Fan Fiction Friday: Sherlock Holmes and Watson in “The Case of Erudition Toward Reliance”


?My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been called away to a secret non-TR meeting this weekend, and while I promised you the Care Bears story, I really don’t have the time to do it justice at the moment. Rest assured this isn’t another Pok?mon story — oh, it’ll brutalize your mind and soul, and make you wish you were dead — but I’m no longer worried about trying to preserve your sanity, so I’ll run it next week. You should be fine for fan fic trauma, we’ve got PJ’s FFF retrospective below, and we’ve had a lot of pretty incredible FFFs in January anyways. It’s time for a palate cleanser.

So today I offer you an FFF without any sex… whatsoever.

I KNOW, YOUR MINDS ARE BLOWN. And your first instinct is get pissed because you think I’m about to offer an FFF than won’t be unbelievably bad. I laugh at your indignant skepticism. Like I would miss an opportunity to hurt your fragile little monkey brains. Besides, this is a story I’ve long wanted to share with you guys — a story so interesting that the person who submitted it wished to remain anonymous.

(Taken from the Notes and Journals
of Dr. John H. Watson, M.D; late of Her Majesty’s army in Afghanistan
and Boswell to the noted Consulting Detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes of
221B Baker St., retired)

It was the mid- April that I noticed Holmes’ behavior. We were
sitting at the breakfast table. He had barely touched his food, nothing
unusual, except that we were not on a case as far as I knew. He got up,
rather stiffly, almost as if any movement pained him. I expected him to
move to the armchair by the fire, but he moved back into his rooms, and
shut the door.

I had watched all of this in silence. Holmes was
not one to make a scene of his health, and I knew that my inquires
would be rebuffed. Still the friend and doctor in me knew that he had
not eaten hardly a morsel yesterday either. I quietly finished my
breakfast, and headed up to get my medical bag. Holmes need to be
looked at, and I knew he would never agree to any exam by another
physician, or a hospital.

Holmes was curled into a fetal position on his bed. His hands and
arms firmly clenched around his stomach. He looked utterly miserable. I
was calm as I approached. Setting my bag on the floor by the bed, I
pulled up a chair, and sat. As much as I wanted to force him to accept
my care I knew that Holmes would only shut down on me. “Holmes, what’s
wrong? I may be able to help.” He looked at me through half closed
lids, and I could see the pain glistening in those grey eyes. It killed
me to see him like this, and just sit here.

“My stomach Watson, it has been hurting for a few days. The pain is near crippling. I did not want to concern you.”

I moved to sit near his
shoulder. He was crying from the pain. The pain I had caused, and it
ripped my heart. I took a handkerchief from my pocket, and wiped his
face. I needed a few answers. I gentled my voice and spoke in hushed
comforting tones. “Holmes, how long has it been since you moved your


“Four-five days,” his voice was strangled. I was surprised. No
wonder his stomach was so hard, and he was in such excruciating pain. I
continued to soothe him with the kerchief and my voice.

“You have an impaction, old boy. I can help, but you will need several hours rest afterward.” He nodded.

“How can you help?” His voice was weak.

will need to administer a series of enemas.” I stopped at his reaction
to the last word. He looked terrified. I hastened to reassure him.
“They will be uncomfortable, but I’ll be here, and I won’t force you to
take more than you can. I can easily do it here in your bed; we can
protect your privacy that way. Besides once we’re done and you’ve
rested you’ll feel better. You won’t be alone Holmes.”

And the Mystery of Sherlock Holmes’ Inability to Shit has been solved! But the story has just begun.

Once the area was cleansed to my satisfaction I removed a tube of
cream and a suppository. “Holmes, I’m going to give you something to
help make the enemas easier.”

His voice held a note of fright. “What?”

gently spread some cream into your rectum with my finger, and then I’ll
insert a suppository. It is medicated, and as your body heat melts it,
it will help dilate your opening. The enema tubing can then pass easier
and you won’t have as much discomfort.” I gentled my voice like I was
speaking to a child. “I’ll be gentle, and take it slow.”

Whenever someone says “I’ll be gentle” in FFF, you know something upsetting is about to happen.

