This one is for my dear PGF, who requested it a while ago – hope you like it, chum!

A/N: This is not related to my recent D&D fic; it's totally Canon-based. Or as close as I can get – you know me!

I awoke in an unfamiliar place – or was it too familiar? I was definitely not in my bed at my house. My house was cold, and dark, and lonely; I felt warm and cozy at the moment

And something else, that I had not felt in a very long time.

I was – contented? Happy?

I, enthusiastic about starting yet another dreary day in the meaningless existence I had been leading since Mary had passed away? I had grown used to living one day at a time, one step at a time, day after day as the weeks and months passed by at a crawl.

Why was this morning any different?

I decided not to worry about it – it was too pleasant a feeling to be questioned, and I merely rolled over with a sigh of contentment, absently wondering why the article of furniture I was lying upon was so narrow.

In my semi-conscious state I was aware of a cold wet draught from somewhere, and I shivered a little, pulling the covers up round my shoulders. From somewhere – I hazily wondered where? – another blanket or something appeared round me, blocking out the chilly breeze.

I had not felt this – this safe, this contented, for as long as I could remember.

If this was a dream, I was definitely going to enjoy it for as long as I could.

I must have dozed off again for I was abruptly and sharply awakened by a small crash and the sound of breaking china, followed by a vehement curse.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"For the love of heaven, Mrs. Hudson, it is only a coffee cup! I shall be glad to pay for it!" a familiar voice hissed impatiently.

"Really, sir!"

"Shhhh, you'll wake up Watson!"

I heard a muttered female response.

"Will you be wanting breakfast, Mr. Holmes?" This was delivered in a frigid tone of politeness.

"If you please, Mrs. Hudson," the whispered response.

"Ring when you want it, then – and please be careful with what remains of my china!"

I heard a growl of acquiescence and the door shutting, and my mouth twitched in a smile, my sleepy mind automatically placing my location. Baker Street. But why was I here – had I fallen asleep after a case? What had we been working on last night…

Wait a moment – Baker Street?

My eyes flew open as I stared around me, utterly bewildered for a moment, wondering what in the world I was doing here – I had not been here in years, why was I here? What was going on?

I had fallen asleep on the couch in the sitting room, but what…

Then I suddenly remembered all the events of the previous day, every one of those extraordinary things that had transformed my life in a matter of hours. Then –

"Well, I should say it is about time, Watson."

That familiar voice, the voice I had not thought to hear ever again except in my guilt-induced nightmares – then it was true, I had not dreamt the whole thing!

I looked up to see a familiar figure in a grey dressing gown sitting in his old chair by the fire, holding a steaming coffee cup and smiling fondly at me.

"You look a little bewildered, old chap," he teased me gently.

I rubbed my eyes sleepily and looked at him.

"So would you be," I replied, stifling a yawn, "after all that happened yesterday!"

Holmes smiled. "I doubt that nothing I shall ever do from now on will be able to surprise you now, eh?"

I shook my head and grinned at him.

"No, nothing. You have officially reached your limit on shocking me, Holmes. By the way, what time is it?"

I tried to repress another yawn as Holmes glanced at his watch.

"Half-past seven."

I sat bolt upright, the blankets Holmes had tucked round me while I slept twisting and falling to the floor. I must have looked rather disheveled and comical, for my companion appeared to be desperately trying not to laugh.

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yes, why?"

"I have a patient scheduled as soon as my surgery opens in less than an hour!" I moaned, rubbing my head.

"Is it an emergency?"

"Of sorts, yes," I replied, rubbing my eyes with a muttered curse.

"That poses a problem. Well hop to it, old chap – use anything of mine you need in the bathroom?"

I groaned as I stood up, cramped from sleeping on that narrow settee.

"I believe I am going to buy you a new, actually comfortable couch as a housewarming gift, Holmes."

He gave a short barking laugh.

"You are the one who decided to fall asleep there last night, Watson!"

"Yes, well, that was partly your fault," I defended myself, "trying to explain that Far Eastern mysticism to me while I was half-asleep, anyhow. Really, Holmes, I believe I dreamt about reincarnation and such like all night long!"

"You were a little restless, old fellow – I am sorry if I was the cause," he said sincerely, glancing at me as I was heading out the hall door.

I turned round, trying to keep the grin off my face.

"You always were the cause, Holmes!" I shot back at him, "I don't think I ever got a good night's sleep in this house!"

"That is not even true!" he retorted indignantly back at me as I entered the bathroom and turned the taps to run into the basin.

"It certainly is! Do you know how many times over the years you woke me up with those blasted experiments?" I shouted over the running water.

"Thirty-eight!"

"You counted them?" I cried incredulously.

"You never let me forget them!" he bellowed back, "and neither did Mrs. Hudson!"

"Well you have to admit she was justified when you set the curtains on fire that once!"

"That was a pure accident! And you were the one who was supposed to watch the candle!"

I dried my face and started retying my cravat – I would have to change once I got back to my consulting-room. As I re-entered the sitting room, I saw that Mrs. Hudson was laying breakfast.

"Smells wonderful, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Thank you, Doctor. I do hope you like it – such a pleasure to cook for more than one person!" the good lady replied, her eyes sparkling.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you call the good Doctor a cab in about a half hour?"

"Good heavens, is that all I have?" I gasped in dismay.

