Holmes what Mr Wilde had to do with the affair. “I’m in the dark, Holmes. None of this makes sense.”
    “All will be plain in just a few minutes, Watson. I fear, however, this will not be a case you will want to record in your notebook.” Finding the room, Holmes knocked softly upon the door.
    It was Mycroft who opened the door. He nodded at us, and I could see that the man had not slept well for several days. As we settled in the sitting room, Mycroft sat with a huge sigh and looked at his brother. “I expected you well over twenty minutes ago.”
    “Our carriage was delayed by a lorry that had broken down a few blocks from here,” Holmes said. “Where is Mr Wilde?”
    Mycroft chuckled softly, but without mirth. “He’s still in his bedchamber. The man likes to stay up until the wee hours of the morning. The match-book brought you here, of course.”
    “Of course. I was surprised you bothered to leave me such an obvious clue.”
    “I nearly left nothing,” Mycroft said. “My first inclination was to merely flee the country and never return. The murder, the enquiries… I couldn’t face it. Most of all, I couldn’t face you, my brother. I knew, however, that I could not give up my little life in London. I surmised that you would find a way to solve the case and leave my name out of the newspaper accounts. All I had to do was be absent until you unmasked the killer. If I had been there, of course, Scotland Yard would have suspected me or at the very least questioned me relentlessly. I couldn’t have that. The murderer was, of course, Owen.”
    Holmes nodded. “The foolish man still had soot from the poker upon his hands. The rather unusual aspects of the case made Lestrade even less attentive to details than he normally is.”
    “And now,” Mycroft said slowly, “comes the conversation I’ve avoided for far too many years.”
    “No words need be said, Mycroft.”
    “I’m afraid they do, Sherlock. What happened lo those many years ago has had an effect on our lives, whether we choose to admit it or not. Certainly your dislike of women and the warmer emotions can be traced to what happened between us.”
    “And your self-imposed exile, keeping yourself to your rooms, your office in Whitehall, and the Diogenes Club.”
    “Yes,” Mycroft agreed.
    Holmes looked more miserable than I’d ever seen him. “We don’t need to speak of such things. What is in the past is dead.”
    “If only it were,” Mycroft replied. “My homosexuality…”
    I’m afraid that here I let out a tiny gasp, unused to hearing the word spoken in polite conversation. Mycroft shot me an understanding look before continuing.
    “My homosexuality is something you’d like to ignore, I’m sure, Sherlock. God knows that I’ve often wished I could. My dalliances at the Diogenes, I hoped, would be a secret that would never come to your ears. But this murder has aroused old ghosts.”
    I glanced over at Holmes and was shocked to see a tear running down his cheek. “Please,” said he, “let’s not talk about it.”
    “We have to, Sherlock. I was eight years older. I should have known better. It was wrong…”
    “I forgive you,” Holmes said, speaking barely above a whisper. “I’ve always forgiven you.”
    Mycroft’s eyes filled with tears as well. “And I apologize to you, my brother.”
    I sat, feeling most uncomfortable, with no idea what to say or if I should even speak. I wanted to ask questions, naturally, to get more details over what had occurred between the two brothers in their youth, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers. The three of us sat in that hotel sitting room for several more minutes in silence. Finally Holmes rose slowly to his feet and walked over and placed a comforting hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.
    “It’s time,” said he, “to go back home.”
     
     
     
    Another character made famous in the