I put some cream on my index finger, and separated the globes of his
ass with my other. I started rubbing the cream in to the skin around
his anal opening careful not to penetrate. When it was thoroughly
rubbed in, I placed more on the index finger, and started to tease the
rectal opening of my patient. He tensed. “It’s okay, you need to relax.
It shouldn’t hurt. Take a deep breath, and as I push a bit in you push
like you are having a movement.” He didn’t say anything, but I heard
him take the deep breath, and as he did I placed a bit more pressure on
the opening. I was starting to slip through, and then I felt Holmes
push against my finger, and I was in. He gasped in shock, and I
stopped. Letting him catch up to having my finger up his ass; when he
relaxed again I started moving my finger around. I rubbed the walls of
his anus as far as I could, and about three-quarters of the way in my
index finger came into contact the edge of the fecal mass causing
Holmes so much pain. I removed the index finger and quickly replaced it
with a newly creamed middle finger.

Holmes was trying to relax,
and I decided to help a bit more. I found the slight depression in the
bottom of his rectum, and messaged it gently. He nearly jumped off the
bed in surprise at first. “Good God, Watson, what are you doing?”

“Trying to help you relax a bit.”

“What are you rubbing in there?”

prostate. If I press harder, I could actually make you ejaculate the
fluid in it, but I just want to relax you so I’m being very gentle.
Settle back, you need to relax before I can give you the suppository.”
He rested his head deeper in the pillow, and I could feel his muscles
relax around my finger. I inserted a second, and started to open him up
a bit more, by scissoring my fingers. When he was wide enough I
withdrew. “I’m inserting the suppository now. It’ll take about twenty
minutes to work completely. You’ll need to lie quietly, and try to
relax and rest.”

If you’re not disturbed that Watson has stuck his finger up Sherlock Holmes’ ass in a fan fic that I’ve said has no sex in it, you have something wrong with you.

He watched me pull the old blanket over his exposed ass, then
followed me out of his room with his eyes. I went to Mrs. Hudson, told
her of Holmes’ trouble, and instructed her in how to prepare the
solutions I would administer to him. The first would be a half liter or
so of warm oil, to loosen the impaction, the second, would consist of
warm oil and water. I hoped that Holmes would be able to hold two to
three liters at this point. The third would be a four liter of mild
lye, it would be extremely uncomfortable, and the fourth would be four
liters of water and lemon juice. It didn’t take long to heat the oil,
and I took about half a liter and went back to Holmes.

In case you want to try this at home.

He was sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Watson. I tried to hold it. I did.”

placed his head in my lap, and stroked his hair. “It’s okay, Holmes.
I’m not upset. I’ll clean it up, and see if we need to give you
another. It’s okay. Be still, shh.” I talked nonsense for a time, and
Holmes quieted. When he was relaxed and breathing normally again, “You
ready for me to clean you up?” He nodded. I lifted his head out of my
lap, and laid it back on the pillow. “I’ll be just a minute. I’m going
to start a fire in here. You’ll be more comfortable.”

I moved
into the water closet again, and got several towels, and some soap.
Holmes was still upset, and his eyes were rimmed in red and bloodshot.
“Close your eyes for a bit, my boy. I’m just going to clean you up.” He
nodded, and closed his eyes. I moved to the fire place and set a fire
in the grate. Soon the room was warming, and I placed the oil in the
kettle to reheat, and turned to clean Holmes backside.

I moved
the blanket off to the floor, as it was soiled. He had had a bowel
movement, and was quite dirty, the mess had got trapped in his between
his legs and covered his testicles and bottom of his penis. I soaked a
cloth in the water and then rubbed the soap vigorously on it until a
nice lather was worked up. “Holmes, I’m about to touch you. We’ll get
this cleaned up in no time.” It took a few minutes but the mess around
his backside was clean. I replaced the messed cloth at his hip, and
looked to see if he needed another suppository. He did.

Who shit the bed? This looks like a mystery for Sherlock Holmes!

“Holmes, I need to give you another suppository, and then I will
finish cleaning you up. It’ll only take a moment. Just continue to
relax.” I prepped another suppository, and slipped it in. Holmes was
mortified at such a loss of control. I leaned over his shoulder, to
whisper in his ear. “Stay still, man, I’m going to roll you on to your
back. You have a bit on your genitals.” He gave a quick nod. I rolled
him gently on to his back.

There’s feces on Sherlock’s penis? A CLUE!

I set the douching kit behind him and set about restraining him so
that he could not move. I had to place him on his back. I put his legs
back the way they had been, and put anklets on him. I tied them to the
side of the bed frame, and then placed two folded towels under his
hips. He was completely exposed. I then pushed his knees out toward the
bed. I then strapped them down in this position, and placed another
strap across his pelvis. His lower body was now secured to the bed. He
would not be able to move more than a few centimeters. I looked at him
as I took the tubing up again. He nodded.