"Unless you want to just cancel all your appointments for the day?" Holmes hinted not very subtlely.

"I can't – I need the money, frankly," I said as we sat at the table in our old positions, he in front of the window and I with my back to the door.

"I shall front whatever you lost – let's go take a holiday," he offered recklessly.

I stared at him as he poured my coffee.

"You, actually wanting to take a holiday? Are you mad?"

Holmes laughed as he added milk and one sugar – after three years he still remembered how I took my coffee – and passed the cup to me.

"Thank you. Really, Holmes – I had to wheedle and coax you until I was nearly out of breath before you would even consent to take a holiday for your own health in the past!"

I cut eagerly into my ham and eggs, eyeing my friend, who was studiously avoiding looking at me, toying with his fork.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well I now only have twenty-five minutes left, Holmes – are you going to talk to me or stare at your silverware?"

"Kippers?"

"No, thank you. And breakfast courtesies were not exactly what I had in mind as pleasant conversation," I replied dryly, buttering a piece of toast.

Holmes snorted and grinned at me over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Pleasant conversation. What exactly did you have in mind, then?"

"I haven't a clue," I informed him, "surprise me."

He stared at me incredulously.

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Holmes. You have been gone for three years. Pick a topic! I guarantee we have not discussed it!"

He laughed and took an enormous bite of kipper, tapping his fork thoughtfully against his upper lip as he chewed, thinking deeply.

"Well," he began when he had finished, "what has been happening in London lately?"

"A very sound, very normal, very boring conversation starter. Holmes, you're slipping."

"Then you start!"

"I asked so many questions yesterday I can't remember which ones you answered!" I said in exasperation.

Holmes laughed. "Yes, you were rather insatiable."

"Oh, well, pardon me!"

"Of course."

"You are insufferable."

"And you are incorrigible."

"As you said yesterday, some things never change."

"Touché, Watson. Oh, I say, hadn't you better be getting on? It is ten after eight."

"Good heavens!"

I had completely lost track of time. I threw my napkin down and hastily rose, accidentally knocking over my coffee cup in the process.

Holmes leapt to his feet as a brown river flooded across the table in the direction of his lap, hastily mopping at the liquid with his napkin and moaning dramatically.

"Oh, Watson!"

"My apologies," I gasped, trying not to laugh at the childish faces he was pulling.

"Oh, go on!"

I chuckled and tossed the blankets back onto the sofa as I retrieved my wallet which had fallen on the floor beside it.

Holmes gave up trying to clean up my mess, and jumped over (yes, over) the couch past my startled eyes and vanished into his bedroom. He emerged a moment later, struggling into his coat.

"Would you mind company on your way back to Kensington?"

"Company in general, or your company?" I asked, feigning that I did not know what he was really doing.

"Mine, naturally!"he replied indignantly.

"Well, honestly…"

He grinned and tossed my hat at me, nearly hitting me in the face.

"You know I hate it when you do that!"

My coat followed suit amidst an impish laugh.

"One of these days, Holmes," I warned him as I followed him down the seventeen steps.

"You have been saying that since the second week we moved in together in 1881, Watson!"

"I know!"

I jumped up into the cab beside Holmes and we rattled off through the streets, still chilly with the fog of an early London spring morning.

"Do not forget to have that window repaired that Moran broke last night, Holmes – there was a decided draught this morning," I said absently, glancing over my appointment book to see who the devil I was supposed to be examining today.

"No, I rather thought we should try the open-air look for a while. Be rather bracing for our faint-hearted clients, you know?"

"And dashed inconvenient the first storm that blows up from the Thames."

"Must you be so stolidly common-sensical, Watson?"

"Only when you take on my role as a romantic idealist, Holmes."

"Never," he said with an exclamation of disgust. "Oh, and while we're on the subject –"

"Holmes, if you say one word about my writing, I shall push you out that door into the street, tell the cabbie to drive on, and laugh all the way back to my consulting room!" I said in a threatening voice.

Holmes eyed me as if gauging the level of seriousness in my tone. Then he flashed me a grin and settled back beside me comfortably without another word.

I smiled in return as we passed all too quickly through the streets toward my house in Kensington.

"Watson, what are you doing later?"

"Besides prescribing cough syrup and seeing to croupy babies?"

"You can be so dashed infuriating, Watson."

"Hum, yes. You missed me, admit it."

"Hmph."

"Admit it."

"'Ere y'are, gents!" the cabbie hollered at this extremely inopportune moment, pulling to a stop.

I pointedly ignored him, too amused by Holmes's black look to stop now.

"Admit it, Holmes."

"We are here, Watson."

"Admit it."

He glared at me.

"I am not getting out until you do."

"Did you know you're already seven and one-half minutes late for your first patient?"

"What?"

I glanced at my watch and cursed, hopping out of the cab.

"What time do you finish?"

"Probably round one, one-thirty."

"How does Pagani's in the Strand strike you?"

"Are you buying?"

"If I must, if it will get you there," he replied, his twinkling eyes mirroring my own.

"Then I shall come. Two o'clock?"

"Hah! Right then. Pall Mall, cabbie!"

It was about an hour later that a telegram arrived at my house for me. I opened it between patients and felt my mouth turn upward in a wide smile at the four words contained therein.

I ADMIT IT WATSON.

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