The End?

Chapter I – What Are You Going to do now?

"Holmes" Holmes jerked his head up from the typewriter to meet Watson's eyes. Mary was standing just behind him, her mouth slightly agape. Holmes straightened up.

"Watson, I trust you've received my package?" He said, holding his hands behind his back and giving off a smile. Gladstone poked his head up and scurried from his spot on the floor out the doorway and past Mary. Watson looked rather breathless, Holmes noted. Perhaps he was happy to see him after all? Holmes's lip twitched at the thought.

"I thought…you let us all believe you were dead!" Watson said, stepping closer. His tone was a bit sharp, however laced with underplayed worry and relief. Holmes's eyes flickered between Watson and Mary. The lady seemed to have finally grasped a hold of her consciousness and was now eyeing Holmes back with an uneven stare. He raised an eyebrow, assuming it was his rather pompous attire. Although he believed it to be very useful and useful was exactly what it had proven to be. He redirected his field of vision to Watson.

"It was necessary, dear Watson." A flicker caught his attention. 'Ah…I saw that.' He thought as Mary's hands slightly tightened around the handkerchief it appeared she had pulled from her sleeve. And this was very well possible; the sleeve was wide enough to house a handkerchief.

"You left me." Watson insisted his cerulean eyes never left Holmes for a second as he took a step closer. Holmes moved around the desk and away from the typewriter. Watson strolled up to Holmes until their chests were almost touching. And there they stood, face to face. "And why are you in my house dressed like that?" Watson's brows furrowed as he expressed his distaste. Holmes bounced on the tips of his toes for a moment explaining,

"Don't you remember? Urban camouflage." His voice emitted hardly above a whisper. Watson lifted his chin, as if to disregard the fact and Holmes locked his eyes with the doctor. Finally, Watson sighed,

"Oh why must we fight? Come here." Watson embraced Holmes awkwardly in a hug. As Watson's weight shifted, Holmes found himself bending about an inch or so backwards. His face still bore traces of surprise as he raised his arms to his friends back, discomfited by such a close touch in front of…

"John…" Mary's voice emitted from the doorway. 'Oh yes Watson, don't forget about your dear wife.' Holmes scowled amongst his thoughts. Watson's grip lessened at the sound of Mary's voice. He pulled off of Holmes, a bit slower than usual, Holmes caught. There was also a certain air about him, he had shaved, the scent of the cream still lingered. But there was a slight nick on his cheek, as if lost in thought over that particular patch of skin. His waistcoat was clean and as wrinkle free as ever. Holmes's eyes flickered over the waistline of Watson's trousers at the mid-stomach and noted a particular looseness, he should've expected, Watson didn't have his gun on him. How many days had it been since the service, maybe a week? It had been delayed an awful long time. And Watson had already fallen out of his old habits. A sliver of Holmes felt crushed. He was brought back to earth when Watson addressed him. Clearly, Watson had dismissed Mary from the room. Now the two of them stood, some distance apart. Watson must have walked to Mary and comforted her before sending her politely away.

"Holmes…" Holmes snapped his head up to look at Watson's eyes, nodding in response. "What are you going to do now?" Holmes turned so he looked out the window.

"Go back to Baker Street." Watson made a slight movement as if to join his friend, but decided against it.

"And what are you going to do there? Everyone thinks you're dead." Holmes held his hands behind his back and glanced down at the carriages and people below.

"What else am I to do?" He turned and looked at Watson. Walking past him, he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You know where to find me. I haven't left this case entirely untouched." Watson grabbed a hold of Holmes's wrist and looked at him. Holmes paused; the level of emotion that he felt reverberating beneath Watson's hands bothered him. He opened his mouth and whispered, "See me later, if you must." Watson relinquished his grip on Holmes and stood, his brows furrowed again and Holmes walked from the room.

Down the pine-lined walls of the hall and to the immediate right was Watson and Mary's bedroom. Holmes wrinkled his nose as he let himself inside and past the heavy, dark stained door. The very atmosphere was displeasing in this floral room. To think…the things to be done-no-that had been done in this very location. Shrugging away the peeve, Holmes quickly opened the wardrobe and found some of Watson's shirts. His fingers danced over the linen until he settled on one at the very end. No doubt Watson would notice. Holmes pulled a pair of trousers over his camouflage and the shirt over his head; he made haste and slipped on a pair of Watson's Waukenfast leather boots as well.

Holmes shuffled swiftly out of t he room and back down the hall, he peeked around the broad doorway into the study. Watson had resumed his seat at his desk, his head was in his hands and Mary was bending over him, slightly at the waist as if to preserve her elegance. Holmes snorted quietly. She was probably whispering her venom-filled words in his ear. Picking up his feet, he quickly and silently manoeuvred around the doorway and down the rest of the pine-wood hall until he reached a flight of steps. The steps descended in a slight spiral formation and led directly to the front door. There was a runner that followed the stairs down, as if to muffle any sort of noise. Several of Watson's coats hung, along with a few of Mary's shawls, on a black wrought iron rack by the door. Holmes skipped down the stairs hurriedly and nabbed one of Watson's smaller coats. It was like it was kept waiting for him. Perhaps Watson was still under his influence after all. Holmes smiled to himself before shouldering the garment and flipping the collar up, then letting himself out the door and back into the busy streets of London. 'Now…' he thought to his self, looking around and drinking in the new sight, 'what will I do next?'

Watson looked up from his spot at the typewriter. Mary had gone downstairs for one reason or another, he couldn't remember. 'Something about bringing me a treat is what I recall' thought he. He ran his hand over his eyes, the furiously rubbed at them with the heel of his palms until stars popped in his vision. Mary walked in with a small cake and tea on a tray. Watson couldn't help but smile softly. "Not now, love, we'll be heading to out dinner soon." She set the tray on the edge of his desk and smiled, seating herself in his lap and purred.

"Oh but what's the harm with a little treat?"