I continued to feed the
tubing. Holmes instinctively pulled against the restraints, and I
steeled myself. Once the tubing was in, I held the syringe upright, and
started to slowly pour the warm oil in. I could only do about a quarter
liter at a time. When it was filled, I depressed the plunger forcing
the oil into Holmes’ body. He gasped and tears were streaming down his
face, but he knew better than to stay quiet if he couldn’t handle it.
So I continued. I slowly refilled the syringe with the last of this
enema, depressed the plunger, and soon all of the oil was within
Holmes’ bowels.

They say the devil is in the details. When the details consist of exactly what Watson is inserting into Sherlock Holmes’ anus, I suspect the saying is rather literal.

He nodded. He was having trouble, and I knew that despite the
message he would start cramping again soon. I quickly removed the
towels and put the bed pan in their place. I propped Holmes against my
chest, so he was sitting up in a semi-reclined position, and then in
one smooth motion I removed the tubing. A gush of feces and oil was
immediate. I held Holmes, in my arms. He started to strain, and I
relined toward the headboard pushing him a bit into my chest to take
him with me. Telling him, “Don’t force it Holmes. Let the pressure
build again, and then relax. There is no hurry. Just relax into me, and
rest.” He did as I asked, and soon we were sitting up again while he
expelling more. We sat like that for about ten minutes. …

“You can rest for a few minutes while I go get the second enema
ready. I’m glad that you’re not in as much discomfort now, but we need
to finish the series.”


“Holmes is it your stomach or pelvis that hurts?”

“Pelvis,” he
ground out in tears. I could have kicked myself. He had such a large
impaction that he hadn’t been able to urinate properly either. God I
was stupid. I continued to rub his abdomen with one hand while fishing
in my bag for my thermometer and catheter kit. He needed relief in both

This is not an erotic fan fiction. I feel I need to remind you of this. Let’s skip ahead a bit after Watson inserts the catheter.

Once I had things cleaned and put to rights for the third round, I
checked his urethra. It was fully dilated, and so I decided to empty
his bladder before I gave him the lye. The catheter slipped in easy,
and soon a stream of bloody, pussy, urine joined the used enema
solution. It took a several minutes, but when no more urine drained, I
removed the catheter. I cleaned him, and pulled his gown between his
legs again.

Well, there’s Holmes’ problem. He has pussy in his endocrine system. That can’t be good for a guy.

Then I left just long enough to get the mild lye solution. Sixteen
depressions and fifteen minutes; it seemed like an eternity to me, and
I was intensely grateful that I had drugged Holmes into a stupor.

didn’t react to the tube insertion, or the first several depressions of
the solution. Around the tenth, though, he whimpered. I could tell that
it was starting to soak in, and cause the intense cramping that lye
causes. I continued knowing that the sooner I instilled it the sooner I
could get it out of him. He was unconsciously pulling at his bonds,
screaming, and crying by the time I was done. It was not even a strong
lye solution, but given his body’s weaken state it was agony for him.

held him in my arms waiting with tears streaming down my own face for
the requisite fifteen minutes. I hated myself. It was time to remove
the tubing, and I did quickly. It didn’t come out with any blood for
that I was grateful for beyond measure. I rocked him back and forth
talking quietly to him, it took about an hour for the lye solution to
leave. He had long been quiet against me, and I checked his pulse in
growing terror. It was weakened, and he still had one enema left.

decided to do it as quickly as I could. I set up in ten minutes, had it
instilled in less than twenty, and Holmes was laying on top of me again
as we waited the half hour for the lemon juice to neutralize the lye. I
gently removed the tubing for the last time, and set it aside, as a
torrent of lemon juice and water left my dearest friend’s bowels. I
rocked him as had become my custom in the last hours, and it was
finally over an hour later.

I removed the bedpan one last time.
Then I undid and put away the restraints. Holmes was stiff from the
extended confinement and physical exertion. He moaned as I gently moved
his legs into a more natural position. He would be sore for a day or
two. I turned him on to his side and cleaned him again. His anus looked
a bit abused, and like his legs, it would be sore for a few days, but I
could discern no permanent damage.

I fashioned a cloth
undergarment for him. He could have drainage for the next day or two,
and there was no sense in soiling his undergarments. I would have to
apply salve several times a day to his rectum and keep in check his
urination for the next couple of days, anyway, might as well make it as
simple as possible. I did check his fever, again, after I secured his
temporary undergarment. It was about 102, higher than I felt
comfortable with.

Watson, let me tell you about things people should not feel comfortable with. Let’s skip ahead to the next day, when Watson feels the need to give Holmes another enema, shall we?

