A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes Read Online Free Page A

Holmes works is the venerable Inspector Lestrade. Though appearing in only thirteen of Doyle’s stories, Lestrade is ever in the imagination when fans think of Holmes and Watson. In fact, Lestrade has become famous on his own, having a series of novels penned about him, as well as appearing in a number of films. Especially in film portrayals, Lestrade is seen as a bumbler and a not very intelligent one. Doyle, however, painted Lestrade as quite smart, quick, but a bit vain. This story reveals a side of Lestrade that he kept hidden even from Doyle. In it, Lestrade takes on an investigation on his own, something not often seen (though there is a series of novels with Lestrade as the protagonist). On this case, Holmes is just a shadow floating through Lestrade’s thoughts.
     
     

The Case of the Wounded Heart
     
     
    by Rajan Khanna
     
     
    Inspector Lestrade turned over to the night stand and began to roll a cigarette. Beside him, Constable Briers groaned and spun onto his stomach. His broad back, the skin pale and freckled, glistened with a light sheen of sweat, the soft downy hair silken in the dim light.
    The day at Scotland Yard had brought the typical mix of petty crimes. Three burglaries, an assault, and a confidence scam from the usual thugs and grifters. It made one appreciate the exotic life of a consulting detective.
    Lestrade had organized his men, rounded up and questioned witnesses, then suspects, and made headway in three of the five cases.
    At the end of the day, wearied by the worst of humanity, he’d slogged home through the rainy and foggy London streets.
    Later, as Lestrade had warmed himself by the fire, Constable Briers slipped in the door and methodically removed his greatcoat, then his jacket and waistcoat, hanging them on the brass coat stand. Then he’d mounted the stairs to Lestrade’s bedroom.
    Lestrade, giving one last poke to the dwindling fire, had sighed, and followed Briers up the stairs, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. The night passed with the heat of skin upon skin, in warm breath and whispered moans until they both collapsed into something resembling sleep.
    Now Lestrade inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke scour his lungs. He exhaled a long ribbon of it. “You should leave soon,” he said. “Don’t want anyone noticing.”
    Constable Briers lifted his head, trailed a hand through Lestrade’s chest hair. “Already?” he said.
    “I’m afraid so,” Lestrade said, softer.
    “Yes, sir,” Briers said.
    Lestrade patted the younger man’s muscular flanks and thought of the Detective.
     
    Lestrade had barely arrived at Scotland Yard and was loosening his cravat when Inspector Gerard greeted him. “You’ll want to get your coat back on,” he said. “Murder.”
    Lestrade sighed.
    “How do you think I feel?” Gerard said. “My flat’s not far from the scene. I’ve only just come from there.”
    Together they climbed into the brougham. Lestrade’s pairing with Gerard had been a recent event, handed down from Sir Felix with the hope that with two men on task they would be more than a match for the Detective. Gerard was a nice enough chap, but Lestrade still bristled at the encumbrance.
    The body lay face down in a back alley, covered with a dark blanket. Fog curled in from the street, like fingers reaching for the dead. “Was he found like this?” Lestrade asked the constable on the scene.
    “No, sir,” the constable said. “He weren’t wearing no clothes. Just the gunshots. We had to cover him.”
    “Who is he?”
    “Can’t tell, sir,” the constable said. “No identifying belongings.”
    Lestrade bent by the body, noting the dishevelled hair, the blood-splattered neck. He lifted the man’s head.
    And dropped it again.
    Constable Briers.
    Lestrade scrambled away from the body, eyes wide, pulse hammering. “Everything all right?” Gerard said.
    “Yes, yes,” Lestrade said, recovering himself. “I…I recognize this man.”
    “Who is he?”
    “He’s