Mrs. Hudson's dildo drawer

As I see it, it would have been very difficult for Doctor J.H. Watson to have a wank. An awful lot of of the speculation about the sexual mechanics of the living arrangements of Doctor Watson and his companion Sherlock Holmes has been dedicated to expanding the theory that they must have been bummers. I've never really understood why this should be. For a start, neither Holmes or Watson are homosexual gentlemen. For one thing, Doctor Watson spent a considerable portion of the early stories married to a woman whose name was Mrs. Watson, and I suspect that Holmes is asexual, perhaps as a function of a his undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome.

It's a sad reflection on how far society still has to go, to be honest. This line of reasoning, endorsed by generations of Daily Mail columnists, goes: The genitalia of any two men living together will as surely converge as their female counterparts' menstrual cycles, all gay men are opportunistic bottom rapists and Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson are two men who live together. It's a piece of glaringly inconsequential, retrograde, purience and one that has blinded generations of readers from giving enough thought to the real issue at stake. Which is, that it would have been very difficult for Doctor J.H. Watson to have a wank.

Sherlock Holmes: self abuse ninja

I'm unsure as to whether or not Sherlock Holmes would wank. I believe that there's every chance that he would not. As a creature of pure reason and logic, he may understand why people sometimes feel the need to wrangle out some knuckle children, but I'm not sure that he would necessarily be in touch with the necessary types of basic biological urge as the average man in the street. Or of the average man wanking in the street.

If Holmes was not a masturbator, it's a great loss to the culture. Because I believe he would have been truly outstanding, a self-abuse ninja. No locking the bathroom door for a solid, sweating, grunting, farting hour for Holmes; no wiping his wonger on the curtains. If Holmes knocked one out, it's fair to assume it would be done with such surreptitiousness and stealth that he could probably do it in plain view and no-one be any the wiser.

No so with Doctor Watson. Even people like us, the great unwashed, the people without any exceptional gifts in the field of deductive reasoning, even we are occasionally aware that someone in our vicinity is shaking hands with the unemployed. So quite what it must have been like for Doctor Watson, one can only surmise. Sherlock Holmes once deduced that Watson had decided to not invest in South African futures from a small smear of billiard chalk on his friend and colleague's hand alone, so there's very little doubt that he would be quite aware when Watson had been performing the old Low Five. Not for him the conventional signs: the locked door, the bead of sweat on the brow, muffled cries of "oh mercy" or gobbets of jilter on the knee. Holmes would know exactly when, where and why you had last had your special sock out.

It's things like that which would completely undermine your sense of self.

John H. Watson M.D. - knackers like
two tins of Fussell's Milk

Of course, if Sherlock Holmes did occasionally feel the need to clear the custard, Doctor Watson would, in theory at least, be ideally placed to be able to call him on it. As a medical doctor, he would know better than most the physiological signs to watch out for as soon as he suspected that the violin playing behind closed doors had stopped for a suspiciously long time. However, I think that Watson's mind would be so exercised with the sure knowledge that his friend knew exactly when he'd last evacuated (as well as trying to think up a foolproof way of getting away with it the next time) that there'd not be sufficient time, energy or inclination remaining to try and call the world's greatest detective on a visit to Mistress Palm and her five lovely daughters.

It's hard to imagine that the kind of hierarchy that this would create within their domestic lives could ever serve their friendship well, so I can only assume that - given the well-documented levels of security and satisfaction that both parties enjoyed - Holmes' discretion knew no bounds. Which is probably for the best, for only then might Watson - completely at ease, off his guard and casually sneaking off with the fruit bowl - be ripe to the killer, "lemon entry, my dear Watson?" zinger.

Obviously, they might just have been bummers.