I patted his thigh to get his attention. “Just relax Holmes
and let it go. You have a catheter in at the moment.” He nodded and
sighed as he relaxed. When he was finished, I cleaned everything up for
that and turned to applying his salve. He started to turn on to his
side, and I helped him. He was nearly unconscious and despite my
warning, he tensed momentarily as I spread the cool ointment.

put some salve in and around his anus, working slowly, after I finished
I cleaned my hands, and pinned his undergarment. His anus was healing
nicely and he could probably return to his regular undergarments
tomorrow. I bundled him into a light sheet and the throw from earlier,
and picked him up again. His head found with a bit of coaxing the
hollow of my shoulder, and he was asleep as I settled in the wingback
by the fire for the rest of the night. My last thought before hugging
my dearest friend closer to me was I was suddenly intensely glad that
Holmes was so light. Something I was even more grateful for upon
arising as we had stayed in the position well into the morning.

Aw. That would be sweet if we didn’t have to keep hearing about you fingering his anus. Sadly, The Adventure of Holmes’ Anal Troubles is almosty over. Let’s skip forward a few days, and check in though, shall we?

He was getting better every day, and I knew I had to start pushing
him as his doctor and friend. Tonight though, he had made great
progress today and I did not want to set him back, if he would allow it
I would help. “Holmes, would you like some help getting ready for bed?”

started breathing hard and panicking. When he spoke, it was a bit
hysterical. “Why, Watson, why can’t I control my own body nor have
enough strength to take care of myself?” I pulled him into a hug, and
rubbed his back, uttering calming noises and words.

you’ve made progress every day. It is a slow process to recover from
what happened. There is no shame in still needing help. Your strength
and stamina return a bit each day. Within a week, you should be back on
your feet, as though this never happened. Just calm down, you need to

It was too late. Holmes had worked himself up enough to
unsettle his stomach. He vomited on himself and me. I held him, and
continued to comfort him as the acidic smell of vomit filled my
nostrils. When he was done, I nudged him away from me to find; him, me,
the bed, and floor with vomit on us. I was not angry with Holmes far
far from it. I was angry with myself. He was spent after this, and
there was no longer a choice, I would have to put Holmes to bed tonight.

Good, I was afraid we weren’t going to hear about any other body fluids! Let’s skip ahead to the end.

I never have figured out, even all these years later, what
caused Holmes’ intense change of heart. He still neglected his health,
ate, and slept poorly during cases. Yet, whenever, from that incident
on, he did manage to get sick or injured, he acquiesced to my medical
ministrations with only token protests until he was healthy again. I
suppose I may never know what caused it, and I find that it doesn’t
matter. What matters is that Holmes had found a trust in me that seems
to grow even more with each passing year, and for as long as I am able
I will be there for him, and I will try to be worthy of that trust
until my last breath.

Yes. That’s it. Someone has written a story exclusively about Sherlock Holmes getting dangerously constipated, and the details of Watson helping him recover. That’s all. No sex. The author didn’t want any kinky stuff. They just wanted to write about Sherlock Holmes shitting the bed, getting enemas, and Watson applying salve to his anus. Why, that’s not unusual at all. But you might have noticed todays’ FFF was a little more disjointed than usual. That’s because I edited it. A lot.

What you have just read is a small selection of a story about Sherlock Holmes getting constipation. The actual story is over 13,000 words.

Seriously, see for yourselves. 13,000 words. About Sherlock Holmes getting constipation. And shitting the bed. And getting cream applied to his sore anus.

Guys, this is absolutely one of the most fucked up things I have ever read. I know we’ve read some awful stories about horrible sex acts, but no matter how depraved they were and how disgusted we were, we understood that those stories turned someone on, even if we didn’t know why.

This… this is a whole new level of depravity. If Holmes and Watson had just fucked at any point in this story, it would have been less perverse. But they didn’t. The author only wanted to write about the adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ asshole and urethra being blocked with feces. THAT IS FUCKING TWISTED.

What did I cut out, you ask? A lot of details that make the more akin to actual Holmes stories, and thus infinitely more disturbing. Watson diagnosing the problem, dealing with the housekeeper, Holmes’ lengthy recovery, a visit from Holmes’ brother Mycroft, and, of course, the administrations of every. Single. Enema.

I’m sure some of you are still disappointed this wasn’t dirty, but man, this freaks me out on a whole different level from most FFFs. That someone  would would spend their time — and so much time — writing about this subject is fucked up on an unparalleled degree. Who would do this, and for fuck’s sake, why?! Let’s see Sherlock Holmes solve that.