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Super Fight, Why Not Super-Slash?

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Sherlock Holmes was trapped. It was a degrading and disheartening experience. Here he was, a telepathically gifted master of deduction, trapped in the most humbling of sacs.

"Idaho's Finest" was stretched tight across his supple ass, while the burlap twine around his neck constricted his breath. His telepathic abilities were limited in this state, the combination a lumpy potatoes poking him in the buttocks and the sight of topless Darth Vader leaving him utterly undone.

A force cock slapped him in the face.

"What on earth are you doing, my good man?" Sherlock yelped in surprise.

The man held a martini on one hand and gave him a thoughtful look, "The force only works below the waist." He looks mournfully into his drink, "and I'm ever so lonely."

"Of course, that makes sense. It's hard to date when you are half one person and half another." Sherlock responded super rationally.

"How did you know?" Darth Bond gasped!

"It was elementary, really. Your shoes don't match your chest, indicating you didn't coordinate your outfit." A tea cup levitated and then crashed to the ground. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. It was so hard to telepath like this. "Also the large stitches holding you together."

Darth Bond was overcome with emotion at all the logic. He levitated the potato sac and then gave Sherlock a deep kiss.

Tragically, his secret agent venom pill broke, poisoning them both. As they collapsed to the floor, lips twined in ecstatic, Darth Bond gasped, "I love you Sherlock."

"It's only reasonable," gasped Sherlock, as they died together, Darth Bonds arms wrapped tightly around Sherlocks potato sac.