[Narration by Mercher, Lord Brecknock]
It was exactly one month on from Mr. Sherlock Holmes coming through for me and finding my beautiful Alex. True, he had not been quite what I had been expecting but then I have always held that love is love and provided it is between consenting adults then little else matters. Indeed from my sister's reading of Mr. Holmes' adventures in which she firmly insisted that he and Doctor Watson were 'together together' as she so inelegantly put it, I had suspected from the start that there might he something between those two gentlemen. But they had found my love and that was what was important.
Doctor Watson had checked Alex over after his ill-treatment at the hands of his stepmother and advised me that while the boy (I should not call him such as he is not that much younger than me) would obviously need feeding up he advised that I take care over the next few weeks. He pointed out that it was not unknown for people who had been starved of food to become ill or even die if they gorged themselves too much too fast, their bodies unable to cope with a sudden influx of nourishment after prolonged near-starvation. It was hard (in both senses!) for me when Alex looked so desperate those first few weeks but the good doctor was right; slowly that month he filled out and became healthy again.
Perhaps what the doctor said about food also applied to love, for one of the most difficult things was persuading Alex that I did indeed love him despite what was between his legs. I suppose that when one has been threatened and denigrated for over a decade then it is going to take time to recover, but I had all the patience in the world where he was concerned. And even if a full month on we were only sleeping together naked and nothing had actually happened, I was content. The light in his deep blue eyes told me that he was happy and that was all that ma......
What was he doing under those cov.... holy Moses!
“This is getting like the English Channel”, God sighed. “Too many ships.”
“I think that Cinderella is such a beautiful story”, His wife said. “And it shows our dear little cutesy-wootsy that happiness can come to anyone if the conditions are right.”
“I suppose so”, God said. “They do deserve some happiness, those two.”
He was sure that he had said that evenly enough but She still looked at Him sharply.
“What is up now?” She demanded.
“I am afraid that the good doctor is a couple of months away from a slight contretemps in his career”, He said. “But I have planned it all out and Things will work out for the best. Even if it takes a little moving around.”
“Talking of things that should be moved around, I heard that secretary of yours was sounding off about the whole project again”, She said disapprovingly. “I really think that he needs replacing.”
“Metatron is good at his job”, God said mildly. “And one cannot punish people for having an opinion; there is more than enough of that sort of thing in this Internet Age, with some thinking that social media should only be for those they approve of..”
“Hmm”, She said. “I still think that he will be trouble some day.”
Mr. Richard Khrushnic had seen many strange sights in his time as an 'entrepreneur and definitely not a top city crime lord and if you have any questions the bottom of the Thames is that way'. But the one of his most loyal associate Mr. Calvert staggering into the room and heading straight for the whisky was definitely one of them. The fellow was what was known in the trade as a 'backstop', which meant that he was sent to those whom one did not necessarily wish to assa.... directly remove but merely to advise to Change Their Ways Or Else. And being a very solid six foot four, Mr. Khrushnic had thought there might be few things to scare him.
“The mission failed?” Mr. Khrushnic asked, surprised.
The taller man downed a large whisky and quickly poured himself another. The entrepreneur felt himself becoming worried.
“She”, Mr. Calvert said at last, “is terrible!”
“Mrs. Masters?” Mr. Khrushnic asked. “She did not take on board my request for her to desist from bothering my friend Mr. Holmes?”
Mr. Calvert finished his second glass and poured himself a third before answering.
“She was all over me!” he said, clearly horrified at the memory. “And when I tried to talk to her she grabbed me right.... I need to take a bath. Sorry sir!”
“You may use my bathroom”, Mr. Khrushnic said generously, “and I will forward a letter to your wife explaining matters. We both know how quickly women can jump to the wrong conclusions.”
Mr. Calvert recovered himself a little.
“And that bloody woman?” he asked.
“Perhaps a lesser warning”, Mr. Khrushnic smiled. “After all, someone like her may well have her uses.....”