A/N: Sadly, I own none of the characters. I will still make them dance!

-He wasn't sure why he kept coming back. It might be the way the hobbit's eyes lit up like one of his magical firecrackers each time he visited-

At first glance, John Watson was just your average hobbit. The average height that stirred a strong protective instinct inside any humans visiting Auenland. The rural and yet well-kept clothes with numerous patches added by a skilled hand, combined in an awkward mixture of comfortable you desperately wish for during official dinners, and the kind you wear when your wardrobe has just burnt down, leaving you with nothing but the scraps stuffed into a box somewhere in the cellar. The first wrinkles were beginning to showing on his face, a product of his bright smiles and optimistic nature which never failed him, no matter how bad the weather was or how much field crops had to be reaped. You would have a hard time trying to catch a glimpse of his gloomy face – not that there weren't times like that. But first things first.

What discerned him was his curiosity. A rare feat among these tiny people, and something they desperately tried to ignore whenever talking to him.

It was the blue horse in the room, as they would say.

This adventurous streak had made him, as one of the handful in the history of the Hobbits, venture out into the unknown. Leaving the endless fields and neat gardens behind him, John Watson had actually entered the land beyond the Gurgling River.

But that's another story.

During stormy nights, when everyone and their mother curls into the numerous blankets next to the warm fireplace, equipped with a mug full of steaming herbal tea, you might be surprised about the pensive, almost dark expression lingering on his face, shadows deepening the frowns on his forehead. If you are lucky – and careful enough - he might even explain what happened during those six years he had been away, and why he had to resort to a wooden cane now in order to walk properly.

No one in his village knew. Mind you, Hobbits don't ask, especially not when it's about the stingy topic of being away. They brushed the issue off like an obnoxious fly, and decided it must have been the folly of youth that had driven Watson out of Auenland. As if anywhere else could be better.

He was forgiven, though, since he had possessed the wisdom to return to his cozy little hut at the end of the street.

Dull.

Boring.

Sherlock trudged along the nearly invisible path he had just recently discovered as he was searching for some poisonous plants necessary for the new drug he was concocting. However, his efforts and scratched hands had been completely in vain. Soon, he had to realize that his little expedition had lead him to the most peaceful place in all of Middle-Earth. Hell, even the forest of those annoying Elves had proved to be interesting than this once he had discovered that some of the leaves could serve as explosives when tangled into a green and rather muddy ball which only needed so much as a spark to go off.

This wasn't even a proper forest, he thought grumpily. Normally, trees wouldn't grow with such a distance to the other bud and definitely not this straight and orderly. Even the leafs seemed to have been trimmed until all of them had the same, oval shape.

Weeds were scarce and too much light reached the earth, making it way too easy not to stumble over any roots. The sole reason this path had been hard to find was most likely because no one bothered to follow it. The further he travelled along it, the more harmless the flora got. No more even remotely poisonous plants, less weeds and more grass.

To be brief, his mind was stagnating. He was utterly and completely bored.

Therefore, he decided to blow a few things up, just to pass the time. According to the rather vague maps of this region, there was a village just a few miles ahead. Until then, he practised levitation spells, causing the rocks to pierce the woods and leave almost symmetrical holes. He might have set fire to a few especially annoyingly symmetrical flowers, as well.

Finally (and luckily for the remaining forest) he soon reached a, unsurprisingly, clear river and an apparently forgotten bridge, judging by the shapes and state of the rotten wood stuck on the sides. He judged that is must have been at least four years until someone had been here and at that point in time, the bridge had already started disintegrating. It seemed to have been a rather provisory thing anyway. Too easy. Sherlock sighed and moved a few stones big enough to step on, forming a line across the river. Almost absent-mindedly, he jumped from stone to stone, while he took in the sight of the Hobbit village.

It really was the very definition of peaceful.

The round, flat, but surprisingly spacious houses considering the size of the owners, weren't crowded together as it would be the case in human cities. Instead, each of them had it's own, nicely-kept garden filled with a colourful mixture of herbs and flowers Sherlock filed under "Steal later". Maybe the goal of this journey could still be accomplished, Sherlock thought as he approached the first house.

Making sure his grey hat and dramatically billowing cape were all set properly, he made his, well, dramatic entry.

No one gaped in awe, though.

If you excluded the old woman staring at him with a toothless O, which, Sherlock assumed, was her default expression. Soon, even that grandma minded her own business of crossing the street to visit her neighbour again, a rather demanding task. She couldn't pay attention to whatever lunatic wandered through Auenland. "From the outside", she mumbled to herself. Seconds later, she blocked the event out.

Naturally, being the wise wizard he was, Sherlock wasn't pouting. Neither was he considering setting fire to some of the carefully painted rooftops.

The fact that a few of the gorgeous roses in the gardens suddenly withered must have been a whim of nature.

So, he carried on like a grown-up and walked down the empty street, examining the content of each fenced garden. Truly, the alchemist inside of him made a little dance of joy as he saw the sheer variety of these herbs, some of which he had never even seen. Must be some sturdy Hobbit-breeds, he mused, with the ability to just ignore the weeds around them until said disturbances shrivelled up. One herb, with star-like, white and incredibly tiny blossoms perked his interest in peculiar. The leaves were almost exactly like Königskraut, but instead of the yellow blossoms, he was confronted with white ones.

Curious, he knelt down, spread his equipment before him like it was no one's business - a small shovel, a knife, and a few weirdly shaped jars - and started to dig up one sample.

Hobbits love their gardens.

No one had told him how much.

There was a twumph, a sharp pain at the back of his head and then he landed face-first in the mud.

A/N: This is based on the idea I developed with lovely Xiah-sensei. Check out her stuff!

Urgetofall encouraged me to publish this~ (blame or hug her xD) She's amazing as well!

It's cracky and will stay this way ;) Any kind of review would be like a ray of light to me xD